“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, Señor 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 Señor 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 Señor 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 Señor 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.
“Señor 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.
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 Señor 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.