This Book Is Not Good For You (15 page)

They saw them as soon as they walked through the door.

Standing straight up. Arms stuck out to the side. Row upon row upon row.

Cacao trees.

Planted between rows of other, taller trees. For shade. (Or possibly to hide them from a passing airplane.)

They were just as Max-Ernest had described.

With one difference:

“Are they… covered with snow?” Cass wondered aloud.

Indeed, it looked like snow had been accumulating on the trees for days, making big white mounds that weighed down the branches.

“That really wouldn’t make sense,” said Max-Ernest. “It’s summer and it’s pretty hot out.”

“Duh, I just meant it looked like it—”

“Plus, there’s none on the taller trees,” Max-Ernest couldn’t help adding. “Snow doesn’t usually stick to one kind of tree and not another.”

“It could be fake snow,” said Yo-Yoji. “I mean, there was a fake tree, right? Maybe they’re going to sell them at Christmas.”

The monkey screeched at them, perhaps to say good-bye, perhaps to tell them to stop arguing, then swung away into the cacao trees.

“C’mon,” said Cass. “Let’s keep going. But stay in the shade, under those taller trees. So nobody can see us.”

When they got closer, they saw that the white mounds on the cacao trees were moving. There wasn’t any snow at all, whether real or fake.

Rather, the trees were filled with hundreds, maybe thousands, of the white monkeys.

They chattered noisily, tossing so many cacao seeds—and the odd cacao pod—onto the ground that it seemed to be raining.

Beneath each tree was a gleaming golden pail that looked like something out of a fairy tale. Like a pail that might contain a secret potion or magic coins. Like a pail Hansel and Gretel might carry. The whole scene had a magical look about it, as if the trees were enchanted or the monkeys bewitched.

Occasionally, one of the monkeys themselves would drop onto the ground. He then would hop over to the pail and—

“Why are they sitting on those pails?” asked Max-Ernest.

“I don’t know,” said Cass. “It kinda looks like—”

Yo-Yoji shook his head in disbelief. “Why would anybody want to save… that?”

“Maybe for fertilizer?” suggested Max-Ernest, aghast.

Cass tensed. “Hey, do you guys hear voices?”

Her friends shook their heads, but they stopped talking all the same. They knew from experience that Cass’s hearing was far more acute than theirs.

Quietly, they all crept farther into the shadows and flattened themselves behind the furrowed earth.

An icy voice carried in the breeze. “All our beans have been pre-digested by our specially bred capuchin monkeys. Our mochachin monkeys, as we like to call them.”

The three kids shivered at once. They all recognized the voice and it gave every one of them a chill.

“All these beans you see on the ground—they’re the discards. The mochachins are very fussy. They insist on eating only the best and richest beans.”

From their place in the shadows, the kids could see Ms. Mauvais leading a small group through the cacao orchard. She was covered head to toe in a white nun’s habit—the sort with a headpiece that spreads out to either side like gull wings—but her porcelain-doll face was unmistakable. Her feet invisible beneath her robe, she seemed almost to be gliding over the mud and muck, as if she were suspended on a wire from above.

With her were the Skelton Sisters, dressed for the occasion in pink and purple camouflage as if they were part of some very girlish military operation. Montana Skelton held a video camera in her hand, Romi Skelton a microphone. The sisters were making some sort of film. *

Bringing up the rear: Senor Hugo, inscrutable as ever in his dark glasses.

Watching from the shadows, Cass stared at him, seething. This was the man who’d kidnapped her mother. Who’d manipulated her and broken his promise. She’d never hated anyone so much.

Apparently, she was making some kind of sound under her breath because Max-Ernest soon poked her. “Stop growling like that,” he whispered. “They’ll hear you.”

Cass nodded, snapping out of it. There would be time for growling later. She had a job to do.

“When they’re excreted by the monkeys, these superior beans are left perfectly intact,” Ms. Mauvais continued, speaking into the camera. “But they’ve acquired a distinctive flavor unknown anywhere else.”

“So then the cocoa beans have to be, like… dug out?” asked Romi, making a face.

Something like a smile crossed Ms. Mauvais’s frosty lips. “You don’t imagine we do that ourselves! We leave it to our eager young initiates. Isn’t that right, Alexander?”

She nodded in the direction of a small, unhappy-looking boy walking by with a golden pail in each hand. He wore a hooded gray tunic with a black sun embroidered on it—the insignia of the Midnight Sun.

“Oh my gosh, he is so cute!” exclaimed Romi.

