The Girl Who Made Them Pay

by Tikiri Herath

  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 the head chef 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 that must have been built in the fifteenth century.

  In one corner of the room stood a ten-foot grandfather clock. 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, thick wooden beams were suspended from the ceiling, from which hung legs of smoked ham, sausage, and meats of all kinds.

  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.

  Monsieur Wilmar walked ahead proudly. We followed.

  Past the wooden counters lay a dining table that comfortably seated twelve. A dozen staff, dressed in immaculate white kitchen uniforms, occupied this table, having lunch. Next to them, at a smaller table, was a trio 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.

  “Bonjour,” someone replied.

  “Gudden Nometteg,” said another.

  From the corner of my eyes, I noticed Luc and Tetyana give two polite bows.

  Chloe leaned to the table of the old men and whispered, “Les Americains.”

  “Aah,” the men said, nodding their heads.

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

  “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 marble, 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.

  I looked around in wonder. I’d died and gone to kitchen-nirvana, I was sure.

  “Mademoiselle,” Monsieur Wilmar said, breaking the spell. He glanced over his shoulder as if to make sure no one was listening and stooped over me. His gray eyes pierced mine. I could smell the rich cigar smoke on his breath.

  “I have only one request,” he said in a voice so bristly, it was almost a growl. Close up, his face resembled an angry bear more than a castle chef.

  “All I ask is that you do not, under any circumstances, come into my kitchen or interfere with my staff. Do you understand?”

  I felt my face go warm. I nodded.

  “I do not care what special arrangements you have made with Madame Schmidt or any of our guests. I do not want to see you or your ragtag team. I do not want any one of you to even open this door. Is that clear?”

  “I didn’t mean to intrude, monsieur....”

  But Monsieur Wilmar had stomped out, banging the door behind him.

  I stood frozen, staring at the door.

  “Quel salaud!” Luc swore. “What a bastard.”

  The door opened and in came Chloe.

  “Do you have everything you need?” she said in a business voice. “High tea will be served shortly, so there is not much time.”

  I collected my thoughts. “Where can I find ingredients?”

  “You need to talk to Monsieur Wilmar about that. I am sure he would be more than pleased to assist you.”

  Oh, I don’t think so, I thought. “I know he’s busy. I don’t want to bother him. Maybe you have a pantry we could use?”

  Chloe pointed at a small wooden door in a corner, no higher than three feet. We hadn’t noticed it before. “That leads to the castle cellar. But you must talk to Monsieur Wilmar before taking anything. He manages everything on this floor.”

  Luc walked over and opened the door. It didn’t open to any room, but a darkened stairwell going down.

  “Now, we need to discuss menu items,” Chloe said, opening a small notebook. “I can’t seem to find any correspondence from the embassy, I’m afraid. So I have no idea what you will be serving.”

  “All Madame Bouchard wants are cupcakes,” I said.

  “Cup cakes?”

  From the corner of my eyes, I saw Luc roll his eyes.

  “Petite cakes in a variety of flavors and intricate decorations,” I explained. Making it all up as I went along wasn’t as easy as I’d thought. I crossed my fingers. “I know exactly what she likes. One thing she enjoys is Rémy Martin Black Pearl Grande in my black forest chocolate cake,” I blabbed.

  “Black Pearl Grande Cognac?” Chloe looked startled.

  I nodded, trying to look as stately as I could. She looked me over. The change in her face was obvious.

  “I’m impressed,” she said, finally. “I believe both Madame Bouchard and the Grande Baroness will be delighted.”

  “Thank you,” I said, with a slight bow, like the one she’d given me in the parking lot.

  “Afternoon tea is served at exactly fifteen thirty hours,” she said, snapping her book shut. “You have two hours to get prepared.”

  Chapter Forty-one

  “Now what?” Tetyana asked.

  I took a deep breath in. “We bake.”

  “Bake?” Win sounded surprised.

  “We gonna play cook?” Luc said.

  “We can’t just go barging upstairs, can we?” I said. “We have to work our way in.”

  I looked at my team of involuntary sous chefs.

  “Look, if you’ve got a better plan, let me know.”

  Silence.

  “Okay then, here’s what we need. We need to check the
cellar to see what’s in there. We need to look for cake trays, a flour sifter, mixing spoons, serving trays, and all that. And we need to find milk, butter, and eggs. Maybe that’s all in the fridge. Also, we need a menu for Chloe, which I’ll do right now.”

