Alex and the Ironic Gentleman

by Adrienne Kress

  It was huge, with round tables topped with perfect place settings and miniature orange trees. It was also completely empty, aside from two men standing at the far end. Alex wandered into the brightly lit room to look out of the huge windows that revealed the well-tended front garden and gravel drive. As she approached the two men, she caught some of their conversation. One of them was dressed in a tuxedo and the other—well, the other was quite impressive. He stood over six feet tall and wore a tweed jacket with matching beige trousers and shiny brown shoes. Under the jacket he had on a crisp white shirt, and around his neck he wore an impressive purple bow tie. His hair was a golden color and curled at his forehead.

  “Where is my pen?” he was demanding of the frightened-looking maitre d’.

  “I’m sorry, I haven’t found it. When did you last see it?”

  “What sort of question is that? When I was using it, of course! This is completely unacceptable!”

  “I’m sorry! I’ll gather the staff together, and we’ll search the hotel.”

  “Don’t tell me what you are going to do. Do what you are going to do!” said the man loudly.

  “Of course, right away, sir,” and the maitre d’ practically ran out of the room. The man in the bow tie watched him go and shook his head sadly.

  “Come on, sweetums,” he then said and he headed in the direction toward Alex.

  Alex was trying to figure out who “sweetums” could be when she felt a sudden mad scrabbling at her back. Giggles was trying desperately to get into her knapsack. Alex slipped it off, and he scrambled inside, quietly hissing to himself.

  “Giggles, what is wrong with you?” she asked, but she soon understood.

  As the man approached, she noticed a small dog with a bow in its hair following close at his heels. It trotted along quite as if it owned the place, but it was so tiny that it was less than half the size of Giggles. “Why, Giggles, you old coward,” laughed Alex into the bag, but he wouldn’t look at her, so she closed up the bag and put it on her back again.

  She turned around and found herself face to face with the man. Or rather nose to navel. She looked up as he looked down at her.

  “You’re late,” he said.

  “Am I?” asked Alex.

  “Lord Poppinjay does not tolerate lateness.”

  “He doesn’t?”

  “And the Baron of East Westcliff has more important things to do than wait on personal assistants.”

  “I would imagine so.”

  “I am a very busy man, running such an illustrious hotel as this.”

  “Oh gosh, yes, I would expect that takes a lot of work,” agreed Alex quickly. She continued to stare blankly at the man, and then suddenly she understood. “You’re Lord Poppinjay!”

  “Of course I am!”

  “And also the Baron of East Westcliff ?”

  “Look, what is the matter with you? Of course that’s who I am. I just said that, didn’t I? Oh, enough of this. I need someone with excellent typing skills, good filing technique, and superb dogwalking abilities. I assume you have your CV with you?”

  Alex shook her head no. Now it was all making sense. Lord Poppinjay obviously had her confused with someone else. Someone who was meant to be applying as his personal assistant or something! Well, she just didn’t have the time now for such mistakes.

  “Lord Poppinjay, I’m sorry, there has been some mix-up. I just happened upon your hotel by accident. I am in a fight against time to rescue my sixth-grade teacher, and unless you can take me to Port Cullis, or at least show me the way, I’m afraid I will have to leave immediately.”

  “Oh, no, you can’t go to Port Cullis. That part of the forest is particularly dangerous to travel, especially on your own. No, no. You’d be best to stay and be my personal assistant. Now since you don’t have your CV with you, I suppose what we could do is give you a little test, then. I assume you are familiar with dictation?”

  “I am familiar with the concept, yes, but I really don’t have the time for a test. You see, I’m not . . .”

  “Well,” he interrupted, “I have come up with my own variation on the theme, which I think you will find very exciting. Here.” He handed Alex a pad of paper and a pen, and leaned against one of the dining tables. “Now the concept of dictation, as I know you are well aware, is for you to write down everything that I am saying, right?”

  “Of course.” Alex resigned herself to taking the test. It would probably be quicker to do so and then leave, as opposed to standing there arguing with him for who knew how long.

  “Well, one day I was sitting thinking of all the useful things that I could be doing when I had the brilliant epiphany—what the world needed was Mental Dictation!”

  “Mental Dictation?”

  “Yes! Think of those precious moments wasted translating thoughts into speech when you could simply have someone copy down your thoughts in the first place! I couldn’t believe no one had ever come up with this before! In fact, I called my friend, Evans Bore, the CEO of a very important company, and asked if anyone else had ever thought of such a thing. He said he had never heard of anything quite like it before and admitted that if anyone would come up with something like that, it would be me. He is a dear friend of mine, Evans Bore. Have you met him?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I have, because he is a great friend of mine. Since then, I have been running this hotel based on the premise of the staff being able to read my thoughts. So let’s test you out, then,” said Lord Poppinjay, and he placed the first two fingers of each hand on the side of each of his temples. “When I say ‘go,’ I want you to write down everything I am thinking . . . ready? And . . . go!” And he stood there, his fingers pressed to his temples and eyes shut tight, one could only assume, thinking hard. Alex just stared at him in disbelief for a good few seconds. The dog whimpered quietly.

