Abducted

by Tikiri

  “It’s actually a national food, like maple syrup and beaver tails. It’s really popular in the middle of the country and not that difficult to make, either.” I remembered the time I’d found a recipe in a local newspaper and made a batch, to the delight of Mrs. Rao’s guests. Food. Now that was a topic I knew something about.

  “Wow. Sounds like a dream place,” Tetyana said. “Do you think I can talk to this Dragon diplomat about going there with my brother?”

  “We can ask her,” I said. “I’m sure she can at least tell you how to go about it.”

  I had no idea how these things worked. I myself had got in illegally—smuggled in by a lying Franky to work as a slave for Mrs. Rao. This was partly why I was always checking over my shoulder. I had no idea how many laws I’d broken without even knowing. How many years would they put me away, if they knew everything I’d gone through?

  I looked over at Tetyana. She was lying back now, eyes closed, her face so soft and relaxed that I hardly recognized her. I switched the bedside light off and sank my head into the pillow.

  After an hour on the freeway, Luc turned the van into a narrow road that curved through a thicket of woods. We drove for about five minutes until we hit a dead end. I looked at my map. We’d arrived at our destination.

  Luc switched off the engine and we peered through the windows. I felt like I was in the middle of a Brothers Grimm fairy tale. In front of us loomed the stone castle, even more awe-inspiring in real life. From where we were, we could see the castle doors, large enough to allow a horse and a rider through. An ancient tower with a spiked black roof rose imposingly from the center. The turrets on either side looked like the perfect place for guardsmen to sit, waiting to lob arrows at intruders. Surrounding the grounds was a fortress of green trees.

  Barring the road in front of us was an immense iron gate. Beyond this black gate lay a cobblestone driveway lined with old-fashioned lampposts, leading to the castle about five hundred meters ahead. This place was shrouded in magic—of the dark kind. I could feel it in my bones.

  “Is this the castle?” Katy whispered.

  “Perfect place for werewolves to hide,” Luc said, pointing to the woods in the back. “Are you sure we want to go in there?”

  “Who knows, we might even meet Count Dracula,” Tetyana said, with a pretend smile.

  “What do we do now?” Win whispered, her face a little pale.

  I frowned at my map. Yes, what do we do now?

  I knew everyone was depending on me for this part. Did I really think we could brazenly walk up to a castle? Let alone up to an important guest at a semi-royal party? Even if I do, what am I going to say? “Sorry I skipped out on your charity ball. Can you please help me get back to India, and while you’re at it, help my friends escape an evil gang, the one that’s in the news right now?”

  In retrospect, and in broad daylight, my plan sounded positively moronic.

  “Toot!”

  We all jumped.

  A delivery truck had just arrived behind us and was honking. Luc started the van, backed us out of the driveway, and parked on the side, with the engine idling. The truck moved closer to the gate and tooted impatiently again. It took a few long honks from the truck driver for anything to happen. We watched in silence as unseen hands worked on the gate and it glided open. The truck waited for it to open all the way before rumbling in. I watched it drive in with growing apprehension.

  “Luc!” I shouted, “Now!”

  Luc swerved sharply behind the truck, and we all swung against the door. I sighed in relief as we got through and the gates began to glide shut behind us.

  “Follow the truck,” I said.

  The truck rattled along the driveway, crossing in front of the castle and its palatial doors. Parked in a cul-de-sac in front were two limousines and a luxury black Mercedes SUV. We passed these and turned into the back of the building. Here, two trucks just like the one we were following were parked, and a handful of men were scurrying around, unloading packages. The truck we’d followed pulled into the end of the line and stopped. Luc pulled in right next to it, and we waited.

  We were at the back door of the castle. The doors here were not as beautiful as the ones up front, but they were as imposing. They’d been thrown open now, and the delivery men were bustling in and out.

  Two young men got out of the truck we’d just followed and began to unload sacks of potatoes. They didn’t seem to think it odd that a white cargo van filled with people had followed them. They went about their work quickly, only occasionally calling out to each other about something or the other.

