The Delicious City

by Adam Sidwell

  After eating all he could, Guster sat back on the marshmallow couch and wiped his mouth. “I’m not sure how much further I can go right now. I’m getting full.”

  “No problem!” said Zeke, folding the bottom corner of the tapestry up to the top and tucking it in, leaving the wall bare and exposed for further excavation. He scooped out another scoop. “I got this!” He attacked the wall, eating three more scoops before he too started to slow down. He sat down on the couch, pressing ice cream morsels to his lips much slower than before.

  “That’s odd,” he said, staring down at his fingertips. They were green. “Where did that come from?”

  Guster looked at the hole. At the very deepest point, the ice cream was minty green instead of dark-brown chocolate like the rest of the tunnel.

  “Let me have a taste,” said Guster. He still had room enough for a spoonful or two. He was curious. The fact that there was a hidden flavor underneath intrigued him and, truthfully, just felt a little bit strange.

  He reached his arm into the hole and scooped out a small green morsel of mint chocolate chip ice cream. It was emerald green and spotted with chocolate chips so deep brown they were almost black.

  He tasted it. It was marvelously minty, like fresh, crisp mint leaves straight from the garden. And then there was something more—was it a tinge of strawberry? Barely perceptible. But real.

  Guster took another bite. Yes.

  Strawberry mixed into mint chocolate chip did not make much sense as a flavor combination. It was not a decision any of the city’s Confectioners would deliberately make.

  Perhaps there was layer after layer of ice cream, like the layers of rock a paleontologist digs into, each one older than the last.

  “Zeke, we have to dig this way,” said Guster. He pointed down and to the left.

  Zeke looked puzzled, his eyebrows slanting up to one side. “Uh. Okay. How come?”

  “There’s a hint of strawberry in the mint. That’s one of the Princess’s flavors,” he said. It was only a hunch really. If somehow they could tunnel back toward the Fruitful Streets of the city, they might find a way out.

  “It’s our best bet,” he said.

  “Okay, but I’m going to need a minute.” Zeke held his hands on his swollen belly. “I’m getting full.”

  Guster untucked the corner of tapestry and let it hang, covering the hole in the wall. They both took a break, lounging on the couch, the sugar rushing to their heads. For the first time since they’d arrived in the city, Guster felt like things might actually turn out alright.

  “Maybe we’ll leave the Mayor a note,” said Zeke. “It’ll say, ‘Don’t expect our votes. Good luck with reelection.’” He laughed at his own joke.

  Guster didn’t think it was funny but couldn’t help laughing too. He liked the idea of them not being here when the Mayor came to fetch them.

  ***

  Guster slept soundly that night. It was the first time he’d done so since arriving at the city. Perhaps it was because he was so exhausted, or perhaps because the ice cream had a soothing, pacifying effect.

  As full as they were, they’d both eaten a bowl of stew the night before. They didn’t want the guards to get suspicious. Besides, after all that sugar, it was nice to have something with vegetables and meat in it.

  The door rattled and swung open again at first light. Guster blinked his eyes open and turned over on his marshmallow couch.

  “Señors, get up. The Culinary has allowed you one hour to visit the castle.” It was Gaucho’s voice. He was standing in the door.

  “Gaucho!” said Guster, propping himself up to a sitting position. “How did you . . .?”

  Gaucho glanced backward at the two guards standing over him with their spears. “Never mind that now. It is the politics of the Culinary. They have allowed it as a compromise to your imprisonment. We must hurry while we can,” he said.

  Guster stood and shook Zeke awake. “What’s for breakfast?” Zeke moaned, his eyes still closed.

  “We’re going to see Mom,” Guster said.

  Zeke shot to his feet, then yawned. “Gaucho. Hello.”

  “There isn’t much time,” said Gaucho. “There was considerable debate and many favors that Princess had to grant in order to allow this. Your father is there. And this Felicity Casa. They found the Princess shortly after you were captured. We must go to them now.” He turned toward the door.

  Guster and Zeke marched after him. For a moment, Guster worried that the two guards might search their cell. He was relieved when they closed the door behind them and took up the rear, spears in hand and marching just a little too close to Guster’s heels.

  Gaucho led them up the spiral staircase and through the Mayor’s Mansion to Princess Sunday’s coach waiting on the front drive. They got in, and the two guards sat next to them, grim and watchful expressions on their faces. Now would be a good time to escape, with only two guards at their sides. It would be easier than tunneling out. Especially since they were already going to the Princess’s castle.

  A column of a dozen armed guards mounted on horses fell in behind their coach, two of the guards riding up and flanking either side. Guster’s heart sank. The Mayor or the Baconists were always two steps ahead of them.

