by Adam Sidwell
“Wow. A mayor,” said Zeke, his jaw open. “I’ve never met a real mayor before.”
The red robes parted, and four soldiers marched through their midst. They carried spears with long, red banners trailing from the end of the shafts.
“Flatlanders,” barked the one in front. He unhooked a heavy chain with curved manacles on either end from his belt and clapped them onto Guster’s wrists. They pinched his skin as they clicked shut.
Guster did not protest as his wrists sunk to his thighs under the weight of the heavy iron links. They were outnumbered.
The guard clapped Zeke and Mariah in irons too. Mariah was too weak to protest, but Zeke flailed about, swinging his arms this way and that, like a tornado, until three guards finally wrestled him down.
“This way,” said the lead guard. He motioned to Guster, Zeke, and Mariah. Two of the soldiers marched around behind them, boxing them in.
“And you.” He pointed his spear at Gaucho. “You are under arrest. We’ll let the Culinary deal with you.”
They clapped thick-gloved hands on Gaucho’s shoulders, chained his wrists to his back, and shoved him toward the city.
Gaucho managed to turn his head back toward Guster and give them a sheepish grin. “Sorry,” he mouthed.
“This way,” said one of the soldiers behind Guster. He and the other soldier herded Guster, Zeke, and Mariah down the path through the meadow, marching them toward the city behind Gaucho.
The men with bacon strips hanging from their hats fell in behind the guards, following so close they nearly stepped on his heels. They were muttering even faster now, scribbling down notes. One even poked him with his feather quill.
“Ouch,” said Guster, more out of surprise than actual pain. “What did you do that for?”
The red-robed man behind him looked surprised. Instead of responding, though, he turned to his colleague and muttered something excitedly. The man responded, nodding his head and muttering back.
“I think they’re teachers,” said Zeke, whispering to Guster with his hand blocking one side of his mouth.
Guster nodded. It was possible. Anything was possible way up here. And there caps and gowns did look like something you’d wear to graduation.
A sudden look of dread came over Zeke. “What if they give us homework?” he said. He gulped.
The strawberries grew larger the closer they got to the city wall, until eventually they were the size of baseballs. The path that led up to the city gates grew wider, and the way more steep, until the guards herded them up a staircase of rectangular, dark brown bricks that looked like oversized chocolate bars. The higher they climbed the colder the air grew, until they were at the city’s emerald-colored wall. Up close it was easy to tell it was made of solid mint ice cream.
The city wall was at least three stories tall with crenellations set into its top, an impenetrable barrier between the outside world and the city within.
A pair of soldiers marched toward its center from either side and stopped above a massive gate. Two enormous light-brown doors opened as they approached, swinging inward. It looked like they were made of polished stone, with chunks of smaller rock—wait, no, Guster could smell it. It wasn’t rock.
“Peanut brittle,” he said.
The soldier behind him grunted. “Harder than granite,” he said. “Nothing can break those gates. Nothing gets in or out of those gates without our saying so.”
And with that, the four guards pushed Guster, Zeke and Mariah through the gates into The Delicious City.
Chapter 13—The Streets of El Elado
Inside the peanut brittle gate, the city was like a painting, or a bag of gumballs. Everything burst onto Guster’s eyes with so much color and life.
And the smell—it was remarkable. Mint and chocolate and marshmallow, all swirling gently round and round on the breeze. Everywhere Guster turned his face, it was met with new and delightful aromas.
There were people everywhere—many of them dressed in colorful tights with billowing pantaloons and bright orange, green, or blue sashes. Others dressed in old leather boots that rose up past their knees or simple coarse brown tunics, pushing wheelbarrows full of colorful ice cream in every direction. There were soldiers with billowy pants and shiny chest pieces just like Gaucho. There were children throwing balls in the streets. There were men and women talking excitedly in doorways and pointing at Guster, Zeke, and Mariah as they entered.
The street under Guster’s feet was made of a translucent golden substance, hard and smooth, like a sheet of nearly opaque glass. The sun bent as it passed through it, giving it an almost golden glow. He stomped the heel of his boot. The street was hard as ice.
One of the guards grunted. “Haven’t you never walked down a butterscotch street before?”
Guster shook his head. So that was it. Butterscotch. He always got little yellow disk candies that were wrapped up in plastic cellophane every Halloween. Those were very hard, and Dad had always cautioned him that if he wasn’t careful he’d break his teeth when he bit down on one. But hard enough to pave a street? Did that mean that this entire street was—it seemed too impossible—edible? He resisted the urge to get down on his hands and knees and lick the pavement.
“What are these made of?” asked Zeke as they passed the closest building. It was a sphere, like most of the buildings in the city, roughly carved or put together with what looked like hardened green mud. There were windows carved around the sides and a doorway in the center.
“Bricks, of course,” said the guard.
Zeke peered at him, like he was waiting for the guard to tell the whole story. The guard didn’t say another word, but what they had seen from far away was obvious now that they were close. The buildings of the city were indeed igloos made of ice cream bricks.
It was impossible. Guster had never seen—or even dreamed of—so much ice cream in his life. And now it was all in one place. How could they have made so much of it? And in so many flavors?
