The Whizz Pop Chocolate Shop (20 page)

Isadore took a notebook and pencil from the breast pocket of his linen jacket and began to write busily, muttering to himself. “New separator—new blending paddles—new silver funnels—new roasting pan—dear me, we’ll need to start from scratch! We’d better begin with some basic cleaning.”

He swept Oz and Lily out to the hardware shop next to
the supermarket and bought mops, scrubbing brushes, buckets, brooms and heavy-duty cleaner, until they were both laden with bags of cleaning stuff.

Caydon was on the pavement outside, with a flat Spike drooping over one shoulder. “What’s going on? You look like two Father Christmases bringing really boring presents.”

“Ah, the third witch.” Isadore handed him a stiff brush. “Just in time to clean out the fireplace.”

This was not how Lily, Oz and Caydon had expected to spend their first morning with the evil genius. Isadore gave them all rubber gloves and aprons and set them to work. Caydon scrubbed the fireplace; Oz started sweeping up all the charred rubble on the floor. Lily was told to wash the chocolate stone in the middle of the room in a mixture of warm water and dishwashing liquid. Isadore stood beside her, washing blackened tools in a bowl of hot, soapy water.

“And Demerara, I think the chimney’s choked up with soot—would you just run up and down it to clear it? You’ll make an excellent flue brush.”

“WHAT?” Her silky new fur bristled with outrage. “How DARE you call me a BRUSH?”

“I’ll do it,” Spike said quickly. “I don’t mind a bit of soot.”

“Did you hear him, Spike? He thinks I’m a brush! He thinks he can shove me up the chimney!”

“Calm down, old girl!” The rat was still flat, but moving nimbly again. Oz helped him into the chimney and he whisked up it in a thick cloud of soot.

“Well, you don’t need me here,” Demerara said. “And I mustn’t get soot on my fur—”

Isadore stepped in front of her. “Haven’t you forgotten something?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Open the safe!”

“Oh, all right!” Demerara mumbled something and screwed up her eyes. In the blackened wall, the secret door appeared.

“I’m impressed,” Isadore said. “I never suspected Pierre was clever enough to come up with something like this.” He dropped to his knees and crawled into Demerara’s flat. “I’m inside!” they heard his voice calling excitedly. “It’s a bit of a mess—I can see Mother’s notebooks—OH DEAR HEAVEN! WHAT AM I KNEELING IN?”

Spike flopped out of the chimney like a sooty pancake. “Whoops, he’s found my bag of old sheep’s liver.”

“OH, THAT IS THE MOST UNSPEAKABLY DISGUSTING—” Isadore scrambled out the door, smeared with dirt and white as a sheet. He dived over to his bucket of water and plunged his hands into it, shuddering. “I’m not going in there again!”

“Who invited you?” Demerara was smirking, and
looked so smug that Lily had to stop herself from giggling.

“Sorry about that, Mr. Isadore,” Spike said. “Tell you what—I’ll go in and clear out all my rotting stuff.”

“Thank you, Spike. You’re disgusting, but you always were an obliging rodent.”

“Now then, you silly old bag,” Spike said to Demerara. “Get off your high horse. You know as well as I do—if J says Mr. Isadore’s OK now, he’s OK.”

“But it’s so hard, when I’ve detested him since at least 1935! And I can’t bear him trampling all over our cozy little flat.”

“Well, if you come and help, he won’t have to, will he?”

“I suppose not.” Holding her head up proudly, Demerara followed Spike through the little door.

“She’s awfully rude to Spike,” Lily said, “but she’s lost without him.”

Isadore dropped another tool into his bucket, looking at Lily thoughtfully. “You’re very much like your great-great-grandmother.”

“Really?” It was a little embarrassing to know that she looked like the girl Isadore had loved in vain.

“She was the girl I described to your parents.”

“The one who had dyslexia?” This was interesting.

“Yes, it often runs in families. And it’s often a sign of certain magical abilities.”

“Was Daisy magic, then?”

“She wasn’t a witch, as our mother was,” Isadore said. “But she was tremendously receptive to the unseen—as you and Oz and Caydon are. You especially.”

