GET THE KEYS! Max-Ernest typed.
While Daisy’s attention was still fixated on her hand, Max-Ernest pointed to the ring of keys hanging from her waist.
In a single motion, Yo-Yoji sliced the key ring off Daisy’s belt loop and caught it before it dropped to the ground.
Clutching her hand and wailing like a wounded animal, Daisy staggered after the snake. “Pea-ches!”
Yo-Yoji bowed low before Max-Ernest, offering the key ring as if it were a precious treasure, plundered in battle.
WHAT IS MY NEXT TASK, MASTER?
But by the time Yo-Yoji looked up, Max-Ernest was already running toward the animal cages.
Hand trembling, he unlocked Cass’s cage.
She grabbed the keys from him, along with her backpack. “Mom, I’m coming!”
End of Chapter 31.
Cass buried her face in her mother’s shoulder. The smells were comforting—coffee, bran muffins, printer ink, and not the slightest hint of chocolate.
“I missed you so much,” said Cass.
“Well, I’m right here,” said her mom. “Thank goodness you’re all right… I have so much to tell you. I’ve been thinking, if you really want to find your birth parents, I’ll help. It’s not fair to let my fears get in the way.”
Cass extracted herself from the long hug. “Thanks. But can we talk about that later?”
Her mother nodded. “You’re right. First things first. You wouldn’t believe what’s going on here! There are child slaves, chocolate monkeys… I have to get to a phone!”
If she only knew, Cass thought. Part of her wanted to try to explain where they really were and what was really happening. But there were certain things mothers were just not meant to hear.
“I know, Mom. We have to get you out of here.”
“Get me out of here? I have to get you out of here! I know it might not seem like it right now, but I’m the grown-up—you’re my child.”
“Hi, Mel,” said Max-Ernest, stepping forward. Yo-Yoji stood next to him, bowing to Cass’s mother.
“Max-Ernest? Yoji? You’re here, too?” She had been so excited to see her daughter she hadn’t noticed them when they’d sprung her from her cell.
“Yoji? Are you speaking Japanese…?” She looked at him in confusion.
“He says, ‘It’s an honor to meet you, ma’am,’” said Max-Ernest, glancing down at his Decoder, which in fact said,
I THROW MYSELF AT YOUR FEET, MY QUEEN. FOR I AM JUST A LOWLY SNAKE.
“That’s very nice, but we’ve met many times…”
“I’ll explain later,” said Cass quickly. “Now, can you just wait for us here for a minute?”
“What are you talking about? You better not be thinking of going somewhere without me,” said Cass’s mother, indignant. “The only way I’m letting you out of my sight is if you lock me up again.”
“Please. There’s something I have to do,” said Cass.
“What?”
“I can’t tell you, Mom. But I promise, if you do what I say now, I’ll do what you say for the rest of my life.”
“Ha. That’ll be the day.” Mel turned to Simone. “What’s going on here? I know my daughter. She’s always up to something… Simone, if you know anything, you need to tell me.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” said Simone, smiling apologetically. “My English…”
“Max-Ernest, Yo-Yoji, you guys are coming with me,” said Cass, ignoring her mother. “Simone, you, too. I need your help.”
Before her mother could stop her, she was striding away with her friends in tow.
As Mel watched in mute frustration, the quetzal emerged from the rainforest and followed the kids from above, flapping his tail in the wind.
The Tuning Fork.
As far as Cass was concerned, she couldn’t leave Wild World without it. She was responsible for giving it to Hugo and she had to get it back. It was too powerful, too awful an object to leave in the hands of the Midnight Sun.
It was also, Max-Ernest had explained, the key to restoring Yo-Yoji to his old self. Max-Ernest had watched Dr. L and Hugo use the Tuning Fork to create the antidote to the Palet d’Or; that was how they brought Cass back. If he wasn’t fed the antidote, Yo-Yoji might live the rest of his years as a samurai!
“Not that I would mind,” said Max-Ernest, struggling to keep up with her. “I mean, I’ve never been anybody’s master before, and it’s kind of convenient to have somebody to boss around like that. You think I could have him fight all the bullies at school?”
