This Book Is Not Good For You (17 page)

He stared down at her, wondering if his best friend had just become a stranger.

She was in a tent. An old canvas tent that had been mended one too many times. Moonlight shone through the rips in the fabric, and a cold wind blew in from some faraway place, freezing the tips of her ears.

An oil lamp sat on the earthen floor, its weak flame flickering in the wind. Next to the lamp, an old man lay on a bed of hay. He wore a fraying old cap from which hung tarnished silver bells.

He coughed. She leaned down and touched his cheek.

“Grandfather, you are cold. I must get you out of this… this carnival tent and take you somewhere where there is a proper bed and a fire.”

Grandfather? Why had she called him that? He wasn’t one of her grandfathers—he was much older.… Unless… was she in… the future…?

Whoever he was, he raised his head in anger. “Carnival tent? What you call a carnival, I call my castle. Though its walls be ripped, I would not be ripped from it! We fall together, the tent and I.”

His head fell back into the hay; he had exhausted himself.

“Let me at least remove this old hat and wrap you in something warm. I have a scarf…”

She started to lift his hat, revealing his pale, pointy ears, remarkably similar to Cass’s own (save for the long, gray hairs sticking out of them). He stopped her with a brush of the hand.

“But this is my jester’s cap, the crown of my jokingdom!” said the old man. “I would die without it. And I must die within it!”

“Very well,” she said wearily. “But please. No more talk of death, Grandfather. I will not listen.”

The Jester. The old man was the Jester… So then she was in the past…

Or dreaming of it anyway…

But then who was she…? The Jester’s granddaughter. That would make her what… her own grandmother? No. More like great-great-great-grandmother.

“Do not try to protect me, my love,” said the Jester. “Death is like an old dog. He always knows when you are at his door.”

“And no more of your riddles either! I cannot bear them now.”

“You think it best that I do not jest. Yet I cannot be grave. How then should I behave?”

“I think it best… that you rest. I do not want you to catch plague. It is all over this wretched country.”

“You and your disasters. Hurricanes. Earthquakes. Plagues. You cannot be prepared for everything, you know.”

“And what is the harm in trying?”

“Enough—I do not want to argue. You are what I treasure most, so it is to you I must give my treasure.”

She started to cry, shedding the tears she had been holding back. “But I do not want your gold. I want only for you to live.”

“Oh, there is no gold, I speak of something you cannot hold.”

“What is it?”

“Something that cannot be told.”

“Grandfather!” she groaned. “Tell me what it is. Or go to sleep.”

“I just told you. It is something that cannot be told.”

“It is a secret?”

He nodded, pleased. “Very good, my child. It is indeed a secret.”

Now they were outside. In a meadow. The sun shone bright in the sky, turning the tall grass gold.

Although it was midday, her skin felt cool, as if it were evening. A breeze ruffled her hair, but she did not feel it.

The Jester was still with her. But now his hat was plush and plum-purple, its silver bells bright and sparkling like diamonds. Curly hair sprung out from under the hat and bounced around his pink cheeks and mischievous grin.

Behind them was his tent, also looking shiny and new, its red and white stripes rippling, its gold flag waving.

“What secret, Grandfather?”

“Grandfather?” The Jester laughed. “But I have yet no children! Would you have me miss being a father altogether, and skip to the grand finale?”

He did a back flip in the grass, showing off his youth and vigor. The bells on his hat tinkled merrily.

“What secret, Jester?”

“The Secret. The secret of secrets…”

They were at Cass’s school now. On the schoolyard. She recognized the handball courts. And Mrs. Johnson’s School Clean-Up Campaign posters. But they were alone; the school must have been closed.

The Jester was an old man again, but not yet bedridden. He was standing with his arm over her shoulder, supporting himself. His tent, once more in tatters, stood lopsided beside them on the asphalt.

“The Secret of the Terces Society?”

“The Secret does not belong to the Terces Society.”

“You know what I mean,” she said impatiently. “Is that the secret you’re talking about?”

He shrugged. “Is that the secret you wish to know most in the world?”

“Yes. No. What I want to know most is… who are my parents…? No, forget that—where is my mother? That’s what I need to know now. Is she OK? Can you help me find her?”

“Ah, but I cannot help you with that. She is of your time. To find your mother, you must wake up.”

“Then can you at least tell me…” She didn’t know how to phrase it.

“You wish to know who you are?”

“Yes. Who am I?”

“Ah, that is the question, isn’t it? To learn the Secret you must first learn your Secret.”

Cass tossed and turned, thrashing around on the hard cold surface, between wake and sleep.

Who am I? Who am I? What had the Jester just said? It was right there in the back of her head but she couldn’t hold on to it.

“Drink, Cassandra! Drink!” said a rough and unfriendly voice. Senor Hugo. “This is the antidote. Without it, you may never regain consciousness.”

His gloved hand poured some kind of milky liquid down her throat. It was chalky-tasting and made her cough, but she managed to drink most of it.

“Allow me.” Still barely conscious, Cass felt a familiar chill coming from the other side of the table. Ms. Mauvais.

“I have a more old-fashioned remedy. But perhaps more effective… Cass, wake up!” Ms. Mauvais’s gloved hand slapped her in the face—it stung.

“The Secret. Tell it to me. Quickly—”

“I can’t remember…,” Cass moaned. The milky liquid dribbled down her chin.

“You must remember.”

Cass opened her eyes.

She had a piercing headache and her stomach was in revolt. But it was the sight of Ms. Mauvais leaning over her that caused Cass to regurgitate Senor Hugo’s antidote—right onto Ms. Mauvais’s pristine white glove.

“Disgusting!” exclaimed Ms. Mauvais. “You are as rude as the Jester.”