  “I’ll look for pans and things,” Katy spoke first.

  “I’ll check the fridge,” Win said.

  “And I’ll check the cellar,” Tetyana said, walking toward the wooden door.

  “I’ll come with you,” Luc said, getting up.

  “Make it quick,” I called out, as they stepped down into the darkness.

  Ok, now for the menu. I spotted a pen and paper pad with the castle’s logo on the counter. I pulled out one of the high stools, took a seat, and put together a menu the Diplomatic Dragon Lady wouldn’t be able to resist. While I wrote down the ingredients list, Katy and Win rooted through the fridge and cupboards and spent the next ten minutes getting things ready.

  “It’s dusty down there.”

  We looked up. It was Tetyana popping her head out of the cellar door.

  “I need your ingredient list,” she said.

  “Where’s Luc?” Win asked.

  “Poking around the dungeons. Well? Do you have your wish list?”

  I walked over and handed it to her.

  “There’s a wine cellar down there but I couldn’t get it opened,” she said, her eyes running down my list. “Hey, but I don’t see that Black Pearl stuff here.”

  “You won’t find it in a cellar anyone can walk into,” I said. “One bottle’s worth twenty thousand dollars.”

  She stared at me. “Twenty grand? You’re ready to waste twenty-thousand-dollars’ worth of good alcohol on cooking?”

  “I used it only once, and only when the Dragon Lady sent a bottle with her chauffeur to make a special plate.”

  “For an elite diplomatic gathering,” added Katy, “I remember that.”

  “So—” Tetyana looked confused.

  “So I just wanted Chloe to believe me, that I was the real deal,” I explained. “Anyway, I’ll have to have to substitute now. Maybe with Armagnac. Worst case, brandy. It’ll taste a bit funny, but it’ll get us in the door.”

  “Look,” Tetyana, said with an exasperated sigh. “All I know is vodka. If you want a fancy bottle, you better come down yourself.” She turned and ducked back into the stairwell. I put my finished menu aside and followed her.

  “You guys coming too?” I asked hearing Katy and Win behind me.

  “I want to see this cellar,” Katy said.

  “I’m not staying in the kitchen by myself,” Win said.

  We climbed down the steep, narrow steps. The ceiling was so low even Win and I had to stoop to avoid hitting our heads.

  At the bottom was a cool cavern cut into the rock. Along the walls of this cave hung a string of naked bulbs that emanated a low light, enough to see our surroundings and each other. I’d had many firsts these past few days, but this was definitely a worthy first.

  We were in a luxury underground pantry the size of a two-bedroom apartment.

  To our immediate left stood two temperature-controlled wine fridges with clear glass doors in front. In the first fridge, I counted at least a hundred bottles of white wine, all lying on their sides. The second fridge was filled with various sizes and shapes of liquor bottles. I walked up, peered through the glass, and gasped.

  There’s a bottle of Black Pearl in there! I yanked the door handle, but it didn’t move.

  “Keypad,” Tetyana said. “It’s very well secured. No one can break into that.”

  Win stepped up to the fridge and started to play with the buttons.

  I scanned the rest of the cave.

  The back wall was lined with sturdy wooden barrels, from floor to the ceiling. I stepped closer. On each barrel, written in a black stencil, was a fill date and the word “vin.” Wine. Red wine. One of the barrels was dated more than a hundred years earlier. I did a double take and touched it. Is this for real? I rubbed the ink but the black lettering stayed and instead I got a century’s worth of castle dust on my fingers.

  In the corner of the cavern stood one solitary rack that held three smaller barrels. The markings on these said “port.” Peering through the soft light, I saw that while the wine barrels had a fine coating of dust all over, it was fingerprints that covered these barrels.

  A small shooter glass sat on the floor, next to this rack. I bent down to pick it up and held it to the light.

  “A taster glass?” I said.

  “There’s still a few drops left,” Katy said. “Someone’s just used it.”

  “Maybe the fat chef comes here for a drink between jobs,” Tetyana said.

  I put the glass back down gingerly, hoping Monsieur Wilmar wouldn’t come barreling into the cellar.

  Along the side walls of the cave were ancient wooden shelves filled to the rafters with bins, tin cans, and wooden caskets. Everything was neatly packed, organized, and labeled with the same stencil as on the wine barrels. I opened a bin and peeked inside. White flour. Then, another. Wild black rice. Coffee beans. Dark chocolate slabs. What an underground heaven. Monsieur Wilmar’s the luckiest chef in the world, I thought. No wonder he’s not happy another cook’s here to share this with him.

