Chapter 21 — The Rites of the Gastronimatii
Guster could hardly believe it — he never suspected the Cult was so large. They were a sea of frightening, surging crimson. Their blood-red aprons trailed on the ground like snakes. Their tall hats were pulled low like robbers’ masks — more than a hundred red reasons Guster and Mariah should never have snuck into the castle that night.
The Gastronimatii were lined up in rows across the enclosed courtyard, facing a raised stone platform, their backs toward Guster and Mariah. The castle at the far end wrapped around behind them, closing off the courtyard around the shouting chefs.
Palatus stood atop the platform, “Soon, it will be zee day that we have waited for!” he cried. “Our time is coming!”
Guster clenched his teeth. He hated that chef. He was evil; he was dangerous; and he was doing the very thing Guster wanted to do but hadn’t: taste the good and rid himself of the bad.
“Let us cleanse ourselves!” cried Palatus. On cue, the chefs wailed as they poured tiny bags of powder over their heads and rubbed the powder under their armpits. A pungent smell of mustard, cumin, and cinnamon floated up into the air.
“Centuries ’ave waited for this, and now you, zee Ancient Order of Flavor, will purge zee earth!” Images flashed on the castle wall behind him like a movie screen. Chefs in red, hard at work, chopped and stirred ingredients. The scene changed. They marched in rows, silver platters topped with succulent cuisine raised above their heads. Then there were flames.
The crowd exploded with excitement, cheering on the destruction.
Guster forced himself to look away. The film was hypnotic, enticing.
Palatus held up his arms and motioned for silence. The Arch-Gourmand placed his hand on a large piece of red canvas draped over a lumpy mound as high as his chin. “Zee earth is polluted!” he said. “Behold, zee filth!” he shouted, and yanked the canvas away.
Underneath was a pile of colorful boxes and bags: macaroni & cheese, microwave dinners, frozen burritos, plastic bags of hot dogs, loaves of factory-made white bread.
The Gastronimatii screamed, clutching their throats and spitting like cats thrown into water. They backed away from the putrid garbage. “It’s like acid!” hissed one near the pile as he stabbed his knife through a box of mac & cheese.
“No longer will this painful, vile slop sting our palettes!” Palatus said, holding both arms out straight toward the pile of manufactured food. “You’ve spent your lives fighting back vile filth with your delicacies. You’ve suffered from the way it pollutes our soil, our water, our air and ultimately mixes with zee few pure ingredients left. Tonight, destiny turns in our favor!” He wrenched a torch from the hand of a nearby Gastronimatii and touched it to the pile. It went up in flames.
The Gastronimatii hissed and jeered. They pulled boxes and bags from their jackets and cast them like sacks of vomit into the fire, which coughed sparks and debris as it swallowed more and more of their rejected meals. The flames rose higher into the night — ten, fifteen, then twenty feet as they danced, casting eerie shadows across the castle walls. The fire lit up the bottom of Palatus’ nose and chin in a ghostly glow.
“Purge! Purge! Purge!” The Gastronimatii chanted, raising their torches up and down in unison.
An image of a food processing plant flashed on the wall. The plant exploded into a fireball. Then there was another factory reduced to a pile of rubble and ruin. Guster recognized it instantly — the Foodco Instant Dinners Factory. Then there was another, and another. Some collapsed, some burned. This time he couldn’t look away.
Then a map of the world appeared. Forks flashed on the screen, stabbing the map in London, New York, Boston, Rome, then across the world. “This is our work!” cried Palatus.
So many destroyed! thought Guster.
“War!” cried one of the Gastronimatii. The crowd roared their approval. They were rabid, untamed, ready to spill out over the castle walls and ravage the world.
Palatus held up his hands to stop them. “No.” he said, pulling the eggbeater from under his apron. He held it in the air like a scepter, forcing the crowd into awed silence.
Guster nearly leapt from the balcony. It’s mine! he thought. I never should have lost it. Mariah’s gentle tug pulled him back to the ground.
