Emma clasped her hands and shook them high in the air. Then she grabbed the dessert box and slung it onto her back. The two of them hurried back to Mr. Crackle’s, whistling cheerfully all the way.
When Emma and Albie returned to the cake shop, they found Mr. Crackle upstairs, busily clicking away at his rickety typewriter. He tapped a final letter, pulled the paper from the roller, and pocketed it. “All set! Let’s go downstairs and find ourselves a spice shop!”
Mr. Crackle led the way down to the enormous flour barrel. He lifted off the lid and beckoned. “Take a look,” he said.
Emma and Albie peered down. Tiny flickering lamps glowed against a sturdy metal ladder that led down a deep tunnel. The tunnel stretched farther than they could see.
Emma heard a soft click. She turned to see Mr. Crackle with his finger on a little switch attached to the kitchen wall. A whoosh of air came sliding up the barrel.
Mr. Crackle slung the dessert box onto his back. He adjusted the straps, then gave a quick wiggle so the box settled comfortably on his shoulders.
“Okay, you two,” he said. “Down we go! Don’t worry about falling—the tunnel has a rising jet of air that will buoy you up if you accidentally slip. I’ll go first. After one minute, Emma, you can hop in. Albie, wait a minute more, then follow.”
He hitched one leg, then the other, into the barrel.
Emma and Albie heard the clink, clink of his feet on the metal bars. After the second hand on the kitchen clock wheeled around, Emma climbed into the barrel.
Down she went. She could feel the upwind cushioning her feet with every step, but she didn’t quite trust it to hold her.
The air grew cool, then cold, but the small, cheery lamps lit the way. Emma put her hand out to touch the tunnel wall, which felt like smooth rock. There was nothing to hold on to but the ladder.
A voice floated up from below. “You’re doing wonderfully, Emma! Just a couple hundred steps more to go!”
Down.
Down.
Down she went.
The farther down Emma went, the more the plume of air tugged at her. She had to tighten her grip on the ladder’s rungs to keep from being pulled upward.
Just when her hands started to go numb from clutching the cold metal, her right foot met solid dirt. Shakily, she stepped off the ladder with her other foot.
She glanced behind her.
At her feet, a giant circular grate covered an enormous fan silently spinning at a terrific speed. Emma realized that the fan was what created the updraft in the tunnel.
“Well done!” Mr. Crackle grinned at her, a few feet from the outer ridge of the grate. “Now edge sideways until you’re out of the way of the air current.”
Emma noticed that the metal rungs of the ladder had shifted sideways, only a few feet above the dirt floor. Carefully gripping the rungs, Emma edged away from the grate, until she was standing next to Mr. Crackle.
“Whew! That was a bit tricky!” Albie popped up next to the two of them and wiped his brow.
Mr. Crackle tugged at a switch on the tunnel wall. With a jerk, the enormous fan came to a halt and the blast of air died down.
Emma let go of the breath she had been holding. She took a look around her.
Hundreds of tiny lamps lit up a circular underground tunnel. On the tunnel’s outer edge, identical ladders descended to the floor, stretching fifty feet apart and disappearing into the curve of the tunnel.
Massive oaken doors with wrought-iron handles ringed the tunnel’s inner edge. Perched above each handle was a small pipe that led to a glass chamber filled with loops of metal wire that curled out in all directions. Mr. Crackle led Emma and Albie to a door a few feet from where they had descended. He stopped and fiddled in his pocket, frowning as he concentrated.
Albie gaped at the door. “That’s fancy!” He whistled. “These aren’t the kinds of doors I’ve ever knocked on before! What’s that funny glass box full of metal stuff for?”
“It’s a breath-recognition system—aha, here it is!” said Mr. Crackle. He withdrew a green velvet bag from his pocket and tipped it over. A silver key fell into his palm. “Each Supreme-Extreme Master gets a ladder and a specialized door to enter the spice shop.”
“Why doesn’t the spice shop have just one door?” Emma asked.
“Security—each door is locked and can only be opened by a Supreme-Extreme Master. To open my door, I turn the lock with this key, then breathe into the pipe. Things click, and the door opens. It’s a piece of engineering I don’t understand, but it works beautifully. By the way, make sure you don’t touch the door. The engineers told me strange things will happen to anyone other than me who does.”