  “Is this German?” I asked, pointing at the labels on the bins.

  “I think so,” Katy said, stooping to get a better look.

  We both looked at Tetyana. She shook her head. “Don’t look at me. I can help if it’s Russian. You need Luc.”

  “Where is he?” I asked.

  “Said he was going to explore. I gave him a gun, just in case.” She scanned the cavern with a frown. “Now, where did he get to?”

  The place was empty except for us.

  “I only see one door out,” Katy said, pointing to the large double door near the wine fridges where Win was still playing with the keypad, her head down, in total concentration.

  “That must go to the main kitchen,” I said.

  Tetyana walked over, slipped it open an inch, and closed it just as quickly. “You’re right,” she said, turning around. “Our fat angry chef is out there.”

  “Guys!”

  We jumped. The sound had come from the corner of the cave where the port barrel shelf stood. To our surprise, it moved sideways and opened. A shadowy figure emerged from behind the port barrels.

  “Luc!” I said.

  “How did you get back there?” Katy asked.

  “Where the frig have you been?” Tetyana demanded. “I said explore, not disappear.”

  “You won’t believe what I found,” Luc said, motioning to us. “Come see.”

  We walked over to where he was standing. The shelf with the port barrels was a stealth door, and behind it was a gaping black entrance going into the belly of the castle. Luc shone a torch down the shaft, lighting a flight of rough steps leading into darkness.

  “Where does it go?” Win asked in a whisper.

  “Dungeons!” Luc said, using a fake scary voice.

  “How did you find this?” I asked.

  “I was looking for that Black Pearl stuff for you,” he said, looking at me. “Couldn’t get that fridge to open, so I checked out the wine barrels. Cognac, old wine, what’s the difference, I thought.”

  How can he even compare? But I didn’t say anything.

  “I pulled out one of the stoppers to see if the wine was any good.”

  “You opened a wine barrel?” I asked.

  “Wanted to see what hundred-year-old wine tasted like,” he said giving me a defensive look. “Come on. I’m French.”

  “Was it any good?” Katy asked.

  He shrugged. “Acceptable. Tasted like good table wine to me.”

  “Might as well drink vodka,” Tetyana said more to herself than us.

  “I saw these barrels that said port,” Luc continued. “I pulled out the stopper of this one to try a bit but the whole thing came apart. Just like that. Thought it was gonna fall
on top of me, but it opened out like this.” He waved at the doorway in front of us. “And I found the torch right here.”

  “And there’s nothing to drink in here,” Luc said, tapping one of the port barrels and getting a hollow sound.

  “A secret castle door,” I said, examining the port barrels.

  “Impressive,” Katy said.

  “Scary,” Win said.

  “Maybe,” Tetyana said, looking thoughtfully at the doorway. “Maybe, we can find a way to the upper floors from there. Then, we can cut out all these middlemen and talk to the Dragon Diplomat directly.”

  “But this goes down, not up,” Katy pointed out.

  Luc was staring at Tetyana. “You know, you could be right,” he said. “Old castles had hidden tunnels from the bedrooms upstairs to the cellars below, so the nobles could escape enemy attacks.”

  Tetyana nodded. “Faster than trying to fight these kitchen bureaucrats.”

  They both looked at me.

  “Sure, let’s check it out,” I said. “Whatever works to get us closer to her.”

  “Is it safe though?” Win asked, peering down the shaft.

  “As sturdy as a rock,” Luc said, tapping the wall. “Must have stayed like this for centuries. You get right behind me, Win, and you’ll be safer than anyone else alive.”

  Following Luc’s torchlight, one by one we clambered down a short stairway to a landing, one much smaller than Chef Wilmar’s pantry.

  “This way,” Luc said, stepping into another corridor, the only way out.

  All around us was naked rock. The only light we had was Luc’s little torch. My only comfort was we were all together, and Tetyana and Luc each had a gun. Though that did little to help the claustrophobia rising in me.

  We followed Luc silently, huddling as close together as we could without tripping over each other. The passageway gradually became narrower and steeper. I shivered. We climbed down another slippery stairway, holding on to a rough iron railing that must have been installed eons ago.

  After a minute, we came to a fork. One tunnel went dead straight ahead, darkness swallowing the end. The second tunnel twisted steeply into a dark abyss below. Neither looked appealing.