  “There!” said Lord Poppinjay, opening his eyes suddenly. “Let’s have a look.”

  Alex handed over the blank pad tentatively.

  Lord Poppinjay gave it a once-over, nodding. “Good, good, excellent. You passed the test. I wasn’t thinking about anything!” Alex bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing.

  “You’re hired!” he said, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “Here, let me show you to my office.”

  “Lord Poppinjay, while I am terribly flattered that you would hire me, I think it is about time I was on my way,” said Alex as she was pushed back toward the foyer.

  “Nonsense, I thought we already went through this. Unless, of course, you don’t want to be my personal assistant!”

  “Actually, that’s exactly what I don’t want.”

  Lord Poppinjay laughed loudly and then suddenly stopped, looking at her through squinted eyes. “That was very funny, but you should know that from now on I make all the jokes. Got it?”

  “Yes,” said Alex meekly.

  “Good,” said Lord Poppinjay, smiling again. “Now the position is unpaid, but you do get free room and board—and the privilege of working for me, of course!” When he mentioned the free room and board, Alex looked up at him sharply. “Now, I think what we need is some tea to celebrate. How does that sound?”

  Alex had to admit to herself that she was quite hungry. Also, if she was going to get a free room, she might as well spend the night. The sun was already setting, and it would be nice to sleep in a proper bed after having slept on the hard ground the night before. It was also possible that someone here would be able to direct her toward Port Cullis, maybe even provide her with a map! So she decided to humor Lord Poppinjay for the time being, until the next day. And if this meant pretending to be his personal assistant, then, well, that would be what she would do.

  “I’d love some tea,” she said with a smile.

  “Great, go get us some!” Lord Poppinjay pointed through to the other side of the dining room toward what Alex imagined must be the kitchen.

  “Uh . . . okay . . .” And after a slight pause, she started in that direction. />
  “Oh, and make up a batch of scones, too!” Lord Poppinjay called out to her. “I’ll see you back up in my office!” And he sauntered off, humming a happy tune, his little dog scurrying along behind him.

  THE TWENTY-FOURTH CHAPTER

  In which Alex meets the MakeCold 6000.

  Alex made her way through the dining room and eventually found herself inside the kitchen. She was shocked at how big it was. I mean, it was really big. Really, really big. And everything was made of stainless steel. I’m not just talking about the appliances here, but the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the shelves, even the cookbooks. It was all Alex could do not to run into the edge of the counter as it was completely indistinguishable from the wall. The place was also entirely empty, and not a spot of food could be seen anywhere.

  How the devil was she going to make tea and scones in here? Forget that, how the devil was she going to make scones at all? She had never made a scone in her life, and this was for two reasons. One, she had never really learned to cook anything yet, and two, she hated scones, and why on earth, if she had learned how to cook anything yet, would she have learned to cook scones if she didn’t even like them?

  Alex thought that her best place to start would be by looking through the cupboards, but this proved problematic as the cupboards were arduously difficult to locate. She did open a freezer and an oven, however. So at least she knew where they were.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” replied Alex, looking up. She said it in all pleasantness, assuming she hadn’t noticed whoever was speaking to her before that moment, because of the sheer size of the kitchen. But when she looked toward where the voice was coming from, she found herself facing a wall.

  “Well, what seems to be the problem?” it asked helpfully.

  “Um . . . ,” said Alex.

  “Don’t be frightened,” it said. “Ask me anything.”

  “Are you a wall?” asked Alex, eyeing the wall up and down.

  “Oh, goodness me, no!” it laughed. “I can see why you are confused. But that would be very silly, wouldn’t it? A talking wall!” The voice continued to laugh merrily. When it finished it added, “I’m a fridge.”

  “Are you?” asked Alex astonished.

  “Yes. I am the MakeCold 6000. ‘The helpful friend in the kitchen.’ I am programmed with over eight thousand recipes, can tell you if the milk’s gone sour, and can water the plants while you’re away, providing they are within a twenty-foot radius.” A sudden squirt of water passed over Alex’s head and landed in a little puddle on the other side of the room.

  “Cool.”

  “Yes, I am. I can be programmed at five different temperature settings, from ‘Refreshing’ to ‘Unnecessary.’ I can also speak in twenty different languages and perform calculations up to and including the number 13,459,820,647,189,203, 926,970.24.”

  “Can you help me make tea and scones?”

  “Not only can I help you make tea and scones, but it would be my pleasure to do so!” And with that it popped open the door. Like everything else in the kitchen, the fridge was huge, which is why it could be so easily confused with a wall. So huge, in fact, that Alex could walk right into it. The fridge easily guided her around inside, lighting up the ingredients she needed, all the while giving useful tips like “If you leave the pit in the avocado after you’ve cut it, it won’t go brown!”

  Then, step by step, it instructed Alex on how to make scones.

  “Do I have to put raisins in?” she asked.

  “Raisins, though popular, are not necessary. What makes a good scone is timing, patience, and, of course, love,” it replied.

  “So I don’t have to put in the raisins then?”

  “No.”