  A girl, no more than twelve years old, was playing hopscotch by herself near the doors. If I had to imagine what Alice in Wonderland might have looked like, it would have been her. With her sky-blue dress and petticoat, flat blue shoes, and a white band on her shoulder-length hair, she made the perfect Alice. It was midsummer so school must be out. She looked bored, I thought.

  One of the other trucks started its engine and drove out. I had to think fast. Very soon, once their work was done, all the trucks would leave and we’d be left outside, conspicuous, for anyone to see.

  I was searching my brain for the best approach, when a young blonde woman with a phone in her hand marched out. She was wearing smart dress pants and a crisp white shirt and had her hair tied back in a ponytail. She walked over to the two men in the truck beside us and handed them an envelope. One of them took it with a slight bow. She nodded.

  She was just about to return to the castle, when she noticed us. She frowned.

  Oh no.

  “She saw us!” Katy whispered breathlessly.

  The woman started to walk toward us.

  “Act natural, everyone,” Tetyana said in a low voice.

  The woman stepped closer and looked at us with her hand on her forehead.

  I quickly pulled down the window and leaned out.

  “Hi!” I said, giving her a brilliant smile.

  Chapter Forty

  “How ya doin’?” I said, in my best American drawl.

  “Vous êtes Americains?”

  “Yes.” For once, I was glad for the mistake. “Yes, American.”

  “Are you lost?” she asked in perfect English.

  “No, we’re here to cater to the party this weekend.” I felt my face go warm and hoped she didn’t notice.

  “Oh?” She looked baffled. Her eyes scanned our van and her face said, You came in that?

  “We’re the dessert caterer,” I said. I was still smiling, but inside, I felt my stomach roll.

  “Monsieur Wilmar is already taking care of that portion.”

  “We were invited privately by Ambassador Bouchard’s wife to cater for her afternoon tea.”

  “Madame Bouchard?” She stood straighter. “I didn’t realize.” She looked down at her phone.

  “I thought the embassy made all the preparations in advance,” I said. “Did they not inform you?”

  She swiped through her phone, frowning, then looked up and shook her head. “No, I do not see anything, I’m afraid. What is the name of your company, please?”

  “The Red-Heeled Rebels,” I said, trying not to stumble over the words.

  “Red-Heeled—?” her frown deepened.

  “Incorporated,” I added, quickly.

  She looked down at her phone, muttering to herself. She looked back at me after a few tries, her brows knitted, and said, “I don’t see it in my schedule.”

  “You’ll find it on your catering list. It’s on your website.”

  She went back to her phone, and gave a start as she saw it. I watched, my heart in my mouth. This was it. She was either going to let us in or call the police.

  “They did not inform me of this.” She sounded annoyed. “But isn’t Madame Bouchard from the Canadian Embassy?”

  My heart skipped a beat. “Yes, she is.”

  “And you’re American?”

  I gulped. She’s sharp. “We work very closely,” I said w
ith a smile, but she didn’t smile back. “It’s a new arrangement to cut costs. We help each other where needed, like in Luxembourg, Monaco, Liechtenstein—.” I tried to recall the smallest European countries, but my memory suddenly dried up. Then, I remembered the letter I carried with me. I took out my mini recipe book and pulled out the thank you note from the Diplomatic Dragon Lady, printed on the Foreign Department’s official letterhead. I handed it to her.

  “Here’s my reference,” I said. “I cater to all her parties in Toronto.”

  She scrutinized the paper.

  “You can ask Madame Bouchard about me,” I said.

  She looked at me with a frown. “One does not just walk up to a guest with questions like that,” she said, astounded I’d even propose such a thing.

  “She’s nice. Doesn’t bite.”

  She didn’t smile. “I presume you are Mademoiselle Asha?”

  “Yes, that would be me.” Please don’t ask me for my passport.

  “Thank you,” she said, handing the letter back to me. “Well then, please come inside. I’ll introduce you to Monsieur Wilmar.”

  “Thank you,” I said, and pulled my head back in the van.

  “Merci,” Luc whispered from the driver’s seat.

  I popped my head out again. “Merci, madame!”