“I’m the most magical! I’m not boasting,” she added. “I’m not used to being best at things.”

“Daisy had the same low opinion of her own powers,” Isadore said. “She started in the business as a kitchen maid, but Mother soon spotted her talents—her brilliant memory, for one thing. Mother predicted we’d all fall in love with her.”

“Pierre as well?”

“Oh, Pierre adored her,” Isadore said. “Though I suspect he was actually fonder of that ridiculous talking cat.”

“Which one of you did your mother want her to marry?” Lily was fascinated; how romantic to have triplets in love with you.

“Mother didn’t mind.” Isadore carefully dried the silver blade of a knife. “But when Daisy got engaged to Marcel, she wanted to be sure she’d made the right choice. Mother had the same disconcerting gift as my ex-wife—she could conjure pictures of the future. First, she showed Daisy how her life would look if she married Pierre. She saw them both sitting in big armchairs, surrounded by cats, eating cake. They were both very fat. Then she showed Daisy how her life would be if she
married me—incredibly rich, with a Rolls-Royce and a yacht—that’s what we could have done as a team! Finally, she showed Daisy her life with Marcel—in a boring little house, with a baby. And that was the life she wanted! I ask you!”

“She loved him,” Lily said.

“I suppose she did—and to any normal person, that explains everything.” Isadore sighed and shook his head. “I think I’m beginning to understand.”

The next morning, some builders arrived.

“It’s awfully nice,” Dad told the twins cheerfully. “Something called the Chocolate Heritage Society has offered to restore the workshop for nothing! We’re not using it for anything else; I thought it would be interesting to bring it back to its former glory.”

Oz and Lily knew perfectly well that there was no such thing as the Chocolate Heritage Society, even before one of the builders quickly showed his SMU card—the government of magic had given their parents a really amazing talent for not noticing things. These builders worked very fast. While Mum brought them cups of tea, they cleaned and painted and plastered furiously. A shining new metal tank appeared. There were new racks for the tools, new shelves for the molds. By the time Isadore appeared for his next tutoring session,
only three days later, the workshop was gleaming and immaculate.

He gazed round it, running his hands over the surfaces. “I can hardly believe it—it’s like turning the clock back to the 1930s! I can practically hear the trams on Holloway Road!”

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Mum came in suddenly, making Isadore jump. “I thought Oz and Lily would want to show you; we’re all thrilled with it.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Spoffard.” Isadore had recovered. “I think I’ll teach in here this morning.”

“Well, the kids will tell you what all this stuff is for,” Mum said. “They’ve been looking up chocolate making on the Internet.”

“Fascinating! I can’t wait to hear about it.”

“I’ll bring you a cup of tea—I’m the size of a hippo, but I can still waddle about.” She left the room.

“This is most satisfactory,” Isadore said. “It has been finished to a very high standard. We’ll spend today’s lesson making an inventory of the various things inside Pierre’s safe—where’s that cat?”

“I haven’t seen her since yesterday,” Lily said.

“WOW!” Spike’s head popped out of a saucepan. “Am I in the right place? This is just like the old days!”

“Hi, Spike.” Oz scooped him up with one hand; unlike Lily, he wasn’t at all squeamish about handling the whiskery little rodent. “How’s it going?”

“I’ve moved all the rotting things,” Spike said. “It was hard work shifting it all by myself. The old girl wanted to help—but she was too worried about her new fur.”

“This workshop is SPLENDID!” mewed Demerara’s voice. “I absolutely LOVE it!”

She strolled into the middle of the floor.

“What’s happened to you?” Lily gasped.

“What do you mean, dear?”

“Your fur—it’s gone all … curly!”

Demerara’s golden brown fur was a mass of thick curls, of a kind no cat has ever been seen with.

“Yes, it has grown back with a tiny curl to it.”

Oz and Lily started laughing; she was such a bad liar, and the big curls looked hilarious.

“Hmmm.” Isadore frowned down at her suspiciously. “I think this cat has been messing about with the magic chocolate again.”

“Old girl,” Spike said, “you’re a dazzler!”

“Thank you, Spike.” The curly cat was dignified. “It’s completely natural; I have NOT been messing about!”