She ran over to Alexander and grabbed him by the ear, causing the contents of a pail to spill out onto his leg. “Can we take this one home, Ms. Mauvais?”

“Yes, can we? Please,” said Montana, grabbing the boy’s other ear with her free hand and causing the other pail to spill. “We’ll take very good care of him, we promise. We’ll walk him and everything.” She pointed the camera at her sister. “We’re very good with little children, aren’t we, sis?”

“Oh, yeah! We love animals,” said Romi, not completely following. “That’s why we’re making a documentary at the zoo!”

“You mean in Africa,” corrected her sister.

“Oh, right, Africa! It’s so hard to remember where you are when you’re on a rock tour!”

“Let the boy go, darlings!” said Ms. Mauvais through her teeth. “We’ll talk about it later.”

As soon as the Skelton Sisters released him, Alexander scurried over to a long trough and emptied what remained in his two pails.

More similarly uniformed—and similarly unhappy—children were bent over the trough, sifting through the monkey droppings. Whenever they extracted one of the precious cacao beans, they rinsed it clean and placed it in a special golden pail marked with the Midnight Sun insignia.

“See what diligent workers they are!” said Ms. Mauvais to the camera. “We call them our Pearl Divers because the cacao beans are like pearls—little, brown pearls.… Tell them about it, Senor Hugo. Senor Hugo is our master chocolatier.”

He bowed, unsmiling. “Yes, they’re the secret ingredient in my chocolate. One of the secret ingredients, I should say.”

He patted the pocket of his chef’s apron. As if it contained a world of secrets. Secrets he would never think of divulging to the present company.

“So all these kids in the gray dresses—well, some of them are boys but you have to admit they still look like they’re in dresses—they’re all orphans like from your orphanage?” asked Romi.

“Yes, but we don’t think of them as orphans,” said Ms. Mauvais, attempting to sound warm and kind for the camera. “They’re our family. This is their home now.”

Ms. Mauvais wiped her pale brow with her gloved hand; all the lying was apparently exhausting her. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I think we’ll stop there… I trust you’ll remove that unfortunate mention of the zoo.”

“Then this charade is over? I may get back to work?” asked Senor Hugo, scowling.

Ms. Mauvais nodded. The chef strode away, hardly bothering to pretend he couldn’t see.

During the course of the interview another person had silently joined the group. An elegant and very elderly man in a top hat. He leaned on a cane, waiting for the filming to stop.

Cass thought she recognized him as someone she’d seen over a year ago at the Midnight Sun spa.

When Ms. Mauvais’s other companions had dispersed, he finally spoke up: “I’m sorry, but I don’t think a nun’s habit suits you, my dear. I’m used to seeing you in gold and diamonds.” His voice was a throaty whisper. Even Cass had to strain to hear his words.

“Now I know why nuns are so ill-tempered,” agreed Ms. Mauvais, leading him back into the shade. “Itamar, darling, you’re supposed to be resting.”

“I have three or four days of life left at best. Forgive me if I’d like to spend them on my feet.”

“Nonsense,” Ms. Mauvais protested. “You’re nearly five hundred years old. They can’t snatch you away that quickly.”

Itamar pointed his cane at Ms. Mauvais. “I hope you’re not getting sentimental, Antoinette. We chose you long ago for your heartlessness. That is what the Midnight Sun needs. Not maudlin concerns about my health.”

The three eavesdroppers looked at each other. As interesting as the conversation had been thus far, perhaps the most interesting revelation was that Ms. Mauvais had a first name: Antoinette.

Itamar stretched his ancient mouth into a thin approximation of a smile. “I remember when your horse broke his leg. You were only ten years old.…”

“Not just any horse—an Arabian,” said Ms. Mauvais grandly. “I trained him myself. He was my prize possession. The closest thing I had to a family after my parents died.”

“And yet you killed him without shedding a tear!”

Ms. Mauvais looked for a moment as though she might object. “Don’t worry. My interest in preserving your life is purely practical. I rely on your advice and counsel. No one else is sufficiently experienced… or sufficiently ruthless.”

“Thank you. My advice now is to prepare for my death.”

“But we are so close! Immortality is at hand. In a piece of chocolate, no less.”

“So then it is as I suspected, Senor Hugo’s secret recipe is a recipe for the Secret?”

Ms. Mauvais nodded. “Let’s say it’s a recipe for the recipe… We will save you yet.”

