This Book Is Not Good For You (20 page)

At first glance, it could have been an explorer’s hut in the most remote of jungles. But of course it was only a guesthouse hidden in the rainforest—the faux rainforest—behind the Pavilion.

Inside, Itamar—or what was once Itamar—lay on his back in a four-poster bed. His ancient face was so parched and shrunken he looked like the disinterred mummy of an Egyptian pharaoh.

Dr. L hovered over him, taking the measure of his skull with some kind of handheld laser. He jotted notes on a pad.

Ms. Mauvais walked in. “Is he…?” She broke off, uncharacteristically hesitant.

“Yes, he’s dead,” said Dr. L dispassionately. “More dead, I should say. So much of him has been dead for centuries.”

An emotion similar to grief appeared briefly on Ms. Mauvais’s frozen face—a small crack in a field of ice. “If only he could have lasted another day! We are so close.”

Slowly, she moved to the bedside and looked down at Itamar.

“I did cry over that horse,” she whispered. “It’s just that I never let anyone see.”

Dr. L raised an eyebrow. “You? Cry? What are you talking about?”

Ms. Mauvais reeled around, snapping out of it. “Nothing! You misheard me, that is all.”

“Itamar made you what you are, didn’t he? Just as you made me,” Dr. L reflected. “I wonder what I will feel when you die…”

Ms. Mauvais’s cold eyes flashed. “I will never die.”

“Doctor? Madame?” The Bald Man—the grim van driver who had identified himself earlier as the Wild World Operations manager—entered the office. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but the girl and her mother, they’ve escaped.”

Ms. Mauvais glared. “Then why are you wasting your time here? Find them! I assume all the children are being rounded up?”

“Don’t worry, we’re on it. But there’s one more thing…” The Bald Man hesitated. He clearly didn’t like being the bearer of bad news.

“Yes, spit it out,” said Dr. L.

“The police. They’ve been asking questions at the Wild World offices. They seem to know a lot…”

“The police!” scoffed Ms. Mauvais. “What do we care about the police?”

“Well, you may not care, but I don’t want to end up in jail!” said the Bald Man, agitated.

“Why? What did you tell them?” asked Dr. L.

“I didn’t.”

“Good. Now let’s make sure it stays that way.” Dr. L pointed the laser at the other man’s head. “How lucky that you’re bald. I hate the smell of burning hair.”

Dr. L watched beads of sweat gather on the Bald Man’s forehead, then he lowered the laser.

“Forget the police. Find the girl.”

He reached down and pressed a small button on the wall next to the bed. An alarm started to sound.

It looked like the entire cacao plantation had been deserted. The monkeys had abandoned the trees. The slave children were nowhere to be seen. Even the golden pails were gone.

Cass and Simone ran into the warehouse. But it, too, was empty of life. The alarm echoed eerily.

“The Pavilion?” Cass asked.

Simone shook her head. “Kids are not allowed there. Unless…” She didn’t finish her sentence. It was not hard to imagine the orphans all being fed Hugo’s chocolate en masse. Or worse, turned into so many chocolate busts.

Chaos greeted them as they neared the once placid building.

They watched from the edge of the rainforest as five white-uniformed guards attempted to herd the gray-cloaked children—all still carrying their golden pails—in five different directions.

“Shouldn’t we take them back to the warehouse?”

“No! That’s where the police will look first!”

“Our orders are to hide them in the Pavilion.”

“Couldn’t they have at least left the buckets?!”

“Not a trace, said Dr. L!”

Finally, the guards managed to lead the children up the steps of the Pavilion. Still in their own slave tunics, Cass and Simone easily hid in the crush.

The quetzal circled above as they disappeared inside.

The crowd of children filled the central room, the loud din in complete contrast to the hush Cass and her friends had experienced when they first entered the building.

Cass surveyed her surroundings, weighing options. After a moment, her eyes alighted on one of the golden pails. She whispered something to Simone, who looked confused for a moment, then grinned in recognition.

“Pass it on—”

Simone nodded and whispered in the ear of the child closest to her. It was Alexander, the small boy whose ears the Skelton Sisters had nearly pulled off. His eyes widened, then he broke into a smile—a rusty smile that hadn’t lit up his face in years. (Cass was relieved to see his reaction; apparently, being cast in chocolate hadn’t done him any permanent hurt.)