  The woman gave a slight nod of her head in acknowledgment and almost smiled. She turned around and strode crisply back toward the castle doors.

  I took a deep breath in. My palms had gone sweaty. I wiped them on my skirt.

  “Okay everyone, let’s go inside and see if we can find the Diplomatic Drago….I mean Madame Bouchard.” Better not make that mistake, I thought.

  “Wait,” Luc said. “Are we all supposed to be American?” He pointed at his chest. “My accent doesn’t lie.”

  “Me, too.” Win looked worried. “Maybe I’ll stay in the van with Luc.”

  “No,” Tetyana said firmly. “We’re going to stick together, no matter what.”

  “Just don’t say anything and you’ll be fine,” Katy said to Win.

  “Katy and Asha,” Tetyana said. “You take the reins here, okay?”

  I nodded. “I’ll be head chef. Katy’s my deputy chef, and the rest of you are helpers.”

  “Great,” Luc said, with a smirk. “We’re cheap labor now.”

  “Sous chefs,” I said.

  “Best not to talk at all, you and me,” Tetyana said to Luc. “The girls can handle this.”

  “I have a funny feeling this is not going to end well,” Luc said.

  Ignoring him, Tetyana turned to me. “Some ground rules before we go in.”

  “Sure.”

  “First, everyone carry their passports at all times so if we have to leave, we make it out fast.”

  “Will do,” I said.

  “Yes,” Win said.

  “I do that anyway,” Katy said.

  Luc nodded.

  Tetyana looked at Katy. “Second, be sure that money packet is safe at all times.”

  Katy nodded, patting her breast pocket. “I watch it like a hawk.”

  “Good.”

  “Third,” Tetyana said, opening her jacket to show us a black gun tucked into her belt. Then, she pulled up her right pant leg to show the second gun tucked into her brand-new boots. “If anyone needs help, I’ll be happy to use these. But you have to stay close to me and listen to my instructions, because that’s the only way I can guarantee your safety. Got it?”

  We all nodded. The security briefing over now, it was time to enter the castle.

  “Okay then,” I said, opening the door and taking a deep breath to steady myself. “Shall we proceed, my merry band of American bakers?”

  We climbed out of the van, smoothed our crumpled shirts and pants, and straightened each other’s collars, while the girl who looked like Alice in Wonderland stopped her game and stared at us with her mouth open.

  Once we felt like everyone looked reasonably professional, we crossed the parking lot toward the castle doors. Katy and I walked up front, Luc and Win were in the middle, and Tetyana took the rear. Behind her, I caught a glimpse of the little girl following us. We walked through the massive doorway and into a medieval corridor, lit with soft lighting. I smelled the warm comfort of the castle’s kitchen before I saw it.

  At the end of the corridor was an entranceway and in front of this stood a rotund, middle-aged man with a red nose and a mammoth mustache. On his head, he wore a starch white chef hat, and on his face, an austere look. The blonde woman was standing next to him. The man looked us over like we were something the cat had dragged in, and gave the woman a look as if to say, Really?

  The woman spoke first. She stretched her arm toward the man and said, “Monsieur Wilmar, executive chef of the castle.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Wilmar,” I said, with a wide smile. “Hi, I’m Asha.”

  Without a change in his face, Monsieur Wilmar extended a bear size paw toward me. I gave him my hand and immediately regretted it. “Ow!” I said, before I could stop myself, and pulled back my throbbing hand. I noticed a slight flicker in his eyes, like he was pleased at my reaction.

  “I am Chloe Schmidt, the head administrator here.” The woman gave me her hand. I extended mine gingerly this time, hoping she wasn’t a crusher too. “You may call me Chloe,” she said, “American style.” A trace of a smile appeared on her face for just a moment.

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Chloe,” I said, subdued now by Monsieur Wilmar’s presence.

  I introduced the team one by one, trying to remember titles from what I’d read in Chef Pierre’s magazines. Mademoiselle Katy, chef patissier et sous chef. Mademoiselle Tetyana, chef de partie. Mademoiselle Win, commis chef. Monsieur Luc, sommelier.

