Frederik Sandwich and the Mayor Who Lost Her Marbles

by Kevin John Scott

  “Nope,” said a detective. “No hippos up here either.” And the footsteps receded.

  He was in a cramped space at the base of a final spiral of stairs. Overhead, everything was golden. A wash of evening sunshine flooding a vast space. He reached the top and found himself inside an octagonal chamber of glass three times the height of a man.

  The gradually setting sun had set the whole horizon on fire, and it filled the space with glare. An enormous searchlight was mounted on a pillar at its heart—and a giant telescope on a giant pole with a set of steps leading up to it.

  The mayor’s secret watchtower. How often did she stand up here, staring? And which way? Toward Frederik’s house? Into his bedroom? Shining her massive light on his private affairs. He shuddered. Up here, it was clear how exposed he had been, had always been. The whole of the borough of Frederik’s Hill surrounded him, laid out like a map, the golden sunset painting every rooftop, every chimney.

  There was another violent shudder and something clattered.

  He jumped. Couldn’t see anything. Blinded by the sun shining right in his eyes.

  Then a silhouette moved across the glare.

  A tall, elegant, female silhouette. Straight of back and long of neck. Hair pinned behind in a knot. She turned and stared directly at him.

  Frederik thought he might throw up. The mayor was here. She must have realized something was wrong when the ground shook. Must have slipped away and headed back to find out what. There was another tremor, but she just stood there, silent, a dark shadow against the flare of the sunset.

  Something whizzed into the sky behind her. A firework. There was a faraway crack, and it scattered thousands of multicolored sparks like a blooming flower. She was a dark silhouette, haloed with glaring, golden light and tiny, falling stars.

  “Muffin!” she said. “Whatever kept you?”

  Chapter 23

  Club Sandwich

  “Pernille?” Frederik gasped.

  “Expecting someone else?”

  “The mayor,” he wheezed. “I thought you were the mayor.”

  Pernille emerged from the golden glow and patted him rather annoyingly on the head. “I’m offended. I thought you’d come to spring me.”

  “I have! That’s why I’m here.”

  “Well, the mayor is not here, I can assure you.” She waved a hand in the general direction of the park. “She’s over there. I’ve been watching. She appears to have pulled things together now, but not long ago she seemed to be having another earthquake.”

  “She was. That was me.”

  She leaned her alarming eyes into his face. “Was it? How tectonic of you. I told them not to underestimate you. He’ll rescue me, I told them.”

  “Who? Who did you tell?”

  “The mayor, the detectives, all of them. I sense I’m starting to irritate them, actually.”

  “You told the detectives about me? You told the mayor?”

  “He won’t let me down,” I said. “Not my little salad sandwich.”

  “You told them my name?”

  “Your name isn’t salad. Don’t be so ridiculous. He’ll never stop until I’m free, I told them. Although, I must say, you took longer than I expected.”

  “I didn’t know where you were.”

  “You didn’t see me signaling?”

  “No. How could I? You left your pocket penlight behind.”

  “Did you find it?”

  “Well, I did. But then I lost it. In the pipes.”

  “You lost my pocket penlight? How could you? Well, you can go back for it later. It had better not be scratched. Thankfully, I had this massive industrial searchlight to fall back on. You must have seen it, surely? I pointed it straight into your bedroom window.”

  “The supernova? That was you?”

  “How many other girls do you have flashlight signal arrangements with?” She seemed rather offended.

  “None. But I thought that was the mayor too.”

  “What would she be signaling about? She’s been too busy driving me bananas. Up here, day after day, throwing questions around like confetti. Why did you do this, why did you do that, who do you think you are, young lady? But did I buckle? No, I did not. Except for the time she brought cake. But other than that, no. Not once.”

  “You told her my name!”

  “Well,” she said. “I could hardly take all the credit, could I? You’ve made an almost equal contribution to my own.”

  “Almost equal?” he spluttered. “Do you know what I had to do to get here today? Do you know how many rules I’ve broken?”