“You’ll have to have him fight me if you don’t help me find the Tuning Fork right now,” said Cass.
“OK, OK… where’d Yo-Yoji go, anyway?”
Simone pointed. “He is in the grass.”
The others turned—
“Oh, no,” said Cass. “Do you think he thinks he’s a snake now?”
Yo-Yoji was on his belly, slithering toward the rainforest.
“I dunno, maybe he hypnotized himself when he was hypnotizing the mamba…?”
“You better go give him his orders. Simone and I are going to go free some kids. Then I’m going to look for the Tuning Fork… I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
Before Max-Ernest could argue, Cass was on her way. At this rate, it would be a while before he could ask her about what he’d heard.
About the Secret.
Shaking his head, he started walking after Yo-Yoji while typing,
COME BACK. YOU’RE NOT A SNAKE.
At first glance, it could have been an explorer’s hut in the most remote of jungles. But of course it was only a guesthouse hidden in the rainforest—the faux rainforest—behind the Pavilion.
Inside, Itamar—or what was once Itamar—lay on his back in a four-poster bed. His ancient face was so parched and shrunken he looked like the disinterred mummy of an Egyptian pharaoh.
Dr. L hovered over him, taking the measure of his skull with some kind of handheld laser. He jotted notes on a pad.
Ms. Mauvais walked in. “Is he…?” She broke off, uncharacteristically hesitant.
“Yes, he’s dead,” said Dr. L dispassionately. “More dead, I should say. So much of him has been dead for centuries.”
An emotion similar to grief appeared briefly on Ms. Mauvais’s frozen face—a small crack in a field of ice. “If only he could have lasted another day! We are so close.”
Slowly, she moved to the bedside and looked down at Itamar.
“I did cry over that horse,” she whispered. “It’s just that I never let anyone see.”
Dr. L raised an eyebrow. “You? Cry? What are you talking about?”
Ms. Mauvais reeled around, snapping out of it. “Nothing! You misheard me, that is all.”
“Itamar made you what you are, didn’t he? Just as you made me,” Dr. L reflected. “I wonder what I will feel when you die…”
Ms. Mauvais’s cold eyes flashed. “I will never die.”
“Doctor? Madame?” The Bald Man—the grim van driver who had identified himself earlier as the Wild World Operations manager—entered the office. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but the girl and her mother, they’ve escaped.”
Ms. Mauvais glared. “Then why are you wasting your time here? Find them! I assume all the children are being rounded up?”
“Don’t worry, we’re on it. But there’s one more thing…” The Bald Man hesitated. He clearly didn’t like being the bearer of bad news.
“Yes, spit it out,” said Dr. L.
“The police. They’ve been asking questions at the Wild World offices. They seem to know a lot…”
“The police!” scoffed Ms. Mauvais. “What do we care about the police?”
“Well, you may not care, but I don’t want to end up in jail!” said the Bald Man, agitated.
“Why? What did you tell them?” asked Dr. L.
“I didn’t.”
“Good. Now let’s make sure it stays that way.” Dr. L pointed the laser at the other man�
�s head. “How lucky that you’re bald. I hate the smell of burning hair.”
Dr. L watched beads of sweat gather on the Bald Man’s forehead, then he lowered the laser.
“Forget the police. Find the girl.”
He reached down and pressed a small button on the wall next to the bed. An alarm started to sound.
It looked like the entire cacao plantation had been deserted. The monkeys had abandoned the trees. The slave children were nowhere to be seen. Even the golden pails were gone.
Cass and Simone ran into the warehouse. But it, too, was empty of life. The alarm echoed eerily.
“The Pavilion?” Cass asked.
Simone shook her head. “Kids are not allowed there. Unless…” She didn’t finish her sentence. It was not hard to imagine the orphans all being fed Hugo’s chocolate en masse. Or worse, turned into so many chocolate busts.
Chaos greeted them as they neared the once placid building.