  Neither Chloe nor Monsieur Wilmar blinked. Everyone shook everyone else’s hands with the most formal looks on their faces, like we were about to embark on international diplomatic negotiations. Then, we followed Monsieur Wilmar into his kitchen.

  I gaped as we walked in. This was no ordinary kitchen. This was a massive hall, the size and height of a basketball court, with flat stone slabs for walls—a hall that must have been converted into a kitchen sometime in the fifteenth century.

  In one corner of the room stood a ten-foot-tall grandfather clock, and next to it, an immense stone fire pit burned bright. I could just imagine long-ago cooks sitting around this, plucking geese, stirring cauldrons and preparing feasts for kings. The gigantic fire roared, casting a warm glow throughout the hall. Piled next to the fireplace were the largest cast-iron pots I’d ever seen. I could fit whole into one of these, I thought with a shudder.

  Halfway up the room were rows of wooden counters piled with vegetables and uncooked meats, all waiting for attention from the cooks. Up above them, thick wooden beams were suspended from the ceiling, and legs of smoked ham, sausage, and meats of all kinds hung from them.

  On the wall across from us was the most modern feature of this kitchen: a large flat-screen TV that was projecting a series of culinary images. Photos of racks of lamb, whole roasted pig, beef steak, and veal scallops flashed by as we watched. But it was what hung next to the screen that made my mouth open. The head of a large boar, tusks still intact, stared out from its pedestal. On the other side of the screen hung the head of a large deer, its antlers rising a meter high.

  “Wow,” I said. “Impressive.”

  Monsieur Wilmar smiled a crooked but satisfied smile.

  “This is my, er, mon bureau—how do you say it—my office,” he said, his chin up in pride. “You do not have this in America, do you?”

  I shook my head, speechless. Not in Canada either. Nor in Tanzania or India, at least as far as I’d seen.

  Monsieur Wilmar walked ahead. We followed.

  Past the wooden counters lay a table that comfortably seated twelve. This table was occupied by a dozen staff, dressed in immaculate white kitchen uniforms, having lunch. Next to them, at a smaller table, was a tri
o of wrinkled men who looked as old as the castle itself. They were smoking pipes and playing cards. Tumblers full of a golden drink sat by their sides. No one smiled. Everyone had stopped talking when they saw us come in.

  “Madame Bouchard’s private catering team,” Chloe said to the group as we walked up to them.

  “Hi, there,” Katy said.

  “Morning y’all,” I said, trying out my new American drawl.

  “Bonjour,” someone replied.

  “Gudden Nometteg,” said another.

  From the corner of my eyes, I noticed Luc and Tetyana give two polite bows. I saw Chloe lean to the table of the old men and whisper, “Les Americains.”

  “Aah,” I heard the men say, nodding their heads.

  Monsieur Wilmar turned to us, his hand on his belly. “You have your own equipment then?”

  “No, sorry.” I shifted my feet. “It was, er, rather difficult to bring everything over. We don’t need much space though, just, um, a small station to make cakes.”

  He stood silently, rubbing his belly, his face a mixture of disdain and unhappiness.

  “What about the kitchenette, Monsieur Wilmar?” Chloe said, pointing toward the far wall. “You hardly use it. We can offer it to them, can we not?”

  With a dour look on his face, Monsieur Wilmar marched toward where she was pointing. He yanked a knob and opened the door. We trooped in after him, while Chloe stayed back in the main kitchen with the others.

  I blinked. We’d crossed a magical threshold between the medieval castle and a futuristic starship. In front of us was an enclosed kitchenette, but what a kitchenette it was. Spotless, shiny, and ultra-modern. I gave my head a shake to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

  Around us, stainless steel kitchen appliances gleamed. The island countertop, made of white granite, shimmered under the bright fluorescent lights. On it was a basket full of fruit. Peaches, bananas, apples, pears, even a pineapple. Next to this was a sleek silver appliance. Was that a blender or a cake mixer? Or a teakettle from the future? A refrigerator, much smaller than the double-door ones in the kitchen outside, stood regally in one corner, looking like something you’d find on Star Trek.