  “How many?”

  “All of them! Every single one.”

  “Really?” she said. “I’m impressed. Shall we go? Can’t stand around chin wagging all day.” She started toward the stairs.

  “The detectives are down there.”

  “Mortensen and Martensen? I can handle those two. We’ve firmly established who wears the pants in that relationship.”

  “We have to find my parents too. Venkatamahesh is down there, searching.”

  “He’s here?”

  “And Rasmus Rasmussen.”

  “How lovely. The whole club. We need a name, don’t you think? Club Sandwich! In honor of you. We can have a midsummer party of our own.”

  “Speaking of which,” he said, “what’s happening in the park?”

  “Oh, come and see.” She flounced headlong into the blaze of sunlight. Frederik followed, blinded.

  “Didn’t you once have a telescope?” she asked.

  “Yes. It was smashed in the earthquake. I miss it.”

  “Well, try this one for size.”

  A gray, steel pillar rose ten feet from the floor. Balanced on the top, precisely weighted, was eight feet of high-powered astronomical telescope. Two smaller tubes ran parallel to the lower end. Viewfinders. Steps led up to the eyepiece.

  Pernille sprang up the steps and hauled the telescope in a sweep to point at the park. “It’s a super view. You can make out people’s individual nostril hairs.”

  Frederik climbed up and pressed his eye to the disk of brass and glass. Saw a swim of whitish gray. He tugged at the handles and the telescope glided effortlessly. Something yellow wandered by. What was that? He nudged it back. Part of the castle. The western wing, in spectacular detail. It was like he was there. He trained the telescope on the hillside. Picnickers everywhere. He could zoom in on their faces. He could see what they had in their baskets.

  He tugged again. More crowds. The boating lake. A duck. A long table on a lawn, candles in silver holders. A man laughing, rosy cheeked. The edge of a stage. The edge of a dress. The edge of an arm, bare to the shoulder. An elegant neck. Pale skin. Prim, white hair, pinned behind. Kamilla Kristensen! Her Ladyship the Mayor. And what was she doing? Chatting and laughing. Animated. Who was she talking to? He nudged the control and moved a fraction of an inch.

  “The queen,” he breathed. “The mayor is down there talking to the queen.”

  He tilted the telescope up again and scanned the brow of the ramparts behind the crowd. “Nice job, Calamity.”

  There had to be one hundred marbles, shoulder to shoulder, along the top of the hill, staring blankly from tricycle buckets and strollers and trolleys and one or two supermarket carts. The picnickers were paying no attention to them, too enthralled by the royal pantomime playing out below.

  Another tremor rattled the hill and people looked alarmed, but only briefly. Then they went back to whatever they were eating, as though used to it now.

  He pivoted back to the mayor and the queen and a newcomer. A soldier. The soldier laid a box in front of the queen. He lifted something from it. A loop of heavy gold chain with a large, shiny medallion. “What’s that?” Frederik wondered.

  Pernille took a look. “That is the National Medal
for Civic Service. It’s to be awarded to the mayor tonight. She’s been crowing about it all week. It will make her one of the most prominent politicians in the land.”

  “We must stop that.”

  “How?”

  “With the giant industrial searchlight?”

  The flick of a switch and a yank of a lever. Light erupted from the searchlight. It was terrifically hot and Frederik had to lean his head back, blinking. It took all his strength to swing it around and aim it at the park. The beam tracked across the ramparts of Frederik’s Hill, over the enormous crowd.

  “Guide me,” he told her.

  She pressed her eye to the telescope. “Left a bit. Down. Right. No, too far. A little bit left. That’s it!”

  “What’s happening down there?”

  “The mayor is shouting a lot and pointing our way and not especially pleased. The queen is trying to shield her eyes with her hat.”

  “Perfect. That should tie them up for a bit. Now come on. I’ve got family to find.”

  They rushed down the stairs, two steps at a time. Out of the lighthouse, onto the sixth floor, fifth floor, fourth.