They rounded a corner where a mint, domed building stood right next to a chocolate one. A procession of people marched by, clogging the street. There were so many of them they had to walk elbow to elbow to keep from being squeezed out onto the side streets. They were all shouting and cheering, waving pieces of black and red licorice in the air. They must have been celebrating something, but Guster couldn’t tell what.
“Halt!” cried the guard in front. He stopped, planting his spear into the ground and craning his neck over the people in an attempt to see to the other side. There was no room for him to pass, not without charging into the crowd and knocking everyone over like bowling pins.
“Wait here,” he said. “I’m going to see what’s going on.” He turned upstream into the procession, elbowing his way into the crowd.
The other three guards formed a ring around Guster, Zeke, and Mariah, trying their best to block them from melting into the crowd. It would have been next to impossible anyway with their arms chained at the wrists.
“How strange,” said Mariah weakly. She was scanning the crowd. “None of them seem to have parents.”
Guster followed her gaze. There were kids younger than Guster everywhere, wandering through the parade. They roamed in packs, with no particular adult watching over them. Had Mom been there, she would have made them go home right away.
“Just my kind of place,” said Zeke.
A big man in a brown tattered tunic bumped into one of the guards, knocking him off balance. The crowd pressed in around them, pushing them away from the remaining three guards.
Zeke’s face broke into a grin, like a pinball machine lighting up. “I’m going to try it,” he said, darting away toward a light, minty-green domed building next to a brown chocolate one.
“You!” shouted the guard closest Guster. “By order of His Majesty the Mayor you are ordered to halt!” He took off after Zeke, sh
oving his way past the big man who’d knocked the first guard off balance.
Zeke was quicker, even with his wrists chained, dodging and darting between people until he broke through an opening onto the street.
Guster saw his chance. While the third guard leaned over to help the first one up, Guster slipped behind the first one, then pointed at the guard.
“Flatlander!” he cried.
The trick worked. Two men and a woman both turned, their heads whipping around with looks of horror, then confusion, at the guard. “Not me!” said the guard, turning toward them and holding up his hands.
That gave Guster just enough time to dart between two villagers in purple robes, double back, and break out into the empty street where Zeke had already dug his hands into the minty green building on the other side.
Zeke scooped out two handfuls of light green ice cream and shoved them in his mouth. “It’s better than I dreamed!” he shouted. His eyes grew wide. “It’s mint and delicious, and I want to eat the whole town!”
Guster wasted no time. A city made of actual ice cream. He carved a scoop out with his chained hands. It was cold to the touch, like a snowball when you hold it too long. It felt smooth and creamy, like butter. He wrapped his mouth around his coated fingers.
It tasted so minty and delightful; it smelled a bit like toothpaste squeezed from a fresh tube.
A thrill rose inside him, a feeling of excitement that he had not felt in over a year. Oh how wonderful it was! As cold as it was, somehow, it warmed him with the delight of summers past.
Zeke jammed his other hand into the building and scooped off another handful. He shoved that into his mouth, the emerald ice cream melting down his chin and smearing all over his cheeks. “I can’t believe it’s so good!”
He glanced right, then darted across the street. “Rocky road!” he cried, dashing for a brown house with nuts and marshmallow embedded in its sides.
Guster ran after him.
“Hooligans!” shouted a voice behind him. One of the guards thrust the wooden butt of his spear between Guster and the house, knocking Guster back before he could reach it.
The second guard tackled Zeke, wrestling him to the ground.
“Mmmffmm!” cried Zeke, his mouth full, his face and chest smeared with brown and green ice cream.
“Eating someone’s house?” the guard bellowed as he pinned Zeke to the ground with his knee. “Such savagery!”
The other guard pulled Guster to his feet, and the third guard brought Mariah up to meet them. “We ought to toss all three of you back out onto the glacier to freeze tonight!” he shouted. “How dare you eat someone’s house!”
The crowd had frozen in place as they watched.
The guard next to Guster cracked his knuckles and gave a low growl. “His Mayorship might not mind if we give you some brutal justice right here and now, considering what you’ve done.” He closed in, his fist raised.
“His Mayorship is not the only authority here,” said a clear, gentle voice.
The crowd went silent.
Guster turned. On the street, surrounded by procession of people with licorice strings in their hands, was a young woman in an enormous bell-shaped pink dress. Her hips were ringed in draping yellow sashes, she had a fluffy whipped cream collar that sprouted up around her neck, and she wore a large cherry-shaped jewel on her head. Her sleeves were the deep red color of strawberry sauce.
She was marvelous and exquisite, and she reminded Guster of the winner of a pageant he had seen once on TV. He knew at once, without anyone telling him, that the parade and the crowd had gathered to celebrate her.
The guard froze. He looked over his shoulder and dropped his fist to his side. The other three hesitated, as if not quite sure what to do next.
“But they’re Flatlanders,” said the lead guard. “And they were eating this house.”
“Mayor Bollito may disagree with me on this point, but what good is a city built so sweetly that it cannot be eaten?” she asked sternly. “I think it more prudent that we treat visitors with hospitality. Have you ever met a Flatlander before?”