They watched from the edge of the rainforest as five white-uniformed guards attempted to herd the gray-cloaked children—all still carrying their golden pails—in five different directions.
“Shouldn’t we take them back to the warehouse?”
“No! That’s where the police will look first!”
“Our orders are to hide them in the Pavilion.”
“Couldn’t they have at least left the buckets?!”
“Not a trace, said Dr. L!”
Finally, the guards managed to lead the children up the steps of the Pavilion. Still in their own slave tunics, Cass and Simone easily hid in the crush.
The quetzal circled above as they disappeared inside.
The crowd of children filled the central room, the loud din in complete contrast to the hush Cass and her friends had experienced when they first entered the building.
Cass surveyed her surroundings, weighing options. After a moment, her eyes alighted on one of the golden pails. She whispered something to Simone, who looked confused for a moment, then grinned in recognition.
“Pass it on—”
Simone nodded and whispered in the ear of the child closest to her. It was Alexander, the small boy whose ears the Skelton Sisters had nearly pulled off. His eyes widened, then he broke into a smile—a rusty smile that hadn’t lit up his face in years. (Cass was relieved to see his reaction; apparently, being cast in chocolate hadn’t done him any permanent hurt.)
“Pass it on—” said Simone.
He gladly whispered in the ear of the kid next to him. “Pass it on—”
Soon whispers filled the room.
“Pass it on—”
“Pass it on—”
“Pass it on—”
The guards looked around suspiciously:
“What’s going on here?”
“OK, line up against the wall, all of you, tallest to shortest!”
“No, shortest to tallest!”
“No, boys on the left, girls on the right!”
“Fine, just get them to settle down!”
As the guards debated amongst themselves, Alexander reached into his pail and dug out a fistful of monkey dung. With a look of intense concentration, he drew his hand back over his shoulder and flung it—splat!—into the forehead of an unsuspecting guard.
Before the other guards knew what was happening, a second boy threw a dung-ball at a second guard—splat! It landed on the second guard’s chest.
Meanwhile, Cass climbed onto the sundial in the center of the room and shouted, “OK, everybody ready? One… two… three… Now!”
All at once, all the kids in the room reached into their pails and, cheering, started throwing fistfuls at the guards. It was like a hailstorm of chocolate-colored snowballs.
The guards ducked, trying to defend themselves as their white tunics developed big, brown polka dots and their hair dripped with brown, oozing excrement.
“Ugh!”
“Disgusting!”
“No not my gloves!”
“Stop!”
“Let me out of here!”
“Now everybody—make a run for it!” Cass shouted.
Cheering, the kids tossed their pails in the air like college graduates tossing their hats. Then they threw their gray cloaks aside and poured out the front door.
“Simone, can you make sure they’re OK?” asked Cass, stepping back onto the floor.
Simone nodded and excitedly exited with the other kids.
A moment later, Cass was tiptoeing along the Pavilion’s curving outer hallway. The hallway seemed even longer than it had the first time she’d walked down it, and she kept expecting to be stopped at every turn.
She didn’t hear a sound until she reached the Test Kitchen door. Voices were coming from the other side.
She identified the speakers in her head as she listened:
“What do you mean the chocolate isn’t ready? We need it now!” (Ms. Mauvais)
“She’s right, Hugo. We’re out of time. Our cover is blown. We must burn the building down immediately.” (Dr. L)
“Burn it? What about the children you’ve just rounded up in there?” (Señor Hugo)
“What about them? They’re evidence. They must be destroyed.” (Ms. Mauvais)
There was silence. Then,
“Do whatever you have to do. But not my chocolate! I’ve spent years developing this chocolate—I won’t leave it. Not now.” (Señor Hugo)
“You have ten minutes. Then we burn. With you or without you.” (Ms. Mauvais)
A door swung open. Cass flattened herself against the wall, partly hidden by a potted palm. Dr. L and Ms. Mauvais strode past without so much as a glance in her direction.
Bracing herself, she walked into the Test Kitchen.
“Cassandra. Just who I was hoping to see.”
“Give it to me,” said Cass. She stood in the center of the room—by the stove—and held out her hand.
