This Book Is Not Good For You (16 page)

The interior of the Pavilion seemed almost to be a continuation of the rainforest outside.

Long, flowering vines dripped from a glass ceiling, and potted palms rose up to meet them. A twisting pattern of interwoven leaves and branches spread across the tile floor. In the center, a pool of water surrounded a reproduction of the famous Aztec Sun Stone. *

Apart from the luxuriant foliage, and the young interlopers themselves, the Pavilion’s central room appeared empty. A deep silence pervaded the space, as if it hadn’t been occupied for years.

“Where do you think everyone’s gone?” whispered Max-Ernest. “It’s like it was abandoned.”

“I don’t know,” said Cass with a sinking feeling.

Including the front doors, the room had four exits: one for each point of the compass. They chose the one on the right—

Cautiously, Yo-Yoji pushed the door open. They found themselves tiptoeing into a long, curving hallway that seemed to circle the Pavilion’s central room.

The outer side of the hallway was a curving glass wall overlooking a seemingly endless conveyor belt: a chocolate factory spread out in a line. At the starting point, a pale gooey substance (cocoa butter, although they had no way of knowing it) poured in swirling ribbons into vats of chocolate sludge. Then various machines kneaded and stirred, mixed and molded, dipped and dropped, dusted and sprinkled. There were no human hands in sight.

It was a little like walking down the hall alongside a car wash, but instead of seeing your car being washed, you saw your chocolate being made.

“Man, why did they have to put this glass here? This is torture,” said Yo-Yoji, whose stomach was groaning with hunger.

As they watched, chocolates of all shapes and sizes and even colors passed by.

In addition to the traditional chocolate valentines and Easter bunnies, there was a chocolate zoo filled with tiger-shaped truffles, baboon bonbons, camel caramels, and kangaroo chews. A frosted volcano erupting with molten white chocolate. A dark chocolate lake spanned by a spun-sugar bridge. And an entire forest of miniature chocolate trees topped with powdered-sugar snow. (Or was the powdered sugar supposed to represent the mochachin monkeys? Our friends weren’t sure.)

More startlingly, there was a lifelike chocolate bust—the full head and shoulders—of a young boy.

“Hey, there’s that kid, Alexander, that the Skelton Sisters wanted to keep,” said Max-Ernest. “They made a mold out of him! How ’bout that?”

Cass remained silent. She couldn’t help imagining that the next person they saw cast in chocolate would be her mother.

But there were no more busts. Pride of place was given to Senor Hugo’s simple squares of chocolate. These came last, smooth dark bricks, individually tagged according to weight and purity, as if they were not just Palets d’Or, but actually gold bullion.

“C’mon,” said Cass. “The glass isn’t magically going to disappear if we wait.”

At the end of the hallway, there were two doors: one marked TEST KITCHEN, the other LIBRARY.

Max-Ernest pointed to the second door. “Let’s look in there first. Even if your mom’s not in there, maybe there’ll be some… information,” he said, obviously overcome with curiosity to see what the Midnight Sun’s library might hold.

Cass hesitated; the kitchen seemed like the more logical choice. But Max-Ernest opened the door without waiting for an answer.

There wasn’t a single book in the library. Instead, the wall facing them was entirely taken up by glass vials, each on an individual white shelf. While the vials were all identical, their contents varied in color and texture.

“It looks like the Symphony of Smells,” said Cass. “But times eleven.” *

Max-Ernest scanned the wall, mentally counting vials. “Times twelve, actually. Well, times twelve plus twelve. The Symphony of Smells had ninety-nine vials, remember? This one has one thousand two hundred.”

“So you think these are smells, too?” asked Yo-Yoji.

“I think they’re flavors,” said Cass. “If you read the labels—see, sour—number ten… umami—number six… umami is the taste of…”

“I know what it is,” said Yo-Yoji. “It was invented in Japan.”

“You mean discovered,” said Cass, slightly miffed. “You can’t invent a taste.” (I’m not sure Cass is exactly right about that, but I’ll let it go.)

“So then it’s a flavor library,” said Max-Ernest. “How ’bout that?”

