by Adam Sidwell
He set the black cauldron down on the snow. He took a bundle of kindling from his backpack and lit a small fire on a flat rock near the side of the crevasse. He set the cauldron on the fire, then opened his backpack and removed what looked like a brick wrapped in a white cheesecloth.
“Now, we cook.” He unwrapped the brick. It was a rich, golden-brown color. He tossed the brick into the cauldron, then took several more from his pack and unwrapped them too before dumping them in all at once. In just a few minutes, the contents began to bubble and a rich, caramel smell floated up out of the cauldron and wafted its way over to Guster. He breathed in deeply.
It was good. Too good for something in such a frozen, forbidding place.
“Caramel!” Zeke shouted, his voice booming and echoing through the crevasse.
The walls creaked and the drifts of snow above them groaned as if waiting to shift and come crashing down upon them. Lumps of cold white snow dropped like sandbags and landed heavily at their feet, dusting Mariah and Gaucho’s shoulders with a layer of white powder.
“Silence!” Caramelo whispered. “You will bring the snows down on us before their time!”
Caramelo shooed them back with his hands, then prodded the snow around him with the toe of his boot as if testing it.
“Here,” he said, nodding to Pistachero. They each shoved their hands into a pair of thick oven mitts, then lifted the bubbling cauldron and poured it out onto the snow in six distinct parallel holes, each two to three feet wide.
The snow sizzled audibly, and a wall of white steam rose up where the caramel melted the snow. The sweet, warm, buttery smell grew stronger and rose softly to the sky like a mist.
Guster took a step forward, transfixed by the golden mixture. The caramel sunk as it melted its way downward, inch by inch. It was carving—no, burrowing—its way deeper into the snow. In less than half a minute, the caramel had melted a hole into the snow. He stepped up to the edge of the hole and peered down into it. It was already several feet deep.
“Cover your face with both hands,” Gaucho said. “And whatever you do, do not struggle. You must let the city accept you.”
“What?” said Zeke. It sounded like nonsense.
“You will see,” said Gaucho.
“I don’t understand,” said Guster.
Caramelo and Pistachero did not answer. Instead they began to sing a low, sad song in some language that Guster could not understand. It was more moaning than words, and it began to echo through the crevasse, shaking the air and ice. Gaucho joined them, adding his voice to the deep melody.
The cliffs began to creak, and the snow shifted again, dropping lumps onto their heads. Guster pulled Mariah away from the cliff face. Zeke huddled close to them, his face pointed upward.
The avalanche began all at once, snow sliding in sheets off the top of the cliff, breaking into chunks the size of cars as they tumbled down toward Guster and his siblings.
Suddenly, Caramelo was behind Guster, hands on both of his arms. He shoved Guster face first into the hole. Guster fell, tumbling down into the hole as the snow above came crashing down on top of him like a soft, cold boulder.
“Cover your face!” cried Gaucho. Guster put his hands up to his face just as there was a rush of air and a soft wump as the avalanche buried him alive.
Chapter 11—The Delicious City
Guster fell, sliding and tumbling head first down the long, narrow tunnel that the steaming caramel had bored through the ice.
The avalanche followed him, the snow pushing him with incredible force, like water from a fire hose.
He hit his shoulder, then his back, on the rough-hewn walls as he shot downward.
And then it was over. He hit a soft, sizzling snow bank with so much force it knocked the air from his lungs. The avalanche behind him smashed him into the snow beneath him, as if it were pinning him between two mattresses.
Everything was dark. It was hard to breathe. He was still conscious, his hands covering his face, the cold snow pressing against his chest.
It was crushing him. He tried to kick his legs, but they were pinned beneath the snow. He was trapped.
He opened his eyes, but it was so dark it made no difference, so he shut them again and tried to concentrate on breathing. What was it that Gaucho said? Don’t panic. Cover your face. Easy enough for him to say, when all Guster wanted to do was thrash his limbs about and try to climb his way to the top.
He wondered how long until he ran out of air.
