Chapter Two:
Concerning a treasure chest and a phone call
Ring, ring
Jim didn't like
answering the phone. She glanced up from her book and quickly scanned
the room. She hoped to see Ben, and hoped to talk Ben into answering
it.
Ring, ring.
Jim wouldn't say she
was particularly scared of answering the phone. She didn't have a
phobia against it, but something close enough to pass.
RING, RING
She just didn't like to
talk to people when she couldn't see them face to face.
RING, RING
Really didn't like it.
RIIIIIIIIIIING,
RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!!!
At all.
RING!
RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Then again, sometimes
the phone refused to be understanding.
Closing her book, which
she'd been thoroughly enjoying, Jim left her sprawled out position on
the couch and picked up the phone's ear piece. She then spoke into
the mouth piece, for obvious reasons.
“Hello. Jim
Hillenbrand.”
Silence, followed by a
whispered convention, then, “You're a girl.”
Jim leaned against the
wall beside the mounted phone. “I am,” she agreed.
“Are you aware of the
fact your name is Jim?”
She'd had to explain
this more than once and had gotten rather good at it. “Yes. My
mother's name was Alice and my father's was Gerry. His father's name
was Bill and my mother's mother's name was Sue. And I'm Jim.”
Another pause. Another
round of a whispered convention. “Makes sense. So, listen, it says
in the yellow pages that you and your cousin Ben are the last living
relatives of your uncle, is that true?”
Jim tugged on one of
her braids. “It says all of that in the yellow pages?”
“I have the updated
version. Is it true?”
Jim nodded, then
remembered one couldn't be seen through phones. Which was really
rather sad. With space travel happening, and teleports and flying
ships and phonographs small enough to fit in your pocket one would
think they would have invented phones you could see through by this
point in time.
Oh well, what do I
know? I'm an Author, not an inventor.
Jim: Who are
you? (She asked this of a middle aged man who wore a brightly plaid
vest and had a pen stuck behind his ear. He had just suddenly
appeared and he looked up in sudden surprise because, another obvious
moment, he wasn't used to being addressed like this.)
Random person who
has yet to introduce himself: Oh dear, I've gone and told myself
into the story again, haven't I?
Jim: Story?
And you didn't answer my question.
Random Person who
now gets his title in capital letters: Sorry, you're right. I
haven't. See, I'm the Narrator of this story. It is my job to sit on
the other end of the story and type down everything that happens in
the Plot.
Jim: The
Plot. That sounds rather exciting.
Narrator: (In
other words ME): Oh it is, the Plot is the best thing that can ever
happen in a story.
Jim: What is
Plot?
POOF!
The man with the vest
vanished in a puffy cloud of white smoke. Jim blinked and realized
the person on the phone was still talking.
“Are you there? Are
you listening to me? Hello! HELLO! I am not used to being ignored.”
“Sorry.” Jim tugged
on her braid. “I thought I saw a Narrator.”
“What's a Narrator?”
Jim shrugged and
completely forgot about Narrators. “Who are you?” she asked the
person on the other end of the phone.
“Sir Isaac.” There
was a puffy Breath of Importance. Not the same as a puffy cloud of
white smoke, but close enough.
“Who now?”
The puffy Breath of
Importance deflated. “Sir...Isaac...”
Jim had a prickly
feeling that the man expected her to know his name. She felt bad and
blamed it on a thing called LACK OF LUNCH.
“I don't think I know
you.”
She tried to let him
down gently. Instead he crashed and had his ego injured, which hurts
no matter what you are told otherwise.
“I'm a famous
pirate.”
Jim squealed. “Really?!
I've never met a famous pirate before!”
Nothing fixes a injured
ego like a moment of flattery. “Well, we do tend to keep to
ourselves. When we meet up I will sign your shoe if you like.”
Jim looked down and
realized she was barefoot. “Meet up?” she asked.
Sir Isaac turned stern,
which is not at all like turning a pancake over to let the other side
cook.
“We have your uncle
locked up and shall undergo vile torture methods unless you bring his
Beloved Treasure to our ship TONIGHT!”
“What?!” Jim gasped
and squeaked and slapped a hand over her mouth and one over her
heart. Because that is the proper reaction for when your uncle has
been kidnapped by a famous pirate you've never heard of.
When she freed one
hand, the one from her heart, she picked up the phone's ear piece.
“But...but...”
“TONIGHT!”
Jim tried to be brave.
“I don't think it would be good to meet on your ship. You might
kidnap Ben and I.”
“It is Ben and me.
Where do you want to meet?”
Jim thought. “Our
house?”
“NO! You might
capture myself and my pirates! By the way, see how much nicer that
sounds?”
In spite of her worry
Jim had to admit the pirate had a nice form of expressing himself and
placing his words.
“How about a random
place then?”
“How do we pick it?”
“Put a map on the
floor and throw a knife and where it lands is where we will met,”
Jim decided.
Of course this was
done, along with someone shouting about his toes and Sir Isaac's bad
throwing skills, and then the location was given. But since it wasn't
exactly nearby Sir Isaac said she and Ben could have more than one
day to get there. They set the date for two days from the day they
talked and then they hung up.
And then Jim dropped
her book and ran to get her cousin.
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