  “Watch for Venkatamahesh,” Frederik panted.

  “There he is! Mr. Ramasubramanian!”

  The disheveled, little shopkeeper hurried along a hallway, delighted. “Miss Pernille! It is miraculous to see you. If my mother were here—”

  “Later,” said Frederik, grabbing his arm and hauling him to the stairs. “Did you find my parents?”

  “No sign anywhere. Maybe they are in the basement?”

  “I don’t think so,” Frederik said with deep misgivings. “But let’s look again.” They hurried down the stairs.

  “How are you, dear man?” Pernille was asking. “Has it been terrible for you?”

  “Very distressing, as a matter of fact. My business is ruined.”

  Pernille gave him a consoling squeeze.

  “I never even wanted to be a shopkeeper,” he went on. “It is such a pitiful cliché.”

  “What did you want to be?” she asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Something outdoorsy.” He laid a kindly hand on Pernille’s elbow and looked up into her enormous eyes. “Did you find your mother?”

  “No.” She gulped. “Although I found the Department of Unwanted Offspring. It really is hidden away. In fact, it’s just a filing cabinet. A tiny handful of cases, and the only pending one is my own.” She turned to Frederik. “There’s a process underway to cancel my adoption. It just needs the mayor’s signature.”

  “I heard,” he said.

  “But I found no trace of who I am or where I came from.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Venkatamahesh.

  They hurried down to the second floor, the first, their feet slapping on the tiles, their conversation echoing in the stairwell. Around the final corner.

  Two tall detectives in identical suits blocked the way completely. “Well, good evening.”

  Frederik skidded to a halt just inches from their shiny shoes. Pernille yelped.

  Martensen reached out to grab Frederik. “We were heading outside to hunt for you. You saved us the effort.”

  Frederik shrugged the hand from his shoulder. “Where are my parents?”

  “You’ll join them soon enough,” the detective growled. “You’re all going on a journey.”

  “Where are they? I know they’re in this building.”

  Martensen shook his head. “Wrong. They’re not. They’re being sent away. And now you’re here, we can get on with it.”

  “Let them go! Let them out!”

  Mortensen shrugged. “Can’t. Only Her Ladyship can authorize that. And Her Ladyship is busy just now.”

  And then, right there, at that precise moment, little Venkatamahesh Ramasubramanian, downtrodden and despondent, simply snapped. Popped. Went a tiny bit la-la. He marched up to the two detectives, each of whom was twice his height. He jabbed a stubby finger into the belly of the first, to the detective’s utter surprise. He tilted his head back and bellowed. He actually bellowed. Him. Little Mr. Venkatamahesh Ramasubramanian. Right there in the polished hallways of Municipal Hall.

  “Stand aside!” he bellowed. “Get out of our way! Who do you think you are, you overgrown bullies?”

  Mortensen and Martensen exchanged glances, disconcerted.

  “You are servants of the community. Your salaries are paid by the taxpayer. Me! And yet here you stand, impeding my way and that of my juvenile companions.”

  “We,” Mortensen said, recovering, “represent the law, Mr. Submarine.”

  “My name is not Submarine, you ignorant buffoon. My name is Venkatamahesh Ramasubramanian. If that is too many syllables for your tiny mind, I cannot say I am surprised. But it is my name nonetheless, and if you cannot manage to get it right, I suggest you shut up entirely!”

  He shoved Mortensen rather hard into Martensen and attempted to carry on by. It didn’t work. Mortensen regained his balance, stretched out a long arm, and pinned Venkatamahesh to the shiny marble wall.

  “Leave my friend alone!” Frederik grabbed Venkatamahesh and tried to pull him away from the detective.

  Martensen took Frederik by the scruff of the neck, hoisting him almost off his feet.

  “No!” Pernille shouted, marching on them in a fury.

  And then another unexpected thing occurred.