No, I have to keep calm. They’ll come for me, he thought. They had to have seen what happened. But Caramelo had pushed him. Caramelo wanted him buried in the avalanche. Why carry them all this way just to get rid of them now?
Then he started to feel the snow warming at his back. It gave way, just a little. It was shifting, now sinking, downward.
Suddenly, the snow beneath him collapsed, and he fell, tumbling down into open air and dim sunlight, landing hard on something cold and smooth below him.
He gasped, panting and struggling on his hands and knees to find his breath again.
He was in a shallow snow cave, the ceiling no taller than his head if he stood. The floor sloped upward, so he could not see outside, but soft, blue light filtered in through the opening and lit up the ice at his feet. His pulse was racing and his veins were full of adrenaline. The air tasted so good.
“What . . . was that?” Guster asked aloud.
There was a scraping noise above him. Something huge burst out of the snow and fell onto Guster’s back, knocking him to the icy floor.
He rolled, shoving the thing off him.
“Oh, sorry, P,” said Zeke, getting to his feet. “Didn’t see you there.”
Guster winced. “Ouch.” He’d borne the brunt of Zeke’s fall.
A brittle caramel slab clattered away from Guster as he got to his feet. The caramel had frozen as it lost heat melting the tunnel.
“Where’s Mariah?” asked Guster.
Zeke shrugged. “I don’t know. They shoved me down a hole right after you.”
They heard a soft thump above them and a faint whimper.
“I think that’s her,” said Guster. “Help me dig.”
He and Zeke jammed their mittens into the snowpack above their head, scooping away chunks of hardened snow as best they could. In seconds, the snow broke, and another hardened caramel chunk clattered to the ice floor. Mariah fell into Zeke’s arms.
“You okay, sis?” asked Zeke.
She whimpered in reply, her hair caked with tiny ice crystals. Guster brushed the snow from her shoulders. She was shivering. “Cold . . .” she chattered.
They gave Mariah a moment to rest, then, exhausted, they picked their way up the sloped cave floor toward the light.
The shallow cave opened onto a beautiful valley below, where the sun shone with glimmering winks across a vast, green meadow.
Above the meadow on a raised pillar of snow and ice was a golden city, with towers that reached heavenward and arches that spanned across the empty sky, with ivory buttresses and silver parapets, all encircled by two emerald walls that joined at the center in a golden gate.
It was like an enormous castle, an entire kingdom contained within those emerald walls, with so many golden towers and polished ruby spheres that glinted atop the highest golden domes.
The city seemed to glow like it was made of pure gold.
Just looking at it warmed Guster’s shaking, shivering body, and, somehow, it made him happy. In all of their travels across the globe, to deep jungle and high mountaintop, Guster had never known that Mother Nature and humankind could collaborate in something so magnificent as what he saw before him in that moment.
Mariah raised her head. Her eyes widened as she peered out onto the shining city. “The Lost City of Gold,” she whispered.
“We made it,” said
Guster. Just the sight of it melted his worries away.
“I’m so . . . glad,” said Zeke. He sighed.
Gaucho climbed out of the cave and stood next to them. He smiled. “You like it?” he asked, sweeping his hand out toward the city before them as if pulling back a curtain.
“I . . . I’ve never seen anything so majestic,” said Guster. It wasn’t easy to find the words.
“The Lost City of El Dorado, the City of Gold,” said Mariah. “Gaucho, I was right all along . . . only, El Dorado was supposed to be hidden in the jungles of South America.” She chuckled weakly. “Only it’s here. In the Himalayas.”
“I told you so,” Zeke mouthed behind Mariah’s back, but he didn’t say it out loud.
Then the breeze shifted, and a cloud passed over the sun for just a moment, transforming the city from glowing gold to gleaming white. The entire city shifted, no longer shining, but appeared as something else entirely.
