The Sphinx licked her lips, gazing at Madeleine in fascination.
‘Such a beautiful sadness,’ she said. ‘I shall enjoy devouring it with relish.’
‘Then you’ll have to eat us first!’ said a voice close behind.
With a whip-like movement, the Sphinx angled her neck round. And there, standing on the hill’s brow, were Madame Pamplemousse and Camembert.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘As you suggest, I shall eat all three of you.’
‘If that is your will,’ said Madame Pamplemousse, ‘then so be it. This is, after all, your island and we are powerless to resist. But I also know you to be a great lover of riddles, and so before dining, I thought you might like to hear one.’
To this the Sphinx made no immediate reply but appraised Madame Pamplemousse in silence. She stared deep into her eyes, appearing to give her the same sort of scrutiny she had Madeleine.
‘Your mind is itself a riddle,’ she said eventually. ‘And so for one such as yourself, I am prepared to grant this request.’
Madame Pamplemousse bowed her head in thanks and then reached into the rucksack at her back. From out of this she removed a small jar. It was about the size of an egg cup, sealed in wax, with a rough, yellow paper label, upon which nothing was written. Whatever was in the jar appeared to be constantly changing colour, shifting all the while like a forever uncoiling spiral.
Madeleine had seen a jar of its kind before and knew what it contained. It was Madame Pamplemousse’s secret recipe, her greatest creation: The Most Incredible Edible Ever Tasted.
‘Here, then, is your riddle,’ said Madame Pamplemousse, opening the jar’s seal and placing it on the ground. ‘This recipe has many ingredients and yet only one name. That name is a secret. But can you now tell me what it is?’
A second or so passed. The Sphinx was crouched on her hindquarters, staring down at the little jar, when abruptly from her mouth there emerged a long black tongue. She dipped this into the jar, licking up a small quantity, and then moved this ruminatively about her mouth. Until her face became suddenly transfigured.
It was the kind of expression you might have while listening to music, on hearing an unexpectedly haunting phrase. And, for one moment, it looked as if the Sphinx were about to cry.
But instead she opened her mouth and spoke a single word.
Although it was not a word in French or ancient Greek or any mortal language. And its sound was like a thunderclap, splitting apart the sky, and in that instant the whole world seemed to stop.
The scene before Madeleine’s eyes lay motionless as in a painting. She saw the emerald-green sea reaching out to the blue horizon, and framed against them she saw the Sphinx: a ruthless and deadly creature whose very being was enigma. But Madeleine could now see this was also what made the Sphinx beautiful, just as the sea is beautiful but also deadly, or the sky both limitless and unknown.
‘In the world I come from,’ said Madame Pamplemousse, ‘somewhere of great beauty is about to be destroyed. It is the place where that Edible is created and with it gone, that Edible will soon lose all its savour. It will come to taste as flavourless as dust. Now, I do not expect any mortal sympathy from you, oh Sphinx, but as you and I do both revere this substance, so I have come to ask of you a boon.’
The Sphinx padded softly over towards Madame Pamplemousse and knelt down. ‘I know what it is you wish of me, Madame,’ she said, lifting up her head.
And down her cheek there ran a single tear.
Camembert caught the tear within the vacuum-sealable jar. And then, with surprising tenderness, he dried the Sphinx’s eye.
g
Afterwards, the Sphinx offered them food and shelter for the night. This they accepted, although they declined the offer of meat, which was some wind-dried flesh of unknown origin. Instead they ate mountain-goat’s cheese, fresh figs and dry, resin-scented wine. And while they ate, Madame Pamplemousse prepared Madeleine for their arrival back in Paris and the danger awaiting their return.
Chapter Nine
Back in the present day, in Paris, in the Café of Lost Time, Mademoiselle Fondue was confused.
Only a minute or so earlier, she had arrived at the café to find Madeleine at one of the tables. But then she had seen Madeleine drink a cup of coffee, and soon after that, she had disappeared. However, Mademoiselle Fondue was not a fanciful person. At school she had excelled in exams and those activities that require intelligence but little imagination. And in general, she trusted only in things that could be precisely quantified and measured. So she did not really believe what she had just seen and assumed it must be her eyes or some trick of the light.