“Pass it on—” said Simone.

He gladly whispered in the ear of the kid next to him. “Pass it on—”

Soon whispers filled the room.

“Pass it on—”

“Pass it on—”

“Pass it on—”

The guards looked around suspiciously:

“What’s going on here?”

“OK, line up against the wall, all of you, tallest to shortest!”

“No, shortest to tallest!”

“No, boys on the left, girls on the right!”

“Fine, just get them to settle down!”

As the guards debated amongst themselves, Alexander reached into his pail and dug out a fistful of monkey dung. With a look of intense concentration, he drew his hand back over his shoulder and flung it—splat!—into the forehead of an unsuspecting guard.

Before the other guards knew what was happening, a second boy threw a dung-ball at a second guard—splat! It landed on the second guard’s chest.

Meanwhile, Cass climbed onto the sundial in the center of the room and shouted, “OK, everybody ready? One… two… three… Now!”

All at once, all the kids in the room reached into their pails and, cheering, started throwing fistfuls at the guards. It was like a hailstorm of chocolate-colored snowballs.

The guards ducked, trying to defend themselves as their white tunics developed big, brown polka dots and their hair dripped with brown, oozing excrement.

“Ugh!”

“Disgusting!”

“No not my gloves!”

“Stop!”

“Let me out of here!”

“Now everybody—make a run for it!” Cass shouted.

Cheering, the kids tossed their pails in the air like college graduates tossing their hats. Then they threw their gray cloaks aside and poured out the front door.

“Simone, can you make sure they’re OK?” asked Cass, stepping back onto the floor.

Simone nodded and excitedly exited with the other kids.

A moment later, Cass was tiptoeing along the Pavilion’s curving outer hallway. The hallway seemed even longer than it had the first time she’d walked down it, and she kept expecting to be stopped at every turn.

She didn’t hear a sound until she reached the Test Kitchen door. Voices were coming from the other side.

She identified the speakers in her head as she listened:

“What do you mean the chocolate isn’t ready? We need it now!” (Ms. Mauvais)

“She’s right, Hugo. We’re out of time. Our cover is blown. We must burn the building down immediately.” (Dr. L)

“Burn it? What about the children you’ve just rounded up in there?” (Senor Hugo)

“What about them? They’re evidence. They must be destroyed.” (Ms. Mauvais)

There was silence. Then,

“Do whatever you have to do. But not my chocolate! I’ve spent years developing this chocolate—I won’t leave it. Not now.” (Senor Hugo)

“You have ten minutes. Then we burn. With you or without you.” (Ms. Mauvais)

A door swung open. Cass flattened herself against the wall, partly hidden by a potted palm. Dr. L and Ms. Mauvais strode past without so much as a glance in her direction.

Bracing herself, she walked into the Test Kitchen.

“Cassandra. Just who I was hoping to see.”

“Give it to me,” said Cass. She stood in the center of the room—by the stove—and held out her hand.

The Test Kitchen, she noticed, was all stainless steel and nearly identical to the kitchen Senor Hugo taught in. He must have had the room built specially.

The chef removed his dark glasses and stared at her with his one good eye. She tried her best to hold his gaze.

“Give you what?”

“You know what—the Tuning Fork.”

“Oh. I thought perhaps you meant the chocolate. I have made another piece for you. I think you will find it even stronger than the last. So strong it will tell you a secret. The Secret.”

“You told them it wasn’t ready. I heard you.”

“That’s because I knew they would try to kill me once they had the chocolate. Now take it. I must know if it works. If it does, I will become wealthy beyond measure.”

“I’m not really hungry right now. Thanks.”

“Take it.”

Cass hesitated, then took the chocolate from him.

“Eat.”

“Maybe later.” She reached around and dropped the chocolate into her backpack. Perhaps Pietro will want to have it analyzed, she thought.

“Where’s the Tuning Fork? I want it back. Now.”

Senor Hugo laughed. “What makes you think I would ever give it back to you?”

“You act like you’re this great chef, an artist—but you don’t really care about food or chocolate. All you care about is the Secret. You’re no better than Ms. Mauvais and Dr. L. You’re a hypocrite and a liar.”

“If I were you, I would think twice about crossing me.”

He gestured casually to the row of knives clinging to the long magnet behind him.