The guard shook his head.
“I did not think so. Who has? Surely they have never before tasted things so wonderful as in our Delicious City.” She half glanced over at Guster and Zeke and, for a moment, it even looked like she’d flashed a wink at them. “There is no harm done here that cannot be repaired.” She clapped her hands once. “Confectioners!” she called.
The guards backed away from Guster, Zeke, and Mariah. Two men in black fur coats with floppy hats and tan tights scurried out of the crowd. They carried trowels in one hand and ice cream scoops in the other. Behind them followed a boy pushing a wheelbarrow full of buckets, each one filled with a different color of ice cream.
The two men stopped at the wall Zeke had eaten, sorted through their buckets until they found a matching flavor, then scooped out a large ball of rocky road and smeared it into the grooves in the wall until it was smooth. Within moments, there wasn’t a trace of either Guster or Zeke’s feast.
“There,” said the majestic young woman. “Now you can be off, and tell your lordship the Mayor that I will take these new arrivals as my guests.” She shooed the guards away. “Whatever grievance he has with them can be taken before the Culinary.”
“B . . . but,” said the lead guard.
The young woman glowered, tilting her light eyes down at the guards until her brows obscured any kindness in her face. “Now,” she said firmly.
All four guards picked up their spears and scrambled down the nearest street, the crowd parting to let them pass. The crowd closed around them, swallowing them up until they were gone from sight.
Guster, Zeke, and Mariah were left standing there, captives one minute, then free again the next. The Confectioners unlocked Guster’s chains. They fell from his wrists.
The young woman bowed, her bell-shaped dress swinging as she leaned forward. “I am Princesa Elenora Domingo of the City of El Elado,” she said. “You can call me Princess Sunday. You are welcome here. I extend to you my protection and my hospitality.”
Zeke scratched his head. “I thought the Mayor was in charge.”
The Princess laughed. “So does he, but there are those of us who beg to differ. Our city’s leadership is—how shall we say this? Complicated as of late.”
She had given them a much more pleasant welcome than the Mayor, that was certain.
Mariah slumped down onto the butterscotch street, her knees bent up to her chest. She was panting and shivering.
Guster rushed to her side. “My sister, she isn’t well.” He put an arm around her shoulder. “I think the altitude has affected her worse than the rest of us.”
Princess Sunday knelt down—not an easy feat in such a voluminous dress—and touched Mariah lightly on the chin. “Of course, my dear. You are not accustomed to life near the clouds.” There was genuine concern in her voice.
She stood and clapped again. “Confectioners! Bring me a cup of Marshmallow Cheer.”
The two Confectioners scrambled away into the crowd. Within minutes they were back, one of them holding three large white porcelain mugs.
Princess Sunday took Mariah by the hand and lifted her to her feet. “Here,” she said, taking one of the mugs from her confectioners and placing it in Mariah’s hands. “Drink this slowly. It will give you strength.”
Mariah held it to her lips and sipped. “It’s good.”
Her skin began to bloom from pale white to warm pink. It happened so quickly it seemed like the sun had suddenly come out from behind a cloud and shone on her cheeks.
“Need . . .” Zeke said. He reached for the mug in the Confectioner’s hand nearest him. “Uhhh. Uhh. Need strength. Feeling weak.” He took two rickety steps forward, like his legs would give way beneath him at any moment.
The
Confectioner pressed the mug into Zeke’s hands and he drank—not with careful sips like Mariah, but in one big gulp like only Zeke, or a hippo, could do. “It’s good,” said Zeke, lowering the mug. A sticky white marshmallow mustache clung to his upper lip.
The second Confectioner handed a third mug to Guster. Guster held it to his nose and breathed in the heavy marshmallow aroma. The mug was more than half full. The drink looked like a thick liquid marshmallow.
“Go on,” said Princess Sunday. “Drink it before it cools and gets hard. It helps with the altitude.”
Guster pressed the cup to his mouth. The Marshmallow Cheer was warm and sticky, and as soon as it touched his lips he could feel them tingle. It tasted subtle and reluctantly sweet, like it was calling softly from behind a curtain, whispering its worth. It reminded Guster of the gooey center of a marshmallow just after you pulled it out of the campfire, then stripped off the smoky shell and stuffed what’s left between your teeth.
As he swallowed, warmth rose up from his belly into his lungs. His chest loosened and his head cleared, and, within moments, a headache that he hadn’t realized was there had suddenly gone, like he’d just switched off a loudspeaker that had been pounding out bass right next to his ear.
Suddenly, he could breathe again.
“I’m glad you like it,” said Princess Sunday, smiling. “We’ll have a cup every morning, just to be sure you’re well as a waffle cone.”
She clapped her hands again. Three tall men in red and white striped pants strode out from the crowd. They were so rail thin their legs looked like long, skinny candy canes. They wore shiny, red cherry medals over their hearts, and what looked like oversized ice cream scoops hung from their belts. Each of them pushed a padded green leather armchair on wheels.
“My Cherry Brigade will take you to my castle,” Princess Sunday said. “That is, if you’d like to be our guests there.”
Zeke nodded furiously.