Palatus spoke calmly. “Not war,” he chuckled, “Peace! Nation by nation, man by man, they will choose zee thing that they want most: zee delicate, flawless fruits of your kitchens!” he said. “Yours will be the ruling cuisine on zee earth! No more will filth pollute the purity of your work! Zee earth will be purged! Your genius will be recognized! They will not reject the marvelous cuisine of your making ever again!”
“Give us the soufflé, Lord-Evertaster!” screamed one of the Cult. A murmur of agreement rustled through the crowd.
“When will we taste it?” cried another.
Before Palatus could answer, a man with a pencil-thin tie emerged from the shadows behind Palatus and whispered in his ear. Guster recognized him instantly — it was Felicity’s public relations spokesman. The same one he’d seen on TV.
Felicity’s own employee, here with the Gastronimatii! She was a traitor! Guster had taken a chance on her and lost. He had been foolish to trust her.
Recognition, then a sinister smile came to the Arch-Gourmand’s lips as the man with the pencil-thin tie continued to whisper. “Sooner than any of us could have hoped,” hissed Palatus.
He turned to the shadows and beckoned something toward himself. Two huge brutes with bare chests and pot bellies marched side by side up to the platform. They wore loose, wooly gray pants over their legs and gray executioner’s hoods over their faces. In between them they carried the metal ice chest with the objects Guster wanted most: the ingredients.
“That must be them,” whispered Mariah.
Guster shot a confused look at her.
“The Budless,” she said. “Gigantic men. Immune to the taste or smell. Just like Felicity described.”
She was probably right; they were enormous. But where was Mom?
“Masks!” said Palatus, pulling a gray bandana from his pocket and tying it around his mouth and nose. The Budless set the ice chest on the ground in front of Palatus, then stood at attention by his side.
He lifted the lid and examined the contents. Slowly, almost reverently, he removed the red cylindrical hat from his head and set it down, exposing his eyes and whitish-blonde hair. His fingers trembled as he reached toward the ingredients. Then he pulled back his hand, hesitating, wonder in his eyes. He spread his arms wide. “Behold, the ingredients in the One Recipe!” he cried.
The crowd roared. A Gastronimatii pushed his way through the crowd and leapt onto the stage. His gray bandana dangled around his neck, his tongue hanging from his wide-open mouth. Even from the balcony Guster could see that his eyes were wild, like a wolverine’s. “Just one bite!” he cried and lunged for the ice chest, fingers outstretched like claws. A meaty hand caught him by the neck in midair. One of the Budless held the chef aloft then slammed him to the ground. The maddened Gastronimatii screamed as the Budless kicked him back into the crowd.
Palatus spat at the fallen Gastronimatii. “Impatience is the very reason we have not obtained our victory! Zee time will come when our own self-control will be zee only thing that ensures our triumph. The One Recipe is ‘ere, after all these years! Will you wait so that you can taste it?”
The crowd raised their knives in the air and hissed like a den of snakes in approval.
Something rustled in the shadows behind Palatus. A dozen Gastronimatii marched the Lieutenant, half a dozen mercenaries, Felicity, Mom and Zeke, all tied at the wrists, into the back of the courtyard. A glimmer of hope lit in Guster’s chest. Mom’s blue apron was dirty and charred, but she and Zeke had survived the battle; they were okay — for the moment.
But if Felicity was tied, did that mean she was innocent?
“Let us make it!” cried the Gastronimatii. There was a murmur of
agreement.
“I’ll do it!” shouted one of them.
“No, it should be Uvula! He makes the finest soufflés in all of Paris!” shouted another. A very short, thin chef standing next to the speaker folded his arms and stuck out his lip.
Felicity slammed her elbow into the gut of the Gastronimatii guarding her. He doubled over. “No!” she shouted stepping out of the shadows. “Certainly you’ve read the entire Recipe by now! You know the rules,” she managed to say before the guards pulled her back.
Palatus’ eyes narrowed. “I do,” he said, then jerked his head back toward Mom. The Gastronimatii guards cut the ropes from her wrists and pushed her toward him. He unsheathed the eggbeater and thrust it at her.