But then something even more perplexing occurred: Madeleine reappeared. Not only that but she looked totally different. Her clothing was torn and covered in sand, and her hair was all matted and tangled.
But Mademoiselle Fondue was also not one to lose control and, if ever she did, she would certainly never show it. So instead she issued a single terse command.
‘Seize her!’ she barked to the policemen.
One of them grabbed hold of Madeleine by the shoulders, forcing her down into a chair. Mademoiselle Fondue came over to sit down opposite her at the table.
‘You should be trying to get into my good books, Madeleine. Because, remember, it’s up to me how long you’ll be going away.’ She grinned, making it sound like she was talking about a holiday camp. ‘However, I’m a reasonable person and am prepared to be lenient, provided you tell me everything you can as to the whereabouts of Madame Pamplemousse –’
‘At your service, Mademoiselle,’ interrupted a voice behind her.
Mademoiselle Fondue looked round to see a woman in the doorway. She was dressed in black, carried a black rucksack, and around her neck was draped what looked like a stole, but on closer inspection, she saw it was actually a cat: a thin white cat wearing an eyepatch.
Monsieur Moutarde gave a small nod by way of greeting. ‘Good day, Madame,’ he said.
‘Good day, Monsieur,’ said Madame Pamplemousse. ‘Nice to see you again. You know I’ve been on holiday?’
‘I trust it was relaxing, Madame?’
‘Most pleasant, thank you. Despite it being impossible to get a good cup of coffee.’
A brief look passed between them.
‘Please take a seat, Madame,’ he said, ‘and I will fetch you one immediately.’
Madame Pamplemousse sat down at the table. Camembert slunk off her shoulders on to the adjacent chair.
‘So,’ she said to Mademoiselle Fondue, ‘I understand you’ve been looking for me?’
Mademoiselle Fondue made no reply but instead stared at her coolly. Then she reached into her briefcase and took out a newspaper cutting.
‘Perhaps you can enlighten me, Madame,’ she said. ‘We have been investigating this girl ever since her name became connected with a certain legendary foodstuff so delicious and so extraordinary that it earned a special title.’
She passed the newspaper cutting across the table. It bore the headline:
.
THE MOST INCREDIBLE EDIBLE
EVER TASTED:
WAS IT REALLY ALL A HOAX?
.
‘Well?’ said Madame Pamplemousse, looking up.
‘Well,’ said Mademoiselle Fondue, ‘you tell me, Madame. Was it all a hoax?’
Madame Pamplemousse stared at her in silence. Mademoiselle Fondue stared back but found that she soon wanted to look away, for there was something unsettling about Madame Pamplemousse’s eyes. Their colour alone was unlike any she had ever seen – the deep purple blue of wild lavender. But that was not what she found unnerving – it was the way that they looked so completely unafraid.
‘I believe it was a hoax,’ said Mademoiselle Fondue quickly. ‘I believe you must be using some kind of special chemical additive in your cooking, and I suggest you now tell me what that chemical is.’
There was a long pause.
‘And let us suppose for a
moment, Mademoiselle,’ said Madame Pamplemousse eventually, ‘that such a chemical did exist . . . then what exactly would you use it for?’
‘That information is classified.’
‘I see.’ Madame Pamplemousse paused. ‘So you wouldn’t, for example, be using it to control people?’
‘Madame,’ said Mademoiselle Fondue, with a new edge to her voice, ‘you should be aware that we have taken possession of your shop and the moment I give the word, it will be destroyed –’
Madame Pamplemousse interrupted her, lifting up her hand. ‘Excuse me, Mademoiselle,’ she said, ‘but my coffee has arrived.’
Monsieur Moutarde had appeared at the table, bearing a small cup of coffee on a silver tray.
‘Madame,’ he said, placing it before her.
‘Thank you, Monsieur,’ said Madame Pamplemousse. She lifted the coffee to her nose, inhaling deeply, and then drank it down in a single gulp. Afterwards she replaced the cup in its saucer, whereupon Camembert began licking the dregs.