The Test Kitchen, she noticed, was all stainless steel and nearly identical to the kitchen Señor Hugo taught in. He must have had the room built specially.
The chef removed his dark glasses and stared at her with his one good eye. She tried her best to hold his gaze.
“Give you what?”
“You know what—the Tuning Fork.”
“Oh. I thought perhaps you meant the chocolate. I have made another piece for you. I think you will find it even stronger than the last. So strong it will tell you a secret. The Secret.”
“You told them it wasn’t ready. I heard you.”
“That’s because I knew they would try to kill me once they had the chocolate. Now take it. I must know if it works. If it does, I will become wealthy beyond measure.”
“I’m not really hungry right now. Thanks.”
“Take it.”
Cass hesitated, then took the chocolate from him.
“Eat.”
“Maybe later.” She reached around and dropped the chocolate into her backpack. Perhaps Pietro will want to have it analyzed, she thought.
“Where’s the Tuning Fork? I want it back. Now.”
Señor Hugo laughed. “What makes you think I would ever give it back to you?”
“You act like you’re this great chef, an artist—but you don’t really care about food or chocolate. All you care about is the Secret. You’re no better than Ms. Mauvais and Dr. L. You’re a hypocrite and a liar.”
“If I were you, I would think twice about crossing me.”
He gestured casually to the row of knives clinging to the long magnet behind him.
Cass shuddered, remembering his classroom knife demonstration. Unconsciously, she backed up against the opposite wall, crushing her backpack.
“I thought you said a real chef only needs one knife,” she said bravely. “That looks like a lot of knives.”
“Touché… but I was talking about a cooking knife. These are throwing knives.”
Without so much as a glance over his shoulder, he reached backward and pulled the first knife off the rack.
Whiz! Boing! In a fraction of a second, it flew through the air and landed in the wall next to Cass’s ear. She could hear a high-pitched hum as it vibrated back and forth.
“Just like a tuning fork, no?” the chef joked.
Whiz! Boing! A second knife flew through the air and landed next to her other ear.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I just realized I was cheating. I had my eye open. Let me try again… blind.”
Whiz! Boing! Whiz! Boing! Whiz! Boing!
His eye closed, the chef threw knife after knife, each landing closer to Cass than the last, until she was surrounded on all sides by knives—
Hugo opened his eye and grinned. “We should do a carnival act. You could be my assistant.” He looked the jeans-and-sweatshirt-wearing girl up and down. “Of course, you’d have to wear something a little more feminine. Perhaps sequins?”
Cass gritted her teeth. “Never.”
“Aiyeee!”
Yo-Yoji leapt into the room, sword-stick thrust forward.
On his head was a gleaming stock pot—his samurai helmet. In his free hand, was the lid to the pot—his samurai shield.
Max-Ernest followed, holding his Decoder aloft as if it too were a samurai weapon.
ENGAGE THE CHEF
the Decoder translated.
YOU WANT ME TO MARRY THE CHEF?
Max-Ernest shook his head no and typed:
NO, FIGHT THE CHEF!
Yo-Yoji nodded, relieved. Then bowed to Hugo.
Never taking his eyes off his opponent, Yo-Yoji raised his sword-stick in the air.
BATTOJUTSU—MY SWORD IS DRAWN!
Hugo shook his head, incredulous. “What the heck are you doing?”
Yo-Yoji shrugged. A long ladle was resting on the counter next to Yo-Yoji. He picked it up and crossed it with his sword-stick, apparently thinking the ladle was another sword.
NITORYUU—THE TWO-SWORD METHOD!
As Max-Ernest translated, Yo-Yoji waited expectantly for Hugo to pick up his swords.
“That’s all right. I’ll just use one,” said Hugo, pulling the longest knife out of the wall behind Cass.
Yo-Yoji growled, his honor offended.
THEN I SHALL USE NONE!
Tossing his weapons aside, Yo-Yoji jumped into the air, and karate kicked the surprised Hugo in the stomach.
This Book Is Not Good for You Page 17