Mum came back into the room with a tray of tea for Isadore and juice for Oz and Lily. “Here you are, Dr. Sneed; if you need anything else, I’ll be upstairs ordering stuff online for the baby.”

“Right,” Isadore said briskly, when she had gone again, “we’re ready to empty the safe and we’ll need every pair of hands—Oz, you’d better fetch Caydon.”

As soon as they were all assembled, Isadore set them to work. The boys went into the flat with Demerara and began passing out all the magical objects Pierre had hidden there—books, glass jars, boxes and bottles. Lily wiped each object with a duster and handed it to Isadore, who wrote it down in his notebook. Spike and Demerara were supposed to be pointing out the things that were magic, though Demerara spent most of the time giving orders and making objections.

Her cross voice floated out into the workshop. “Mind my cushion! Careful with that saucer! Spike—don’t forget the beans I hid under those dead mice!”

Everything that came out was grimy and damp smelling—except Pierre’s golden mold.

Oz passed it out the door to Lily, who held it up, fascinated by the beautiful detail of the smiling face.

Isadore let out a long sigh, like air escaping from a balloon. “At last!” His thin face quivered with emotion. He reached out his hand. “AARRRGGH!”

He was hurled across the room and landed in an ungainly heap beside the door. Lily ran over to help him to his feet.

“Good grief,” he gasped. “That hurt like Hades! Keep that thing away from me—it nearly burnt my hand off!”

“I can’t feel anything,” Lily said. “It’s just warm, like bathwater.”

Isadore leaned against the chocolate stone, blowing
on his hand. “My brothers’ molds won’t have anything to do with me; I suppose because I murdered them. Our mother must have known something about the future. She had these golden molds made for our twenty-first birthday. Pierre got the sun, symbol of life. Marcel got a star, the symbol of love. And she gave me this moon—” he pulled the black velvet bag out of his pocket—“symbol of death.”

“Weren’t you annoyed?” Lily asked. “I’d have found it a bit insulting.”

“It doesn’t have to mean death in the right hands,” Isadore said. “But mine were the wrong hands. Kindly wrap Pierre’s sun in a clean tea towel and take charge of it, so I won’t have to touch it again.”

When everything had been cleared out of Demerara’s flat, Oz and Caydon crawled out (very dusty and cobwebby) to look at the strange collection Isadore had neatly arranged on the stone. There were two mildewed notebooks with rotting leather covers, and an assortment of small glass jars filled with shriveled brown beans.

It didn’t look like much, but Isadore was pleased. “I must say it was smart of Pierre to stash these things away—he knew exactly what I’d be after.” He picked up one of the jars, with a wistful smile. “That’s Mother’s writing on the label; she used these beans to make a wonderful truffle called Chocastaire that improved
people’s dancing—unfortunately we had to take it off the market when a famous dancer called Fred Astaire threatened to sue. But where’s the silver coin?”

“What coin?” Demerara asked. “We never had any coins—did we, Spike?”

“Hmm, that could be awkward.” Isadore frowned thoughtfully. “I might have to ask J to put his Time-Glass engineers on that one; but it would take time to comb through the past and pinpoint what happened to it. Maybe Pierre was smart enough to put it in the SMU vault for safekeeping—I’ve tried every spell in the book to get into that vault.”

“Pierre had a brilliant mind,” Demerara said, “as well as a brilliant heart—didn’t he, Spike?”

“Mr. Pierre was an angel,” Spike said solemnly. “An angel with a mustache.”

A green frown glinted in the cat’s curly golden face. “I’m still wondering if I should have opened the safe. He must be spinning in his grave!”

“His grave’s in Highgate Cemetery,” Spike said. “We nip up there every once in a while, to keep it tidy.”

Lily thought how odd it would be to see a grave being tended to by a cat and a rat.

“I remember the funeral as if it were yesterday.” Demerara sighed. “It was a triple funeral—even though they only found two bodies—and it was a very grand occasion. The German ambassador was there, the entire
Soviet Union Women’s Shot-Putting team and any amount of opera stars—all lovers of great chocolate, mourning the world’s greatest chocolatiers.”