“Perhaps. In the meantime, I am not the only one growing old. Even you, Antoinette Mauvais. Your two hundred years are beginning to show around the eyes. Or is it two hundred and fifty now?”

He touched the side of her face with his old gloved hand.

“Please don’t mince words, Itamar,” said Ms. Mauvais.

“I never do. If our organization is to survive, we need new members. Younger members.”

“I know! Why do you think I tolerate those two teenage trollops? Only so we can attract more followers.”

“Can you imagine kids joining the Midnight Sun?” Yo-Yoji whispered in the shadows. “What’s the point if you’re not old yet? I thought it was all about eternal youth.”

“Well, if you have their elixirs and stuff, you never have to get old. Or it takes a lot longer anyway,” replied Max-Ernest. “How ’bout that?”

“Oh yeah. So remind me then why we don’t want to join.”

“I don’t know,” said Max-Ernest. “Maybe because you have to wear a lot of gloves?”

“How about because they’re bloodthirsty killers and they kidnapped my mom!” exclaimed Cass in an outraged whisper.

Lifting herself up slightly, Cass peered down the path Senor Hugo had taken—was that the direction in which she would find her mother?—but she couldn’t see much beyond the rows of cacao trees and the fluffy white fur of the mochachin monkeys.

After Ms. Mauvais led Itamar away, our friends stood up and took better stock of their surroundings.

About a dozen yards beyond the sorting trough, there was a large, barn-shaped warehouse sided in corrugated metal. As they watched, one of the gray-cloaked children picked up two of the specially marked golden pails and, teetering, carried them into the warehouse, leaving the door ajar.

Silently, Cass motioned that they should follow. She counted to three with her fingers, then they all walked as quickly and quietly as they could toward the warehouse. It seemed like an awfully long distance to be out in the open, but as far as they could tell nobody saw them.

Upon entering, they passed through an entryway that looked like it served as a dressing room for the children. Hundreds of the gray uniforms were stacked on shelves, and almost as many golden pails were stacked on the floor.

Once inside the warehouse proper, they found themselves gazing at dozens of gleaming stainless steel storage bins. The bins were so tall that each was equipped with a ladder to facilitate access.

“You there—pick those pails back up and follow me to the Test Kitchen!”

The kids froze. The voice was Senor Hugo’s. Was he speaking to them?

No. A quick glance revealed he was down at the other side of the warehouse speaking to one of the miserable children they’d seen earlier.

But he was also walking right in their direction: in a moment, he would see them. There was no time to exit the building.

“Each of you—go jump in one of the bins!” Cass whispered, remembering how Caca Boy had hidden from the soldiers in a vat of cacao beans.

Max-Ernest started to open his mouth in protest but then thought better of it; this was obviously not the time to question a plan.

Without another word, Cass pulled herself up the nearest bin and disappeared over the edge.

Silently, Yo-Yoji and Max-Ernest climbed up the two bins on either side of hers and followed suit.

Max-Ernest looked into the well of beans and worried briefly whether the fact that he couldn’t swim would be a problem. But then he closed his eyes, plugged his nose, and jumped.

He didn’t immediately sink under the cacao beans and he had to squirm around and then scoop beans with his hands to cover himself. In a moment, he had burrowed down to the point where he was almost completely surrounded by cacao beans, only the tip of his nose sticking out. It was a strange sensation, but not entirely unpleasant.

So far, so good, he thought. Being buried alive really wasn’t so bad. If only he could keep his claustrophobia from kicking in.

Max-Ernest was just congratulating himself on his success in avoiding panic when he remembered his chocolate allergy: was it the cacao beans themselves he was allergic to? And if so, would the beans have to get into his mouth to affect him, or would the allergens seep through the pores of his skin?

It was hard enough to breathe under all the beans; how would he survive if his throat started to constrict? Being captured by the Midnight Sun would almost be preferable.

Terrified, he waited for the telltale signs of an allergy attack.

There was no way to know when it would be safe to climb out.

Assuming Senor Hugo was gone, somebody else equally scary might be there. Then again, if they waited too long Hugo was likely to come back. Cass remembered that Caca Boy had come face-to-face with the monk when he emerged from hiding in the cacao beans; who would she see when she stuck her head out?

Cautiously, she shook her head from side to side, feeling the beans fall off like oversized grains of sand. Then she wriggled herself up enough to look around.

Just as she feared, there was somebody leaning over the edge of the bin, staring down at her.

“Aaah!” she shrieked. (Although thankfully not very loudly.)