  When Alex had finally finished mixing all the ingredients and laid out the little doughy globs on the baking tray, she popped them into the oven and stood back to admire her work.

  “Not bad,” she said.

  “For a first try,” agreed the fridge happily.

  Alex jumped up and seated herself on the counter.

  “So how long have you been working for this hotel?”

  “Ten years,” it said proudly.

  “Wow. So you must know a lot about the place. I mean, why is it in the middle of the forest and everything? They can’t get many guests here, surely?”

  “You are quite right. The On the Edge Hotel hasn’t seen a guest in five years. But that doesn’t stop Lord Poppinjay from keeping everything pristine, just in case. It used to be a Very Illustrious Hotel, and it was very popular, being just outside Port Cullis on the edge of the forest. And everyone agreed that Lord Poppinjay was the best hotelier in the business. Then he had an idea which affected the most fundamental operations of the hotel.”

  “Does it have something to do with Mental Dictation?”

  “Exactly. Lord Poppinjay decided for efficiency’s sake to run the hotel by thought. It was a disastrous decision. No one could read his mind and they had to guess what he wanted. And when the forest started to encroach on the hotel, the staff would get yelled at if they raised the issue with Lord Poppinjay, so they did nothing. Slowly, the forest eventually encircled the hotel. Lord Poppinjay refuses to believe anything is wrong, and the staff are too frightened to say anything.”

  “Like ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes,’ ” said Alex.

  “Like who?”

  “There is a story about an Emperor who gets these special clothes made that supposedly are seen only by very special people. So everyone claims they can see them, even though in reality there is nothing there. It’s only when a little kid points out that the Emperor is actually naked that he realizes the truth.”

  “Good story,” replied the fridge. “I guess it is something like that, then.” Alex watched the scones start to rise in the oven. “You know, you’re a kid,” it realized slowly.

  “It’s true,” replied Alex.

  “Maybe you could say something to Lord Poppinjay.”

  Alex laughed. “What could I do? If the staff he’s had for years can’t convince him, how could I?”

  “I don’t know. It was just an idea,” said the fridge sadly.

  Alex hopped off the counter and opened the oven. The scones were steaming hot and actually smelled really good for scones. She took them out of the oven to cool.

  “Look, I’ll see what I can do.” Alex hated to disappoint an appliance, especially one that had been so helpful.

  “Thank you so much,” it said happily. “I know I am only a fridge, but I have been here long enough to become quite fond of the place. It would be nice if there were people to cook for.”

  “I suppose it would be,” replied Alex. She started to arrange the tea on a tray, and then put the scones, still hot, on a plate. “I guess I’d better get these back to him,” she said. “Thanks for all the help.”

  “It was my pleasure!”

  Alex found her way to Lord Poppinjay’s office, made him a cup of tea, and poured out some milk into a bowl for his dog. She then sat back in the seat opposite his large oak desk and thought hard about how she was to help the fridge.

  Lord Poppinjay seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself. “I love these scones!” he was saying. “You are the first person to have correctly read in my mind how much I despise raisins.”

  “Thank you,” said Alex, taking a bite of one herself, admiring her handiwork.

  “In fact, you are the best mind reader I have on my staff. I think you will go far,” he added.

  “Yes, I already knew you would say that,” said Alex, who didn’t, but had found that every time his lordship used the word “think” and she admitted to prior knowledge of the fact, he was very impressed.

  “Of course you did! Of course you did!”

  Alex finished her scone, brushed her hands together, and reached for another. But just then she had a brain wave and sat up straight again. It was as clear as daylight. She knew exactly how she could help Lord Poppinjay and the
fridge, while at the same time helping herself. All of a sudden her goal of reaching Port Cullis was just within her grasp! Alex calmed herself down before she spoke again.

  “Lord Poppinjay,” she said, “may I ask you a question?”

  “If you feel you need to.”

  “Well, I was wondering exactly how you felt about not having had a guest in five years,” she asked, avoiding his eye contact.

  “Who told you that?” cried Lord Poppinjay, standing up abruptly and glowering at her.

  “The fridge,” she said softly.

  Lord Poppinjay stared at her for a moment, then he bowed his head and sat back down. “Yes,” he said and sighed heavily. He stroked his dog for a few silent moments. Then carefully, without looking up at her, he asked, “What do you think I feel about it?”

  Alex looked at him and pretended to read his thoughts. Then she nodded slowly and said, “I think it makes you feel sad. And that you wish your staff would realize your plans to improve the situation. But of course they are too simple to understand you and so make a mess of it every time.”

  Lord Poppinjay looked up at her wide-eyed. “You’re amazing! That is exactly what I was thinking.”

  “Of course it was what you were thinking. It was very easy to understand really,” added Alex, smiling inwardly to herself. “For example, I know that for years you have been aware that the reason you have no guests is that no road leads to your hotel. For years you have known the simple solution. You must build such a road. For years all you have wanted to do is lead an expedition into Port Cullis to meet with the people in charge of urban planning so that you could finally get a road built. And then, once you got the road, you could have a big festival and party, and invite very important people, because you know many important people . . .”