  There was a sudden, enormous crash. The polished floor beneath their feet seemed to skip several inches sideways. Everything started to shake. And then harder. And from somewhere downstairs came the most tremendous roar.

  Chapter 24

  Obstacles

  Martensen dropped Frederik like a sack. “What was that noise?”

  Mortensen’s hand fell away from Venkatamahesh. “The hippo?”

  “It came from downstairs. Should one of us look?”

  “What about the prisoners?”

  “Hold on to them tight.” Martensen went jogging to the door marked Basement. Opened it carefully, stared down the stairs, ducked his head, and disappeared.

  Now there was only one detective left. Farther down the hallway, there was a door marked Fire Exit.

  “Pernille,” Frederik hissed, trying to point with his eyes.

  And then, from somewhere down those stairs, there came a bloodcurdling cry of terror.

  “Martensen?” said Mortensen, turning pale. He ran to the stairs and peered down. “Are you all right?”

  A second awful moan echoed up the staircase, and Mortensen sprinted down. “Wait! I’m coming.”

  “This way,” said Frederik, grabbing Pernille’s hand on one side and Venkatamahesh’s on the other. They erupted out of the exit, into the sunset.

  “We’re free!” Pernille cheered. She grabbed Frederik, hugged him hard, and tousled his hair to a tangled mess. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you! I knew you’d find me. I never doubted it.”

  The two of them rushed into the roadway. No cars, no bicycles, no buses, no one. From the direction of the park, there were snatches of music.

  “What now?” Frederik said. “Where can we go that’s safe?”

  “Nowhere is safe.” Venkatamahesh was lagging several yards behind. “Nowhere is safe so long as the mayor holds office. She will pursue us to the ends of the land and eject us.”

  “But we’re free!” Pernille said.

  “Free of what?” Venkatamahesh wandered across the street toward his shabby convenience store. “I will never be free.” He shook his head. “Place your faith in the deities, my mother used to say. Vishnu and Lakshmi and the one with the extra eyes, I can’t remember his name. The protector and the destroyer and the remover of obstacles. But where is my remover of obstacles? Where is Ganesh? Who will remove this obstacle?” He flung an accusing finger toward his shut and shaded store. �
��This burden! This millstone! How will I ever be rid of it?” He turned and looked Frederik in the eye.

  There was silence. No hint of a breeze, no noise, nothing.

  And then the road jolted. The windows of the Ramasubramanian Superstore rattled. Venkatamahesh, looking back across the street, opened his eyes extremely wide. His mouth fell open. Frederik turned.

  He saw the pavement buckle.

  The steps that led beneath Municipal Hall, the entrance to the long-forgotten station, seemed to yawn. The walls around the top collapsed in a rain of broken bricks. The sidewalk shuddered, and from the widening hole, a head appeared. A very large, wrinkled, hairy head. Square ears, black eyes, a trunk, and two enormous, vicious tusks.

  The bull elephant rose from the ground with a roar and a crash. He shook the debris from his back and marched into the street, snorting. He stared down at Venkatamahesh.

  “Ganesh?” whispered the shopkeeper.

  The elephant growled, low and decisive. He walked forward, sending Venkatamahesh scurrying. He leveled the flat of his forehead against the storefront. And kept walking.

  The plate-glass window of the Ramasubramanian Superstore folded in and fell with a terrifying crash. Weapons of jagged glass exploded onto the sidewalk. The brickwork above the window gave way and showered over the elephant. The bedroom window cracked and caved in. And the elephant kept walking.

  The door popped from its hinges and fell into the street. The doorframe snapped like a twig. Soups and sauces and milk and cheeses were tossed aside. Cereals, vegetables, and cakes were quite destroyed. The bull’s back pressed against the ceiling and a furrow of dents and cracks opened up. Plaster fell in handfuls. Beams groaned and gave.

  The checkout counter was sliced in two by a tusk. The water pipes burst. The cash register was upended, and what little change was in it rolled away. The garbage can in the back room tipped, and sour chococcino washed across the floor.