The flavor library looked like a giant vending machine, and, as the kids discovered, it operated like one, too. On an adjoining wall, a control panel allowed them to choose one or more of the vials; a mechanical arm would then retrieve the vial and pour its contents into what looked like a high-tech milk-shake mixer.

In the end, a thimble-size glass of flavored liquid appeared on a tray in front of them.

The hungry kids started sampling flavors right away:

“I get kiwi-green olive seven.” “I want banana-butter.” “I’ve got dibs on cherry number six.”

“What about new car smell taste?” “Why would anybody want leather flavor?” “Better than mud flavor.”

“Yum.” “Yuck.” “Weird.” “Whoa.” “Hmm.” “Ick!”

“Do you think you can be allergic to the flavor of something, or does the food have to actually be there?” Max-Ernest wondered philosophically as he decided against tasting the taste of plastic.

“You know what, this is kind of cool, but it kind of sucks,” said Yo-Yoji, after trying at least a dozen flavors. “It’s just making me hungrier.”

“OK, time’s up,” said Cass. “It’s really lucky nobody has seen us yet.”

At the far side of the room was a swinging door beneath a sign that read TASTING ROOM. Cass peeked through the door window, and seeing no one on the other side, pushed the door open.

It was a bright, white, laboratory-like space.

A long marble table occupied the center of the room. On one side of the table was a low stone bench. On the other side, three tall silver chairs.

Although of course they’d never been there before, you will remember this as the room where Simone ate that perilous square of chocolate, the Palet d’Or.

As it happens, an identical square of chocolate was now sitting on a white plate in the middle of the table. To be exact, three identical squares of chocolate. The only bits of color in the otherwise all-white room.

“Finally some chocolate we can really eat!” said Yo-Yoji, immediately approaching the table. “And there’s even three of them…”

Max-Ernest looked askance at the chocolates. “Are you sure you should…?”

Cass shook her head in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about stealing from the Midnight Sun? Why is this different from the flavors?”

“I don’t know, it’s just strange that they’re sitting out there like that. It looks like they’re waiting for somebody. Whoever it is could come in any second and if the chocolate’s missing, they’ll know somebody’s here. Plus, we don’t know what’s in it!”

Cass considered, then turned to Yo-Yoji. “He’s right. It is the Midnight Sun after all. They could be using these to poison people or something…”

“I don’t care, I’m starving!” Yo-Yoji popped one of the chocolates in his mouth.

His friends watched anxiously.

His eyes widened. “Oh no!” He clutched his throat and made gagging sounds. “I think I’m chok—”

Then he burst into laughter. “Just kidding. Actually, it’s amazing. Usually, I like milk chocolate, not dark chocolate. But that was the best I ever had. Seriously. Kind of like the mud flavor, but in a good way.”

“Well, I can’t have it anyway ’cause of my allergy,” said Max-Ernest, unconvinced.

“Good, more for me. Cass, you gonna have yours?” Yo-Yoji asked, licking chocolate off the corner of his mouth.

Cass eyed the chocolate, trying to resist.

Then she nodded. She was too hungry to say no.

Max-Ernest watched, torn between jealousy and concern, as Cass devoured her piece of chocolate. She looked blissful.

“Wow, that was really… good.”

“Man, I wish there were more,” said Yo-Yoji, finishing Max-Ernest’s piece.

“Me, too. Maybe if we look—” Cass spun around, scanning the room.

Yo-Yoji nodded. “Yeah… Hai!”

“What?” Cass turned back to him, staggering a bit. “Whoa—that made me kind of dizzy.”

“Hai!” Yo-Yoji repeated.

Eyes rolling up into his head, he lurched forward and raised his right hand, clutching at the air.

“Yo-Yoji… are you OK?” asked Cass, still struggling to stand up straight. “Or are you joking around again?”

Yo-Yoji responded with more guttural sounds.

His eyes now closed, he kept moving his arm around as if he were wielding a weapon. He seemed to be in some kind of combat stance.

“I think he’s speaking Japanese,” said Max-Ernest, staring at their friend. “And maybe having a samurai sword fight…?”

“But Yo-Yoji doesn’t know Japanese. He only lived in Japan for a year…” She trailed off, her eyes glazing. She teetered on her feet.