Mom caught it. She looked confused. Palatus had been trying to get that eggbeater ever since they met him in New Orleans. Why was he giving it back?
“MA MA!” Henry Junior cried out, reaching toward her. Mariah jumped back from the balcony into the shadows. “Not now,” she pleaded. His face scrunched up and turned red as he began to cry.
The man with the thin tie shot a glance upward. Guster ducked into the hall, hoping he wasn’t seen.
“A housewife?” jeered another chef. “What does she know of our craft? Give it to Uvula! Or Sophagus!” There were cries of approval.
Mom? thought Guster. He’d always assumed someone like Felicity, a celebrity homemaker, would make it; or now that the Gastronimatii had the eggbeater, Palatus would want to be the one. Mom’s casseroles were wretched at best. How could she make the Gastronomy of Peace?
“Will you make me a heretic?” Palatus shouted, enraged. His icy stare swept over the crowd. There was an immediate but reluctant silence. “The instructions of Archedentus stand,” he said. The debate was over.
“Prepare the kitchen,” he said, jerking his head at the guards again. “And take the soldiers to the dungeon.” He stormed from the platform, the crowd parting before him. The guards followed, shoving Mom in front of them, the eggbeater still in her hand. Felicity, Zeke, and the mercenaries went next. The Budless brought up the rear, the ice chest hoisted on their shoulders. The Gastronimatii kept a healthy distance, hissing at them as they passed.
Guster and Mariah had to get out of there.
“There’s got to be another passage around here,” said Mariah. She was running her fingers along the frame of a painting of a dog on the wall. Guster had been so fixated on the courtyard, he hadn’t noticed it. Sure enough, the dog’s eyeballs were painted at face level and ringed with thin, almost invisible cuts.
Henry Junior’s cries had turned to low sobs by the time Mariah stopped her hand, held her palm up against the wall and pressed hard. A stack of stones in the wall ground slowly inward.
“You’re a genius, Mariah,” said Guster.
“Little good that will do you now,” said a man’s low, silky voice behind Guster. Guster whirled around to see the man with the pencil-thin tie standing there, more than a dozen Gastronimatii at his side.
“Guster, save Mom!” cried Mariah, jumping between him and the chefs. They lunged at her. She tripped one, sending him smashing to the ground.
Guster darted for the secret passage, jumping over the felled Gastronimatii and narrowly missing the other. It was close. The others closed in as he catapulted his skinny body through the narrow opening. He made it just as an arm reached through and grabbed him by the back of the shirt. He struggled to get free, but the arm wouldn’t let go. Any second now they would pull him out or come in after him. He kicked out and missed.
Then he saw it: a protruding stone just like the switch that had opened the first passage door. He jammed it with his elbow, ignoring the pain. The door started to grind closed behind him.
The Gastronimatii shouted. There was a scuffle, then he yanked his arm out and the stones sealed shut.
Guster was in the dark narrow passage, completely alone.
Chapter 22 — Fate’s Kitchen
Guster ran through the dark, unable to see even the ground beneath his feet. He thought he heard banging behind him, so he ran and ran and kept on running. He tripped over something he couldn’t see, bruising his shoulder as he fell. If only he’d brought the flashlight.
He listened. Whatever had been making the noise was gone. They must not be able to find the brick that opens the passageway. Which was good; it would buy him some time.
It also meant he was separated from Mariah and Henry Junior. Who knew what the Gastronimatii would do with them now that they were captured?
He’d never meant for it to happen like this. He’d never meant to force his family into the middle of such a dangerous fight. And now there was no one else who could help.
He didn’t care anymore about eating some stupid soufflé. He didn’t care if they never made it, if they went home and he was never able to swallow another edible morsel of food again. He would starve to death if he had to, as long as he got his brothers, sister and mom out of there safely.
He wandered down the passage looking for something, anything to inspire a plan.
It branched left so he followed it. His only hope was to find his way to the dungeon, where he might be able to free the Lieutenant and the rest of the mercenaries. Without a flashlight it was nearly impossible. He was lost in the dark.
