Free Unlucky Charms (The Cold Cereal Saga) by Adam Rex Page B

Cornwallace, whom the legends said had also once been swallowed by a fish, and had cut his way to freedom with his enchanted dagger. But Fi could not lift his arms, so he contented himself by merely wishing the fish misfortune, and would have been pleased to learn that it was eaten by an albatross a few moments later.

    Still and all, getting swallowed by an albatross was nothing if not a step backward. And one relatively unimproved by the fact that the albatross was shot by a tuna fisherman that same afternoon.
    The fishermen of the Albacore Four had been watching a World Cup match, and South Africa had just won, and Jerry had taken his gun up on deck to celebrate by shooting at the sky for a bit. The sky, disgruntled, threw something back: a great white bird, plummeting, pinwheeling from the hole Jerry had just made in its right wing. An albatross, looking as preposterous as a biplane on the deck of the Albacore Four .
    People claim that so many things are bad luck. Black cats and broken mirrors and sidewalk cracks. What you probably don’t know is that it’s also bad luck to kill an albatross. And why would you? You are presumably not a sailor, and you’ve likely never seen an albatross, and even if you have, you probably hadn’t anything against it personally and so you managed not to kill it. Unless it was an accident. But in general terms it is terrifically easy not to kill an albatross—you’re probably not killing one right now.
    The point is that you may not have known it’s bad luck to kill an albatross, but Jerry the sailor knew. He knew this very well.
    The usual custom in this sort of situation is to wear the albatross around your neck for a while, but instead Jerry scooped it up and, glancing about, rushed it belowdecks to one of the freezer holds, where he hid it inside a first aid cooler. Then he rejoined his crewmates and remarked loudly what a nice, birdless day it was outside.
    When the Albacore Four was destroyed by lightning, Jerry found the first aid cooler useful to hold on to as he kicked for shore. On land, he found a buyer for his well-preserved and mostly intact albatross carcass, and bought a fresh suit of clothes, and landed a new job, and was killed a week later in an unrelated pumpkin-catapulting incident.

    The albatross was freeze-dried and resold to the New Jersey Museum of Natural History, where it was displayed with a plaque that failed to mention that it contained any pixies. A week later it was stolen by mistake.
    “How will I know which one is the eagle?” the thief asked, fidgeting outside the museum.
    “Aw,” Haskoll answered. “And to think people say there’s no such thing as a stupid question. Good for you!”
    “Sorry, but not everybody’s a … a bird doctor or whatever.”
    “You sure you’re up for this, big guy? I bet I can find another hobo at the bus station who’s willing.”
    “If you got the two hundred dollars, I’ll get your bird. Just don’t want to grab the wrong one …”
    Haskoll smiled. “It’s easy. You bring me the biggest bird they have, okay?”
    “’Kay,” the thief breathed. Then he headed across the quiet street to the rear of the museum.
    When Haskoll saw him again at the meeting place in the parking garage, he was carrying an albatross and a pelican.
    The albatross had been freeze-dried with its wings extended, and it caught the air like a kite as the thief ran.
    “There wasn’t any eagle, boss!” the thief said. “I swear! There was a little sign that said eagle, but it was in front of another sign? And that one said ‘exhibit removed for cleaning.’”
    “And so you just grabbed every other bird you could carry,” Haskoll replied. “What a go-getter you’ve turned out to be. You gonna make me an eagle out of spare parts now?”
    The thief waggled the albatross in front of him, and it was one of the singular experiences of Haskoll’s life. There’s really nothing like having a dead albatross waved in your face.
    “The