“What happens?” Emma asked.
“I don’t have a smack of a clue, but I don’t want you to be the one who finds out.”
Emma and Albie stood back as Mr. Crackle slipped the key into the lock and turned it twice. He blew into the glass tube, misting the inside. There was a whirring of bolts and locks, and he pulled the door open.
They stepped through.
Emma’s nose quivered as she inhaled sharp, strange, witchy aromas. She looked around and drew a small, quiet breath.
She was surrounded by thousands and thousands of spices. Packed in glass jars on shelves that reached far up beyond her sight, they filled the shop with dusty browns, brilliant oranges, deep blues, cool greens, rich reds, and brilliant golds. Emma had never seen more colors in her life. She saw powders and liquids and jellies and shriveled dried twisted things with sockets that might have once held eyeballs. The ingredients jostled and jumbled her senses, until she couldn’t tell if she was breathing in color or tasting smells.
Emma felt she had just begun to touch the tip of a vast and ancient world. A curl of excitement grew in her stomach as she ran her fingers over the jars, reading and looking and sniffing.
“What do you think?” whispered Mr. Crackle.
“It’s marvelous,” Emma whispered back.
“ Magical,” whispered Albie.
“What’s all this whispering about?” whispered a fourth voice.
With a start, Emma, Albie, and Mr. Crackle jolted around. The dessert box, still strapped to Mr. Crackle’s back, swung into a jar filled with pale yellow grains. The jar plunged to the ground.
Two inches from the floor, a hand shot underneath the jar and brought it firmly upward, back to the shelf.
“Gregor Crackle, mind that thing on your back,” scolded a tiny woman with tortoiseshell glasses and dark red hair. She slid the jar back into place, then turned to her visitors. “You are an exceptionally careful man, and I would expect no less of you while in my shop. I do apologize for startling you. Now, please introduce me to your friends and let me know how I can help.”
“Hello, Mabel. You’re just as to the point as I remember.” Mr. Crackle gingerly unstrapped the dessert box and set it on the floor. “Mabel, meet Emma and Albie. Albie’s my official cutter control person—he keeps the snooty people in line. Emma’s a lovely young lady whose unlovely uncle is forcing me to make the Elixir of Delight. Emma and Albie, meet Mabel, a dear friend who won the Supreme-Extreme Master of the Kitchen Contest a year before I did. She remembers recipes frighteningly well.”
Mabel looked sternly at Mr. Crackle. “Gregor, stop trying to flatter me. I was born with a photographic memory, that’s all.” Her eyebrows arched. “How the devil did you get your fingers on the Elixir of Delight recipe? If I remember my cooking history lessons correctly, it was buried in the catacombs under Tuptiddy City in AD 18 and no one has seen it since.”
“I received the recipe from a very unpleasant man who poisoned me and won’t give me the antidote until I make him the elixir.”
“You seem remarkably unflustered about being poisoned, Gregor.” Mabel lifted her eyebrows. “What exactly were you poisoned with?”
“Joobajooba extract.”
“Joobajooba extract?” Mabel frowned. “Is it compounded with anything?”
“Powdered wolf fangs and nightshade.”
“Hmm. How ironic.”
“How so?” asked Mr. Crackle.
“The unpleasant man who poisoned you does not have the antidote.”
“What?!”
“The antidote requires the Elixir of Delight.”
“What?!”
“By itself, joobajooba extract is combatable by a simple mixture of sugar and pickled cabbage juice, but if you add wolf fangs and nightshade, you also need ten drops of the Elixir of Delight to properly get rid of the poison.”
“WHAT?!”
Mabel sighed. “Gregor, you sound like a squawking duck.”
“Sorry, but where—How do you know this?”
“I read books. The antidote is in the 1567 edition of Lugo Looby’s Obscure Poisons and Their Antidotes. I wouldn’t worry, though. You are a smart and capable baker and should have no trouble making the elixir. Now, let’s see your shopping list.”