  The procession moved slowly through the streets of El Elado. As they passed the scoop houses and shops, the people filtered out of their doors and stood at the edge of the golden butterscotch streets. They wore grim, sour expressions on their faces, and each one of them—man, woman and child—stared at Guster. Some of their eyes were filled with loathing, others with pity, most with anger.

  For a moment, Guster felt a pang of guilt.

  “They are afraid, Señor,” said Gaucho. He was looking at Guster.

  “Of what?” asked Guster.

  “The thing that they have always been afraid of. Only now, they’ve seen you at the Trial, and it is getting worse.”

  The coach turned the corner. There was a massive sinkhole where the street should have been; buildings and houses had collapsed and fallen into the crevasse where the quake had torn the street apart. Guster stared into the hole. The city had fallen into it: wheelbarrows, ice cream scoops, chairs, and furniture, even a little girl’s doll. How many people had been hurt? How many had . . .

  “It is not your fault,” said Gaucho. Guster had never seen the jolly little conquistador look so serious.

  “But the people blame me, don’t they?” asked Guster. He could see it in their eyes.

  “They want a scapegoat,” Gaucho said. “They need something that they can blame so they can get rid of it. They think that then their problems will be solved.”

  Would it be that easy? If all he had to do was give himself to the monster, then maybe it was the right thing to do. Not that Guster believed in their superstitions. One meal for Yummy could not really be the answer they were looking for. But that’s what they all wanted, wasn’t it?

  “Did I ever tell you that as Shepherd of the Yummies, I am sixteenth in line for the throne?” said Gaucho. He stood in the carriage and raised his finger in the air. “If I were in charge, Señor, there would be no Exquisite Morsel, and these people would no longer be locked up in this city forever! They could come and go as they pleased!”

  “I wish that it were so, Gaucho,” said Guster.

  The coach turned down a side street and rolled down a narrow alley. Finally, after more than a quarter hour of the coach carefully winding its way through the wreckage in the streets, they reached the castle gates and stopped in the courtyard.

  The Mayor’s guards fanned out across the grounds.

  “Come, your mother will be waiting,” said Gaucho.

  They dismounted the coach and entered the double doors into the castle’s dining hall. Gaucho led them down a narrow stairway to a brightly lit dungeon. He nodded to Princess Sunday’s Cherr
y Brigade that stood watch at the door there. They turned a set of keys in the lock and opened the door into the dungeon.

  The dungeon was hardly a dungeon at all. It was as much a prison as Guster’s and Zeke’s cell in the Mayor’s Mansion was a guest room. It was brightly lit with skylights and wide, comfortable cells. Behind the bars, the rooms were well furnished, with hammocks woven from cotton candy, dressers and chests made of chocolate, peanut brittle tables, and big easy chairs made of marshmallow. There were shelves with books, and a little strawberry fountain bubbled in the corner.

  Mom was in the first cell. Dad stood next to her. Henry Junior was in his arms. “Guster! Zeke!” she cried, rushing up to the bars as soon as she saw them.

  She reached through the bars with both arms, stretching out for a hug. Guster let himself be folded up in her grasp, Mom pressing his face up against the cold metal.

  “My boys. My boys!” she sobbed, turning to hug Zeke.

  For the moment, Guster didn’t mind. He couldn’t help but think about how he’d betrayed her by running away in the middle of the night, committing such an unpardonable act of disobedience. As soon as she finished hugging him, she was going to kill him.

  Mom straightened her arms, pushing Zeke back so she could look at him. “Your father and I decided we’re going to ground you for so long, you’ll never be permitted to go to college!” Her eyes were burning, like they’d jump from their sockets if she were to say another word.

  Then she kissed Zeke and Guster, each in turn on the top of the head. “What have you been eating this whole time?” she asked.

  “I took some raviolis from the fridge,” said Guster. Mom beamed. “And then we got here, and this place—it’s so wonderful with all the things you can eat.”

  Mom nodded. “I was so worried about you,” she said.

  Zeke rubbed his hair where her wet lips had been. “So you brought Dad?” he asked.

  “I wasn’t going to let her come alone, and it looks like it was a good thing I didn’t,” Dad said. He looked surprisingly like he was in his element, all bundled up in a puffy green parka, his cold breath puffing out from under his battleship nose like a cloud. He grinned. “No Johnsonvilles are going gallivanting around the globe without their dad this time.”

  Dad actually seemed to be enjoying himself. Guster and Mom and Mariah and Zeke had all talked about last summer’s events so much over the year, while all Dad could do was listen. Now he wouldn’t be left out.

  Dad put his arm around Mom. Or maybe he was there to protect her. Either way, Guster was glad to see him.

  “How come you’re here?” Zeke asked Mariah. She had one of Salero’s books in her lap, and she smelled salty. Like she’d been eating bacon. “Shouldn’t you be back in your lessons with the Mayor’s pet smart guy?”