He stumbled on a bit of uneven ground, and felt around with his cowboy boot to see if he could figure out what was ahead. The floor dropped a few inches into a stair, so he picked his way down it, then found another, and another. He guessed he’d gone two, then three, then four floors.
He felt the floor even out and followed the wall with his hand to the left. There was a passage. Guster followed it. I must be on the outer edge of the castle again, he thought. His face collided with a tangled sheet of cobwebs that wrapped around his head. He spat and brushed at the cobweb until it unraveled. It was going to take hours if not days to find the dungeon.
Then he smelled it — a luxurious, chocolate aroma. It hit him suddenly, like it had just burst open the box it was sealed in. It came from behind. He turned back and felt around with his hands until he found a second passage at the foot of the staircase. He followed it. The smell got stronger. Thankfully, there was a wide line of light streaming through a gap in the stonework up ahead. There were voices.
“The proof of my innocence!” came a muffled cry from the other side of the wall. Guster pressed his face up to the gap. It was just wide enough to see through. Instead of a hallway, he was looking out onto a spacious sitting room. There were couches and tapestries of blue and gold. A bright chandelier hung from the ceiling, an elegant grand piano sat in one corner, and a fire burned in a fireplace on the opposite wall.
Palatus was there, flanked by two Budless. Felicity and Mom were at the back of the room, guarded by two Gastronimatii. It was Felicity who had spoken; she strained against the ropes, trying to get at the source of the smell that had lured Guster there: a silver platter full of thick, dark, chocolate bricks.
The Arrivederci Chocolate. The final ingredient. Guster wanted to reach out, to touch it with his own hands. He’d never smelled anything so strong. It had been so long since he had anything to eat. If only he could break down these stones!
Guster slid his shirt over his nose. I mustn’t think like that. I have to concentrate. The Gastronomy of Peace was so close. The cure that was supposed to save him. It was strange how it didn’t matter now. He would give it all up in a second if he could just take Mariah, Zeke, Henry Junior and Mom home safely with him right now.
The man with the pencil-thin tie entered the room from an open corridor. Two Gastronimatii held Mariah and Henry Junior captive behind him. All the Gastronimatii were masked.
“Mariah!” shouted Mom, straining against the ropes that held her.
“Hello Benjamin,” Felicity said coolly to the man.
“Hello Felicity,” he said.
“I never picked you for a traitor.”
“You know this man?” asked Mom.
“I beg to differ,” said Benjamin, “I still hold my position. You, on the other hand, are the one who is no longer president there. The board overruled you as soon as they heard of your arrest, remember?”
“You planted that chocolate in my office, didn’t you?”
Benjamin gave an innocent shrug, “Me?”
“You alone would be foolish enough to store chocolate in a refrigerator instead of a cool, dark place! That ruins it! When the SWAT team came crashing through my office window, they knew right where to look. Haven’t you learned anything from my shows?”
“Never watched a one.”
Felicity scoffed. “And you think this is all worth it, to fraternize with this murderous cult!”
“Be their agenda what it may,” yawned Benjamin. “I never understood the nature of these silly games. They offered me the right price: power and riches — something you never would have given me. All so I’d frame you to get their chief competitor for this recipe thing out of the way.”
Guster shifted himself to see if he could get a better look at Felicity’s face. So she was innocent. The Arrivederci Chocolate in the hands of the Gastronimatii was proof enough of that.
Palatus turned to the short skinny chef from the courtyard. “Uvula!” he said, “Yours are the most disciplined chefs. When zee housewife has completed zee One Recipe, I need your men to study it carefully. Then you’ll get your chance.”
Benjamin Arnold shook his head. “I’ll never understand the great lengths you go to, just for some dessert. It all seems like a bunch of snobbery, if you ask me.”
Palatus sneered. “You don’t need to understand. You’ve been compensated enough.” He motioned toward Mariah. “Throw the girl and the baby into the dungeon with the rest of the prisoners.”
The Gastronimatii closest to Mariah yanked her by the arm back out of the room. Henry Junior wailed like an ambulance’s siren that faded as they forced him down the hall. Mom stiffened her lip. Guster could tell she was trying to be brave.
Evertaster Page 22