Cass shuddered, remembering his classroom knife demonstration. Unconsciously, she backed up against the opposite wall, crushing her backpack.

“I thought you said a real chef only needs one knife,” she said bravely. “That looks like a lot of knives.”

“Touche… but I was talking about a cooking knife. These are throwing knives.”

Without so much as a glance over his shoulder, he reached backward and pulled the first knife off the rack.

Whiz! Boing! In a fraction of a second, it flew through the air and landed in the wall next to Cass’s ear. She could hear a high-pitched hum as it vibrated back and forth.

“Just like a tuning fork, no?” the chef joked.

Whiz! Boing! A second knife flew through the air and landed next to her other ear.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I just realized I was cheating. I had my eye open. Let me try again… blind.”

Whiz! Boing! Whiz! Boing! Whiz! Boing!

His eye closed, the chef threw knife after knife, each landing closer to Cass than the last, until she was surrounded on all sides by knives—

Hugo opened his eye and grinned. “We should do a carnival act. You could be my assistant.” He looked the jeans-and-sweatshirt-wearing girl up and down. “Of course, you’d have to wear something a little more feminine. Perhaps sequins?”

Cass gritted her teeth. “Never.”

“Aiyeee!”

Yo-Yoji leapt into the room, sword-stick thrust forward.

On his head was a gleaming stock pot—his samurai helmet. In his free hand, was the lid to the pot—his samurai shield.

Max-Ernest followed, holding his Decoder aloft as if it too were a samurai weapon.

ENGAGE THE CHEF

YOU WANT ME TO MARRY THE CHEF?

Max-Ernest shook his head no and typed:

NO, FIGHT THE CHEF!

Yo-Yoji nodded, relieved. Then bowed to Hugo.

Never taking his eyes off his opponent, Yo-Yoji raised his sword-stick in the air.

BATTOJUTSU—MY SWORD IS DRAWN!

Hugo shook his head, incredulous. “What the heck are you doing?”

Yo-Yoji shrugged. A long ladle was resting on the counter next to Yo-Yoji. He picked it up and crossed it with his sword-stick, apparently thinking the ladle was another sword.

NITORYUU—THE TWO-SWORD METHOD!

As Max-Ernest translated, Yo-Yoji waited expectantly for Hugo to pick up his swords.

“That’s all right. I’ll just use one,” said Hugo, pulling the longest knife out of the wall behind Cass.

Yo-Yoji growled, his honor offended.

THEN I SHALL USE NONE!

Tossing his weapons aside, Yo-Yoji jumped into the air, and karate kicked the surprised Hugo in the stomach.

“Aarargh!” He staggered backward.

On the counter there was a large open can of what looked like melted chocolate. Cass grabbed the can and threw it at Hugo. Chocolate dripped down his face, covering his one good eye.

“There—now let’s see if you’re really so good at being blind!”

“How dare you!” exclaimed the outraged chef, stumbling around the room. He dropped his knife and held his eye with his hand.

Max-Ernest gasped in horror at the sight.

“Don’t worry—it’s not hot,” said Cass. “Just chocolate syrup.”

Max-Ernest nodded knowingly. “You know that’s what they used to use for blood in old black-and-white movies.” *

Cass gestured toward Yo-Yoji. “Tell him to hold Hugo for us.”

Grunting his assent, Yo-Yoji grabbed the struggling chef from behind. He picked up the soup ladle and held it to Hugo’s neck.

“Now, where’s the Tuning Fork?” asked Cass.

“And why would I tell you?” Hugo spat out.

“Because you have a sword pointed at your neck.” (She figured he wouldn’t know it was the ladle.)

“You wouldn’t dare—”

Yo-Yoji made a hissing sound, and suddenly the mamba emerged out of his collar. (It seems the snake had been hidden under his shirt all along.) Hissing in response, the snake traveled from Yo-Yoji’s shoulder to Senor Hugo’s.

The chef’s chocolate-covered eye blinked in fear.

Afraid to move a muscle, he stood stiff while the snake wrapped around his neck several times, then lazily licked chocolate syrup off his cheek.

“Now will you tell us?” asked Cass.

“It’s… right… here,” said Hugo through his teeth.

“Oh, there it is—” said Max-Ernest.

The end of the Fork’s handle was just visible, sticking out of the chef’s apron. He pulled it out.