Yo-Yoji smiled. “Scared much?”

“No!” said Cass, annoyed. “You just surprised me, that’s all.”

Next, each taking an arm, they pulled a silent and staring Max-Ernest out of the neighboring bin.

“You OK?” Cass asked Max-Ernest when they were all back on the ground.

Still closemouthed, Max-Ernest frantically shook cacao beans out of his hair. Then felt around on his face to make sure there weren’t any strays.

“You can talk,” said Yo-Yoji. “There’s nobody here.”

“Thanks. I’m fine,” Max-Ernest said finally. “I just didn’t want any beans to accidentally fall in my mouth.”

*???*???*

Soon, they had all safely exited the warehouse through the back door

In front of them, a small sign pointed the way to someplace called THE PAVILION. They weren’t sure what the Pavilion was, but since they also weren’t sure where Cass’s mother was, they agreed it was a reasonable place to start their search.

Rather than risking being exposed on the pathway, they chose the more difficult route of walking alongside it through the thick rainforest. After what would have been about a block and a half (if they were walking on the street rather than through mud and dense vegetation), they halted.

Peeking through the palms, they saw a round building large enough to hold an airplane or even a three-ring circus. It had a thatched roof held up by thick pillars of bundled bamboo. The building was surrounded on all sides by a wide covered porch decorated with wicker furniture and overhead fans. Silk curtains fluttered in the breeze. The whole place had the look of a luxurious tropical retreat.

The most notable thing about the Pavilion was that the entire structure was raised off the ground, like an enormous treehouse.

“That’s gotta be where they are,” said Cass. “This must be the Midnight Sun’s new headquarters.”

“It’s a pretty good hideout,” Max-Ernst noted. “I’ll bet that roof makes it hard to see from above.”

Yo-Yoji nodded in agreement. “Uh-huh… why do you think it’s on stilts like that?”

“Probably to keep the lions out… or us,” said Cass. “The question is, how do we get in?”

“We could just walk—” Yo-Yoji nodded toward the front doors, which were wide open. A steep wooden stairway led straight up to them.

Two sculptures carved from tree trunks—one of a bird, the other of a snake—stood sentry on either side of the doors. Otherwise, it looked as though nothing would keep them from entering.

The problem was: at least a hundred feet separated them from the Pavilion. The building might be camouflaged, but for them there would be no cover.

“Don’t you think we should wait until dark?” asked Max-Ernest.

Cass shook her head. “I don’t want my mom to have to wait that long. Plus, we’re out of food…”

“So you really think your mother’s in there?”

“Not necessarily. But we have to look…”

As they spoke, a plume of smoke erupted from the Pavilion. Suddenly, the air was filled with a familiar bittersweet scent.

“Chocolate!” said Yo-Yoji. “Now we definitely have to go in.”

Max-Ernest held his nose. “I hope I’m not allergic to the air…”

“Wait, I have an idea—”

Without telling them anything more, Cass started to retrace their steps.

An hour later, three young people wearing gray tunics and holding golden pails in their hands returned to the same spot. Anybody seeing them would have thought they were more child slaves—“eager young initiates,” as Ms. Mauvais had called them.

“OK, keep your heads down and look unhappy—”

On Cass’s signal, they stepped onto the lawn that surrounded the Pavilion. There was nobody around and they made it all the way to the bottom of the stairs before they were stopped.

“Can I help you?”

A tall, broad-shouldered woman hurried toward them from the side of the building. She wore a tunic similar to the children’s but hers was bright white, and, as our heroes noticed immediately, she wore white gloves on her hands.

They all tensed. It had been awhile since they’d faced a full-fledged member of the Midnight Sun.

“Where do you think you’re going? No initiates are allowed in the Pavilion, you must know that.”

Cass’s heart skipped a beat. It was Daisy. The woman who’d served as her prison guard at the Midnight Sun spa more than a year earlier. If Daisy recognized them, they were doomed.

“Senor Hugo wants this stuff in the Test Kitchen,” said Cass, careful to keep her face shadowed by her hood.

“You sure he said the Test Kitchen?” Daisy hesitated, as if this were rather unusual.

“Yeah, he said to get it to him as fast as possible!”

“Ah, in that case… kitchen’s in the back.”

“Right. Thanks,” said Cass.

Before Daisy could get another look at them, Cass and her friends quickly mounted the stairs.

Gold pails swinging, they passed between the snake and bird sculptures (“I think those are Aztec,” Max-Ernest whispered) and entered the Pavilion.