At the same moment, something sweet on the air touched Guster’s tongue, and he caught a fleeting glimpse of the city for what it truly was, as if a fog had been wiped from his mind. Instead of shining ruby orbs, there were glistening red cherries. Instead of emerald walls, there was deep green mint. And when the sun no longer shone on the towers, they no longer glinted gold, but gleamed as white as pure vanilla.
The city was alive with stories and scents of chocolate, strawberry, mint, butterscotch, and marshmallow.
Gaucho chuckled a little and placed a hand on Guster’s shoulder. “Not El Dorado, my friends,” he said. “The City of Gold is but a myth.”
“This is El Elado, the Delicious City. It is made of the thing that is most precious in all the world. It is the City of Ice Cream.”
Chapter 12—Mayor Bollito
The cloud passed and the sun shone on El Elado once again, turning it to gold. “I’m going to eat that whole tower,” Zeke whispered, his finger pointing to the center of the city.
Guster pressed Zeke’s pointer finger down. As soon as Guster had sniffed the city on the breeze, he’d known that’s what he wanted too. Despite how cold and wet he was, there was nothing more important in all the world than for him to taste it.
But eating up prime real estate didn’t quite seem polite. El Elado was so majestic, so perfect, Guster felt as if they were gazing upon sacred grounds. He could not defile them. He wanted to taste El Elado properly. They would have to go about it in just the right way.
“But this is impossible,” Mariah muttered weakly.
“You must believe your eyes,” said Gaucho.
“And the storm . . .” she said. “It’s gone.”
Guster had been so fixated on the city, he had not realized that the storm had passed without a hint that it had ever been. It must not have been able to penetrate the wall of mountains that surrounded the valley. Either way, the sun shone bright and the skies were clear.
“Such sits El Elado,” said Gaucho, “in the Valley of Golden Light.”
It did look like gold. Down below them in the lush green meadow a dark brown river ran in winding arcs toward the city and shimmering strawberries glinted in the sun like polished red rubies. They covered the plain so that it shone and twinkled as the sunlight reflected off the strawberries’ red skin.
Caramelo and Pistachero climbed up out of the cave behind them. They had gathered their cauldron and equipment and stowed it in their packs.
“Look, they are coming to greet us,” said Caramelo, shoving past Guster.
Out on the strawberry plains a small procession hurried along. There was a half dozen or so men dressed in shiny armor just like Gaucho’s. On their shoulders they carried a small platform. A man in a black suit was seated on top. Behind them were another half dozen men, all dressed in red robes.
They scurried along the plains, darting this way and that down a path that ran more or less parallel to the brown river.
“Come,” said Pistachero. “We are received by his Honor. We must meet them.” He and Caramelo herded Guster, Mariah, and Zeke down the slope and out the mouth of the cave until they were in open sunlight.
They picked their way down a steep, rocky path that led down to the green meadow. Guster chose his footsteps carefully, keeping his eyes on the ground. Here and there the ruby red strawberries peeked out of the brilliant green grass. The further they went, the thicker the strawberries grew, until soon enough they were standing in a field that was more red than green.
Caramelo halted there and waited as the procession met them on the flat plain. As the procession drew close, Guster could see that the man seated on top of the litter not only wore a black suit, but a black top hat and a shiny glass monocle over one eye. On his left lapel he wore an enormous bright blue and white ribbon that opened like a blooming blue sunflower. In the center was a button that read ‘Mayor.’ A shiny silver spoon peeked out of his right breast pocket.
He was short, with a protruding round paunch that rose all the way up to his chin. His face was scrunched like a bulldog’s, and Guster wondered if at any moment the man might bark out loud.
“His Majesty, the Mayor of El Elado, Mayor Bollito,” announced one of the men carrying the litter, breathless. They all set the litter gently on the ground.
Caramelo and Pistachero both bowed deeply. When Gaucho did not, Caramelo pulled Gaucho down into a bow by Gaucho’s shirt collar.
The Mayor strutted forward, stepping down off the litter onto the green field. He adjusted his monocle, setting it firmly between chubby cheek and lumpy brow. He stared at Guster carefully for several moments, his eye magnified to double the size by the glass, so that Guster began to feel uneasy under the weight of his glare.