Mademoiselle Fondue regarded this with distaste. She was also intensely annoyed at having been interrupted, for nobody had ever done this to her before.
‘If you do not cooperate, Madame,’ she said, ‘then we will not only demolish your shop but the child will be taken into custody, to a children’s prison, where she will remain until she turns eighteen. And as for the cat . . .’ She flashed a smile in Camembert’s direction. ‘Well, I think that’s best left to your imagination.’
She jumped suddenly in her chair at the sound of a fierce growl. Camembert sprang up on to the table in full attacking stance, with his fangs bared savagely and his hair standing on end.
‘Get that cat out of here!’ Mademoiselle Fondue shouted.
One of the policemen reached down to grab him but Camembert bit deep into his hand. The policeman screamed. Camembert slipped down under the table and scurried out through the door.
‘Mademoiselle,’ said Madame Pamplemousse, once the commotion had subsided, ‘you are evidently a woman of great intelligence. However, you are wrong in thinking me so sentimental as to care for animals or children.’ She waved a hand dismissively at Madeleine. ‘Do whatever you wish, I have no further use for her.’
The room fell silent.
Madeleine looked stunned. In fact, she looked devastated, her face a perfect picture of wounded surprise. ‘B-but I thought –’ she stammered.
‘Thought what?’ Madame Pamplemousse snapped. ‘That you were my friend? Don’t be ridiculous – you’re only a child! You’ve been nothing to me but a nuisance!’
Madeleine covered her face and started to cry. Madame Pamplemousse, meanwhile, tsk-ed irritably and turned back to Mademoiselle Fondue.
‘Now, Mademoiselle, you are indeed correct. I do use a secret chemical additive in my cooking, a chemical additive of considerable power.’
In Mademoiselle Fondue’s eyes there appeared a small gleam of excitement.
‘And on certain conditions . . .’ Madame Pamplemousse paused. ‘I would be prepared to let you have it.’
‘And what conditions are those?’
‘Well, obviously a very large sum of money and, in addition, my own television series.’
Mademoiselle Fondue smiled with quiet triumph. ‘Very well, Madame,’ she said. ‘Then we have a deal.’
‘Excellent,’ said Madame Pamplemousse. ‘I will reveal the chemical formula once the contract has been signed. But for now, I expect you would like to see a small sample?’
Mademoiselle Fondue inclined her head by way of reply.
Madame Pamplemousse reached into the rucksack and took out a vacuum-sealable jar.
‘I have the raw materials right here,’ she said. ‘But in order to make the chemical they must first be passed through a special machine.’ She pointed towards the silver coffee machine sitting atop the café bar. ‘For now I must reveal to you, Mademoiselle, that this is not just a café but, in fact, a secret laboratory.’
‘Madame!’ Monsieur Moutarde whispered. ‘What are you doing?’
‘My apologies, Monsieur,’ she said. ‘It’s been a pleasure working with you but now I’m afraid it’s time for me to go it alone.’
Moutarde glared at her. ‘Half of that money is mine!’ he hissed.
Madame Pamplemousse smiled. ‘I think not, Monsieur,’ she said, getting up from the table and walking over to the machine. ‘The deal is strictly between myself and Mademoiselle Fondue. However, perhaps for old times’ sake, you might remind me of the setting? It appears to have slipped my mind.’
In reply, he simply spat at her feet.
‘Do as she says!’ Mademoiselle Fondue shouted.
The policemen glowered at him menacingly.
‘One hundred and six!’ said Moutarde under his breath.
‘Thank you, Monsieur,’ said Madame Pamplemousse.
She opened the vacuum-sealable jar. Its contents were pale green and ever so slightly phosphorescent. But this was not due to any normal chemical reaction, for the jar did not contain the chemicals Madame Pamplemousse had claimed. And even if she had been told its true ingredients, Mademoiselle Fondue would never have believed her. For these ingredients were in fact the freshly extracted drool from a Tyrannosaurus rex, venom from the Loch Ness monster, wine from Revolutionary France, concentrated oil from the Green Demon Pimento, the only tear ever to be shed by the Sphinx and a small cup of green tea brewed by the Buddha.