Distressed, Max-Ernest reached for her. “Cass?”

“Mmm.” She murmured to herself, barely conscious. Max-Ernest had to use all his strength to hold her up.

“Yo-Yoji, help me!”

But far from being able to help, Yo-Yoji was groaning and clutching his side, as if fatally wounded.

Max-Ernest was becoming frantic. “Cass, wake up! You, too, Yo-Yoji!”

“Wake up… wake up…,” Cass repeated vaguely.

“If you guys are playing a joke, I think you should stop now,” said Max-Ernest. But they took no notice.

As Max-Ernest watched in horror, Yo-Yoji fell to the floor, writhing in pain.

Meanwhile, Cass continued to babble incoherently. Until Max-Ernest could hold her no longer, and she, too, fell to the floor, unconscious.

Before Max-Ernest could decide what to do, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Wildly, he looked around: there was only one exit—and it was in the direction the footsteps were coming from. There was no way he would be able to get out in time, let alone hide his friends.

Just over his head, sticking out of the wall, was a large grate. Gritting his teeth, he pried it open with his fingernails, revealing a dark air shaft. He pushed the grate into the air shaft, then pulled his gray tunic over his head and tossed it in with the grate; he didn’t think he’d be able to fit through the opening otherwise.

Using all his strength, he was just able to pull himself up into the air shaft and replace the grate before Senor Hugo, Dr. L, and Ms. Mauvais strode into the Tasting Room. Three white-tunic-and-white-glove-wearing Midnight Sun acolytes followed in their wake.

Oh no, Max-Ernest despaired. He could see the room’s new occupants only in bits and pieces—but those bits and pieces were more than enough.

Cass and Yo-Yoji were still moaning on the floor, Yo-Yoji murmuring in Japanese, Cass in some older, Renaissance-sounding version of English. Oddly, the newcomers didn’t appear very surprised to see them.

“It seems the boy must have some samurai in his blood,” said Dr. L. “But what of the girl? Is that her awful ancestor speaking through her?”

Ms. Mauvais smiled one of her almost-smiles. “Let us hope so.”

Max-Ernest shivered, but was uncertain himself whether it was from hearing Ms. Mauvais speak, or from the whoosh of the air being sucked in through the vent.

With a chill he realized where he was: in an air filtration system. Forget the chocolate particles. All the dust in the room would be sucked through the grate in front of him. Horrified, he imagined hundreds of thousands of dust mites flying into his nostrils…

Unfortunately, there was no getting out at the moment. He lifted his shirt to cover his nose; it was all he could do to protect himself from the army of invading allergens.

Dr. L leaned down and felt each of the kids’ pulses in turn. He lifted their eyelids and opened their mouths, examining their reaction to the chocolate.

“I expect they will survive,” he said over his shoulder. “But in what condition I don’t know.”

“Where is the other one? The boy with two names?” asked Senor Hugo.

Ms. Mauvais snorted. “Max-Ernest? There’s no need to worry about him. He’s helpless on his own.”

Listening through the grate, Max-Ernest grimaced, insulted.

“Besides, his chocolate is gone. Wherever he is, he’ll lose consciousness soon. Somebody will find him. It’s the girl we want.”

“Maybe what you and I want are not the same,” said Senor Hugo.

“Who cares what you want?” Ms. Mauvais snapped. “If we do not find the Secret today, a great man will die!”

Ms. Mauvais motioned to her white-gloved henchmen. “Take the Japanese boy out of here—but leave the girl on the table.”

While Yo-Yoji was carried out, the unconscious Cass was laid out on her back on the marble table, as if she were about to be carved up and eaten for dinner.

Ms. Mauvais approached, and with her gloved hand pushed another square of chocolate between Cass’s lips.

“The Secret—what is the Secret?” Ms. Mauvais whispered. “We know you know it…”

As she spoke, Ms. Mauvais’s breath fell on Cass like a morning frost. Cass’s face grew paler and paler, and her ears turned a purple that bordered on blue.

*???*???*

Up in the air shaft, Max-Ernest frowned. Was it possible Cass knew the Secret and had never told him? How could she keep something like that to herself? Then again, she hadn’t told him about her mother being kidnapped. What other secrets might she hold?