Mr. Crackle’s hands shook as he gave Mabel the list. She lifted up her glasses and studied it.
Emma went up to Mr. Crackle. He looked down at her.
Emma took his hands and gave them a squeeze. She said softly, “Don’t worry, Mr. Crackle. You’re the best baker in the world. If anyone can make this elixir, it’s you.”
Albie chimed in, “Mr. Crackle, you’ll be drinking that elixir and getting back your senses faster than a bee on honey. After all, you’re a Supreme-Extreme Master!”
Mr. Crackle smiled. “Thank you,” he said. He returned Emma’s squeeze and straightened his long back. “I do believe I’ve got the best assistants any winner of the Supreme-Extreme Master of the Kitchen Contest could choose.”
Emma smiled. Suddenly something in her head jiggled. “Mr. Crackle?”
“Yes, Emma?”
“Do you know someone named Maddie Tinkleberry?”
Mr. Crackle’s eyes lit up. “Last year’s Supreme-Extreme winner? Of course I do! Maddie is a very talented young woman. She and I once worked on a chocolate soufflé for the Queen of Bavaria’s eightieth birthday. At the last moment, she decided to add tickleberry rose extract to the batter. The soufflé came out quite perfect.”
“Do you know where she is?”
Mr. Crackle wrinkled his eyebrows. “The last time I saw her, she was about to leave for France to search for a rare ingredient—a mysterious kind of berry, I believe. She was in a great hurry.”
Emma swallowed hard. “Mr. Beedy said she made the Elixir of Delight for him and then she disappeared. For months he tried to hunt her down to make sure she wouldn’t tell about the elixir, but he never found her.”
Mabel clucked. “I should have known that Maddie would get herself into a cooking adventure.”
Mr. Crackle frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Maddie Tinkleberry does not like cheaters when it comes to food.” Mabel drew a finger down Mr. Crackle’s list as she scanned the ingredients. “When she created the Elixir of Delight, she must have realized that any mediocre cook with a dose of it would be unstoppable.” Her finger slowly made its way toward the bottom of the list. “My bet is that she’s looking for starberries in France. They have the most curious ability to reveal the true talent of a cook. Starberries turn anything that is not superb into a bland mush, but for a truly delicious creation, they enhance the flavors to an astonishing degree.”
She pushed her glasses firmly up her nose. “I’ve finished reading your list. It will only take me a few moments to gather these ingredients. In the meantime, why don’t you sit down a spell and take a breather—it’ll do you good before you attempt the recipe.” She turned to Emma and Albie. “You two should feel free to take a look around. But make sure you don’t taste anything. Some ingredients here are delightful in pies but deadly on their own.”
Mabel pushed a comfy chair next to the spice shop’s front counter and gave Mr. Crackle an aspirin. “Sit,” she commanded.
Mr. Crackle sat.
As Mabel bustled off to find the elixir ingredients, she called to Emma and Albie, “Feel free to look around, but remember—if you try anything, you will most likely regret it.”
Emma and Albie wandered into an aisle. There was so much to look at. Emma took a jar of green crystals off the shelf. She saw a label on the cover: MOON SUGAR. “So this is what Mr. Crackle puts in his truffles!” she exclaimed.
“Ooooh, look at this one!” Albie said, tapping a bottle filled with golden syrup. “It’s called African billooflower honey. I bet it’d be tasty on crackers!”
Emma reached for a jar labeled KOOLAKOOLA TREE BARK. She sat down and twisted off the lid, then reached in to feel the thick, dark chunks of bark. The rough, rich-smelling squares crumbled in her hand.
She wanted badly to take a tiny taste, but she remembered how dangerous ingredients could be. With a sigh, she screwed the lid back on the jar.
As she stood up, she heard a quick, strange sound.
Thump.
Silence.
Thump.
Silence.
Albie cocked his ear. “Something’s moving about.”
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP.
Emma and Albie jumped. They followed the thumps to the middle of the aisle. All of a sudden, the shelves ended, leaving a deep, wide space.
Inside the space was an enormous glass jar.
Inside the jar, giant, pink, warty blobs dashed against the glass at terrific speeds. Emma watched as they hit the jar and flattened like pancakes before pulling themselves into blobs again and zinging to the other side.