Madame Pamplemousse emptied the jar’s contents into the Generator’s giant funnel. Then she pulled a lever, turned each of the dials to 106, and switched on the machine.
Chapter Ten
Outside in the street, round the back of the café, there was a small chimney in the roof. This was connected to the Generator via a system of concealed piping. And a long plume of steam now issued out of it.
The plume rose slowly up into the sky, where it formed a small cloud. This cloud then expanded, spreading out from Montmartre, until it covered the whole city of Paris. And from the cloud there drifted down a light-green-coloured mist.
That was when the first of the strange sightings began.
A group of tourists were out taking photographs of Notre-Dame. They were photographing the gargoyles – the stone demons that decorate the cathedral rooftop. But as the mists descended, one of these demons appeared to move. A gargoyle leaning on his elbows, peering down over the city, suddenly stretched out and yawned.
In the Museum of Natural History, something equally bizarre was taking place. The museum had been closed for redevelopment. Works would soon begin to start turning it into a shopping centre, and the building was full of architects and developers. But all of these people were now running screaming through the doors. Panic had broken out in the Gallery of Evolution, where someone had seen the skeleton of a diplodocus come to life. It had begun swishing its tail, moving its long neck, and appeared to be trying to step down from its pedestal. Then the other prehistoric creatures in the gallery did the same, rattling their bones furiously as if trying to break free, until soon even the pickled specimens in glass cabinets about the walls were shaking their cages and chattering their teeth.
There was also great commotion along the banks of the Seine, for passengers aboard cruise boats had reported seeing a giant sea monster swimming down the river.
In the Louvre Museum, refurbishment had to be suspended after someone claimed to have seen a sphinx jump down out of a painting and go prowling about the corridors.
Meanwhile, at Notre-Dame, a large crowd had gathered at the base of the cathedral, for by now the whole rooftop was swarming with gargoyles.
Like every old building and monument in Paris, the cathedral had been set for demolition. A new steel-and-glass cathedral was to be put up in its place and so the whole building was covered in scaffolding. But the gargoyles were dismantling this, ripping bits apart and hurling them to the ground.
One of the gargoyles put two fingers in his mouth and blew a loud whistle. The other gargoy
les looked up. The whistler singled out two of them, muttering a few guttural-sounding words. And then together they flapped their wings and took off into the sky. They flew quickly through the city, heading north across the river, until they came to the district of Montmartre. Then they swooped straight down towards the Café of Lost Time.
The three gargoyles came crashing through the frosted-glass windows. There were shouts and screams as they swarmed about the ceiling, fluttering their wings furiously. The policemen reached for their guns but the gargoyles dived down and snatched them from their hands.
And then, abruptly, they all stopped, pausing to hover above Mademoiselle Fondue. She looked up to see three hideous, grinning faces licking their stone lips. She made a dash for the door, running out into the street. The policemen followed after – but so did the gargoyles. They swept out through the café windows, grabbed Mademoiselle Fondue and the policemen with their sharp, taloned claws and lifted them, screaming, into the sky.
It was not long after this that the green cloud above the city gradually began to fade. And as it cleared, so did the mist.
The monster in the Seine disappeared with a large ripple and was never to be seen again. The prehistoric skeletons returned to their pedestals, the Sphinx jumped back into her frame and the gargoyles of Notre-Dame returned to the rooftop and became stone statues once more.
By now the streets were crowded. Great queues of traffic had formed, with people blaring horns and others abandoning their cars, wandering out into the roads. The police were out in force but they seemed just as confused as everybody else and certainly not capable of keeping order. However, there was no violence, for everyone was too awestruck by what they had just seen. And this shared state of wonder seemed to unite them altogether.
Rumours began spreading like wildfire among the crowd. They all agreed that they must have been the victims of a hoax, some kind of spectacular illusion. But who had staged it, or for what purpose, nobody could tell.
Madame Pamplemousse and the Time-Travelling Café Page 4