Cass gasped. “How do you know about the Jester?”

Ms. Mauvais was about to pull off her soiled glove, then seemed to think better of it. She put out her hand and one of her henchmen handed her a towel.

“Never mind how I know,” she said, wiping furiously. “You were with him just now, weren’t you? Don’t lie—I can see it in your eyes. What did he tell you—? He told you the Secret, didn’t he?”

“Where’s my mother? I want to see my mother.”

“Tell me the Secret and you will see your mother.”

“I don’t know the Secret!”

“Liar!”

Cass retched again in answer.

“Darling, please,” said Dr. L, resting his own gloved hand on her bony shoulder. “Give the girl a second.”

“Very well. I will wait until she collects herself.”

Ms. Mauvais motioned to the henchman to mop up the mess.

“You disappoint me, Cassandra—I thought you’d be harder to catch. Those little chocolates—like cheese in a mousetrap. To think you’d fall for something so simple!”

“The chocolate was… a trap?” Cass asked feebly.

“Naturally. You didn’t think you could step onto this plantation without our knowing, did you? Or did you think my monkey was just being friendly?”

“You mean, you sent him for us?” She was still feeling too sick to be very upset.

“The mochachins are very highly trained, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“So you saw us enter the rainforest?”

“The rainforest?” Ms. Mauvais laughed her icy laugh. “Yes, we saw you enter the rainforest. We saw you enter the park. We saw you get on the train. We’ve been watching from the beginning. Did you not remember that we know where you live?”

“So you… wanted us to come?”

“Who do you think left the We magazine on your grandfathers’ doorstep? You should know by now there are no coincidences—especially lucky ones. Although, I admit, your acquiring the Tuning Fork for us was an unexpected bonus. We would have found it eventually, but you certainly helped. Thank you.”

“You’re not welcome.”

“You, Cassandra—you’ve been a thorn in my side since I first laid eyes on you. But now you’re going to be the solution to all my problems. There’s a kind of poetic justice to it, don’t you think?”

“How am I the solution?”

“Because of who you are…”

“What do you know about me?”

“Only everything. What do you think I’ve been doing since our last precious moments together? Once I realized who you were I started learning all I could… Would you like to know who your parents are? Tell me the Secret, and you’ll find out.”

Cass hesitated, beginning to remember snippets of her conversation with the Jester. “I don’t care who they are,” she said, not quite honestly. “Just let my mother go.”

“Very well, as you wish. We’ll release that poor woman you call your mother—when you tell me the Secret.”

“I told you—I don’t know the Secret. I can’t even remember what he said… And even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you!” said Cass, finally feeling strong enough to sit up.

Was that true? she wondered. She wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was best that she didn’t know the Secret after all.

“I think I’ll put you in one of the old animal cages for a while,” said Ms. Mauvais. “Let’s see if sleeping on a cement floor helps you remember… Hugo, work on your recipe. The chocolate is not strong enough!”

She nodded to one of her acolytes, who then threw Cass roughly over his shoulder and followed Ms. Mauvais and Dr. L out of the room. Clenching his fist, Hugo exited as well.

After the Tasting Room had been empty for a few minutes, Max-Ernest, his T-shirt still covering his nose, pushed the grate out. Before he could grab it, the grate dropped out of the opening and fell noisily to the floor.

Max-Ernest froze, ready for the worst. But when nobody came he gingerly let himself out of the air shaft.

Standing alone in the room, he pulled his shirt off his nose and allowed himself to breathe freely again.

Now that he knew the Midnight Sun knew they were there, he wasn’t sure how useful a disguise the slave tunic would be. Nonetheless, he threw it back on. He found his golden pails where he’d stashed them under the table, but when he saw Cass’s backpack lying next to them he picked that up instead.

And then he proceeded to walk out of the Tasting Room.

Alone.

As dire as the situation seemed, luck was with him; he felt it. His allergy to chocolate had saved his life. Or nearly. He had plenty of other allergies. Perhaps they would protect him from any other dangers he would face.

What alarmed him most was the prospect that Cass might be keeping a secret as important as the Secret from him. But before confronting her, he would have to rescue her.

Now: how to get out of the building? Leaving the way they’d come in was out of the question. But there wasn’t an exit at the rear. Not that they’d seen anyway.

The Midnight Sun would never leave themselves without an emergency exit plan, Max-Ernest reasoned. That meant there must be some kind of escape hatch—probably in the floor somewhere.

Trying to hold on to the lucky feeling he’d had just a moment ago, he headed out of the room.

A mask of brown glop covered the entire left side of Yo-Yoji’s face. It looked like molten chocolate. Alas, it was not. He lay on the ground where he’d been tossed an hour earlier. In a big pool of mud.

Above and around him: the dark, green gloom of the rainforest.

He blinked one muddy eye, then jerked awake.

He was not alone.

Moving with surprising speed, he pushed himself up—and threw himself into a backward roll. As he came vertical, he kicked both feet high—doing the splits in the air—and landed in a crouch.

A samurai warrior ready for combat.

In a flash, he picked up a long stick off the ground and pointed it at the neck of a big, menacing… shrub.

With glazed eyes, Yo-Yoji uttered a string of Japanese epithets, then struck the bush so hard that he chopped off the top, leaving the leaves on the bottom shaking.

He then bowed his head and started murmuring in Japanese. A haiku, honoring the life of the mighty enemy he’d just slain. *

For those with a penchant for poetry, the haiku, in rough translation (my Japanese is only so-so) went like this:

OH BRAVE WARRIOR,

A TREE FALLS IN THE FOREST,

YOU LIVE IN MY SWORD.

Note: Chapter 30 continues on page 313. You may skip to that page if you like, but I suggest reading Chapter 31 first.