A line of men in red flowing robes encircled the Mayor from behind the litter.
Were they? No, this was too far away for Gastronimatii. They were all gone, weren’t they?
These men’s red robes were actually woven with parallel strips of red and brown that hung down to their ankles, with sleeves that opened wide at the wrists. On top of their heads they wore a strange flat square, like a thin book balanced on their scalps. The strangest of all was a long, wavy strip that hung from the center of their square caps that looked like a strip of bacon.
Guster sniffed. Salt. Their clothes were made of cloth to look like bacon, but that tassel on their hats was actually real bacon.
They were of all different heights. Most of them were older than Dad, but some of them were just a few years older than Zeke. All of them were at least a head taller than Gaucho or Mayor Bollito.
Caramelo looked up from his bow. “Your Majesty,” Caramelo said. “We apprehended the traitor Gaucho del Pantaloon and brought him back to your custody! We leave him in your hands for punishment.”
The Mayor peered down his nose at Gaucho, his eyes narrowing.
Gaucho grinned sheepishly, turning his helmet in his hands.
The Mayor’s monocle eye settled on Guster, Mariah, and Zeke once again. “And the Flatlanders?” he asked in a voice so deep and low it sounded like it came straight from his chest.
The men carrying the litter began to mutter one to another. “I’ve never seen a Flatlander before,” one of them whispered.
“Your Majesty,” Caramelo said. “We think he’s the one Yummy has been looking for. We have not failed you. He knows things from a single spoonful that others cannot ever tell. This one has vision of tongue like we have not seen.”
Guster felt his insides turn hot. He’d been too obvious. Is that why they were in this mess? Because he’d given himself away at Bubalatti’s?
The Mayor removed the monocle from his face, breathed on it, then rubbed it on a handkerchief. He placed it back on his eye—the right one this time—and leaned forward, examining Guster closely.
Guster could feel the Mayor’s breath on his cheek. He stared into the Mayor’s scrunched face, trying his best
not to look away. He wouldn’t let this man intimidate him.
The Mayor reached out a white gloved hand, took hold of a single hair from Guster’s head, and plucked it free.
“Ouch!” Guster cried. He covered his mouth. He hadn’t meant to let that slip. He was trying to sound brave.
The Mayor held the hair up to his eye, and sniffed. He seemed to be considering it. The men in the red robes surrounded the Mayor, whispering and muttering back and forth over their shoulders to each other and to him. Some of them were even scribbling down notes with feather quill pens on scrolls.
“The Exquisite Morsel,” said one.
“Could it be?” said another.
“Evertaster . . .” a third whispered.
How could they know about Evertasters way out here? Guster hadn’t heard anyone use that word since last summer, aside, that is, from Felicity a few days ago.
Guster dared not ask. They were so intimidating, standing there, towering over him with their shiny red robes, all standing in a ring like a herd of old goats.
One of them whispered in the Mayor’s ear, loud enough that Guster could hear. “Trial by Taste,” he said.
The Mayor seemed to consider Guster for a moment, his bottom lip protruding outward like a wrinkled worm. His eyes widened as an expression of realization spread across his scrunched face. He nodded. Then he took the silver spoon from his pocket and pointed it at Guster.
“You shall undergo the Trial by Taste!” he barked in a voice that seemed to reach the mountain tops.
Gaucho stomped his foot. “You can’t!” he cried. “It’s too much! He’s just a boy.”
If Gaucho was afraid, this couldn’t be good.
“Guards, take him to the mansion and make the preparations,” the Mayor said. He looked down at Guster. “You may be just the boon we’re looking for.” He laughed coldly. “Welcome to the City of El Elado,” he said dryly. He didn’t seem to mean it.
The Mayor retreated to his seat, then motioned for the litter to be raised up. The men in the colorful robes heaved and hoisted him back up on their shoulders. Then in one motion, they turned back toward the city and carried him away.