“Aha! There you are.” Mabel strode down the aisle. “I’ve got all your ingredients but the biddle hegs—oh, you’ve found them!” She popped open the enormous jar and whistled a strange, high note three times.
Three of the pink blobs zoomed out of the jar and landed with a thump thump thump in her hand. Mabel neatly tipped them into a box and sealed it. “And that should do it!” She checked a tiny silver watch that dangled from her slim wrist. “Now, I know Gregor will be eager to get to work on the elixir, but I think we have a few moments for you two to see the best part of this place.” She beckoned to Emma and Albie. “Come this way.”
They followed her to a corner of the shop, where a thick black curtain hung over a doorway.
“Step through, please,” said Mabel.
Through they went.
They were in a pitch-black room. The sights and sounds and smells of the spice shop entirely disappeared. “Close your eyes for ten seconds to let them adjust, then open them,” Mabel said.
Emma shut her eyes, counted, and then slowly opened them. And for the second time that day, she took a small, quiet breath.
She was surrounded by glowing, swirling flecks of colored light. They pooled and eddied softly inside glass bottles, bumping one another with the gentleness of floating bubbles. They looked weightless and very, very fragile.
“They’re lovely,” Albie sighed.
“What are they?” whispered Emma.
“Dust from the aurora borealis. They can only be gathered at midnight at the winter solstice.”
“What do they do?”
“They make anything taste as light as air.”
Emma watched the gleaming speckles shimmer and dance. She wondered whether she would see anything more beautiful in her life.
“Makes you glad to be alive,” Mabel said softly.
They stood silently, until they heard Mabel say gently, “Time to go.”
Tugging their eyes away, Emma and Albie headed back to the lights and smells of the spice shop.
When they returned to the spice-shop counter, Emma, Albie, and Mabel found Mr. Crackle looking slightly better. As Mabel packaged their ingredients into neatly labeled jars and plastic packets, Mr. Crackle brought over the dessert box. Once the jars and packets had been labeled, he slid them inside.
“Make sure you separate the biddle hegs from the wibbly cobbyseed,” cautioned Mabel.
“What will happen if we don�
��t?” asked Emma.
“If they touch each other, they form a vapor that turns your head into a pumpkin. It’s painful.”
“Oh,” said Emma.
“Don’t worry, in all the years I’ve known him, Gregor has made only two cooking mistakes,” said Mabel.
Mr. Crackle, who had just finished putting the last ingredient in the box, suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Now, Mabel, there’s no need to talk about the past.”
Mabel’s lips twitched, just slightly. “Suit yourself.”
“What did you do, Mr. Crackle?” Albie asked. “Did you ever give anyone a case of the runs?”
Mr. Crackle sighed. “It was a little more dramatic. I once overestimated the amount of aurora borealis dust I was supposed to put in a chocolate soufflé.”
Albie’s eyes widened. “Is that the same dust we just saw?”
Mabel nodded. “It is a beautiful but dangerously potent ingredient.”
“What happens when you eat too much?” Emma asked.
Mr. Crackle dropped his head. “The fellow who ate the soufflé shrank to the size of a gingerbread man and floated out of the shop. I had to chase him down with a butterfly net and feed him rock candy to put him right.”
“And what was your second mistake?” Mabel’s lips twitched into a full-on smile.
Mr. Crackle looked pained. “Last year I turned all the Supreme-Extreme Masters into fudge Popsicles. I miscalculated how much babbleberry juice to put in the punch for an annual cooking convention.”
“And how long did it take you to turn those Popsicles back into people?” asked Mabel. Her voice was very, very sweet.
“Three days.” Mr. Crackle paused. “I had to share some very secret recipes to calm a few tempers.”
Mabel laughed. “Every person, no matter how talented, makes mistakes. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Good luck, Gregor. Remember: You can get rid of the poison inside you with a cup of sugar, a cup of pickled cabbage, and ten drops of the Elixir of Delight. I know you hate pickled cabbage, but under the circumstances, I would make an exception.”
The Magic Cake Shop Page 7
