“The bird doesn’t count. You need to find someone with fingers, not feathers, which means you need to get off this mountain.”
“Yes, well, unlike the rest of the population, Phee doesn’t stare at me like I’m some sort of freakish display in a traveling circus. Or scream and run when I enter the room.”
Ms. Fumley’s expression softened. “You can’t change their minds by hiding away, Atlas. They’ll never be ableto know you if you never give them a chance.” She pushed off the table to stand. “I better get back to work before my knees decide to be done for the day. You think about what I said. I want to spend my last years spoiling your children, not herding geese.”
After she left, Atlas sat for another moment, running his oversized hand over the soft feathers on Phoebe’s head. “We already tried that, didn’t we, Phee? There’s no point in going down the Beanstalk; the giant in the sky is always more welcome than the monster in their midst.”
The afternoon sunwas hot on his neck and shoulders as Atlas pulled the last bushel of peaches from the hand cart and set it beside the kitchen steps. The trees had produced more than usual, and despite having spent the entire day harvesting, he still had at least another three or four days to go. His back already ached from the constant bending.
“I think we’ll save washing these for tomorrow,” he remarked conversationally to Phoebe, who was at his heels as always. “The only thing happening tonight is a hot bath and a book.” He put his hands against his lower back and leaned backwards to stretch the tired muscles.
Phoebe honked in appreciation before wandering to a patch of grass and tearing up bits. Atlas watched her for a moment with a fond smile before stooping down to pick up the handles of the cart and pull it towards the barn. As he approached the wooden structure, the air suddenly erupted with the sound of disgruntledsquawking from the chickens inside. Atlas dropped the cart and ran, stopping only long enough to grab a long-handled axe from beside the pile of split logs outside.
“Stay back, Phoebe!”
He kicked the door open, holding the sharp tool firmly with both hands and ready to swing at whatever animal had managed to get inside and disrupt his flock.
“Well, that’s certainly a way to make an entrance.”
The unfamiliar voice stopped him in his tracks, and Atlas blinked several times, certain that he was seeing things.
There was a man in his barn, crawling on his hands and knees as he emerged from underneath one of the roosting poles. Once he was clear of the chickens, he stood, brushing the straw from his trousers. Though everyone seemed short to Atlas, the man was probably of average height. His dark hair was messy, littered with feathers and bits of straw, and he wore a leather vest with more buckles and pockets than could possibly be useful. A matching satchel was slung over one shoulder, and he adjusted the strap as he looked up at Atlas with a charming grin that probably got him out of a fair share of trouble.
“Do you greet all your visitors by brandishing an axe, or am I just special?”
The question jarred Atlas’s brain back into motion. He twisted his grip on the handle. “You’re not visiting, you’re breaking in.”
The man looked around. “Did I break something? I was trying to be very careful.”
“Get out.”
The unwanted visitor turned his attention back to Atlas. “Before I go, I just have one question, Mister…” His voice trailed off expectantly.
“Atlas,” he growled.
“Atlas,” the man repeated. “My name’s Jax.”
He took a step forward, intending to intimidate Jax, but the intruder held his ground and simply bent his head back farther.
“Look, Lassie—can I call you Lassie? Anyway, I don’t suppose you’ve seen anyone else lurking around here lately? Tall, white hair, evil eyes that gleam, general mayhem in his wake, has a habit of breaking and entering?”
“The only person matching that description is you.”
“Really?” Jax’s eyes widened, and he touched the top of his head. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen my reflection, but I didn’t realize I would age that quickly.”
“You have five seconds to leave before I start swinging.”
Jax tsked and shook his head disappointedly. “Your hospitality could use a little work, Lassie.”
“Four seconds now.” Atlas slowly, deliberately lifted the axe just a little higher.
Phoebe wandered in, waddling between them with an unbothered, unhurried air that completely ruined the threatening tension of the moment.
“You have a goose!” Jax exclaimed, dropping to one knee. “I love geese. Such misunderstood creatures.” He held out a hand and Phoebe, who was usually wary of strangers, waddled right up to him with a delighted honk.
“Phee, get away from him.”
The goose ignored him.