  Mariah looked up from her book. “His name is Salero, Zeke, and I’ll have you know his knowledge of history and philosophy is quite impressive. He knows what he’s talking about.”

  Zeke huffed. “Whatever. I can’t believe you fall for all that stuff.”

  “Children,” Mom said. She glared at both of them.

  “Let’s just get on the choppers and go,” said Zeke. “We can bust out Felicity’s men and be gone. They can’t catch helicopters.”

  “It’s not that easy, Zeke,” said Mom. “Even if Princess Sunday let us go right now, the Mayor’s guards have this place surrounded. And this time, Felicity’s mercenaries don’t even have their rifles.”

  The door to the dungeon swung open. Princess Sunday stood at the top of the steps.

  “There’s more to it than that,” she said. “The city is crumbling all around us. It’s getting worse by the day. The people want an Exquisite Morsel, Guster. They want you to be the answer to their problems. Those who tend the Yummies say that all of the monsters will be back any day now.”

  Mom looked like her blood would boil. “You don’t actually believe that drivel about the Exquisite Morsel, do you?”

  Princess Sunday dipped her chin, refusing to meet Mom’s eyes.

  “How can you let the Mayor do this?” Mom said. “Have you no sympathy? Would your mother do this to you?”

  Princess Sunday’s face fell, and a cloud seemed to pass over her otherwise bright eyes. “My mother?” Princess Sunday said. She shook her head. “You heard what the Mayor said. Moms are illegal in El Elado. I don’t have a mother. Even if I did, I could never call her Mom like your kids do to you. We’re taken away to live in the city orphanage when we’re born. I never knew the woman who brought me into this world. She passed away, I think, years ago.”

  She began to cry. “For the most part, we don’t even use the word Mom here. It’s not something we speak about openly. The closest thing we have to concrete relatives are cousins. The Baconists made sure of that.”

  Mom’s round eyes suddenly softened. She reached a hand through the bars to touch the Princess’s arm. “I . . .” she stammered.

  Princess Sunday dried her eyes. “Please don’t pity me. It is our way. Long ago, the Baconists convinced the people that their orphanages and institutions were a much safer place for a child to grow up. To say otherwise is heresy in El Elado.”

  “Safer?” Mom asked. “Being raised by an institution is better than this?” she said, spreading her arms toward Dad and her children.

  “Not every family is like yours, Mrs. Johnsonville. You should count yourself lucky. When people start to think of people like you being the exception, not the rule, they look for alternatives. I didn’t say I liked it, but I can’t speak against it publicly either—not without being accused of heresy.”

  Guster had never seen anyone so sad. Princess Sunday’s cherry crown seemed to weigh on her like it was filled with all the burdens of the city in one place. In that moment, she did not look like a young woman anymore. Instead, she looked older and more worn down by experience than even Mom.

  “Then please,” Mom said, “You’ll free my boys?”

  Princess Sunday shook her head. “I wish I could. The Mayor is separating the boys from everyone else. He knows that you won’t leave without them.” She turned to Guster. “You and Zeke are hostages.”

  Mom opened her mouth, and then closed it again. She looked like she wanted to shout at Princess Sunday and give her a piece of her mind but, after what she’d just been told, couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  “Don’t worry, Mom,” Zeke piped up. “We have a—”

  Guster shot out his hand and clapped it over Zeke’s mouth before he could say another word. He had a feeling Zeke was going to tell them about the tunnel, and Guster couldn’t risk anyone knowing about that. Princess Sunday had already betrayed them once. There was no telling if she would do it again. Better to keep their escape plan a secret.

  “What he means to say is, thanks for the special cake you baked us, Mom,” said Guster. “It was absolutely what we needed most.” He hoped she would catch his meaning. She would probably know what they were doing with its contents.

  “Cake?” Mom asked. She looked puzzled. “I didn’t bake you a cake.”

  Guster was confused. If Mom hadn’t, then who had? Where had the ice cream scoop come from? Who was A.G.? He looked over at Zeke, whose face was screwed up in thought. They would have to figure that out later.

  Dad kneeled down and clasped Guster by the hand. “Whatever they tell you son, whatever it is that happens over there in the Mayor’s Mansion, I want you to trust your instincts. I want you to do what you know is right. And at the end of it all, your mom and I will be waiting for you, and we will be proud.”

  Guster studied Dad’s face. Was there something Dad knew that he didn’t? It was one of those moments of Dad-wisdom, and he knew Dad wanted him to fit the advice into their circumstances, like a key turning in a lock. Right now he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

  So he smiled and nodded h
is head. “I will.”

  “It’s time to go,” said Princess Sunday. “We must obey the Culinary’s wishes.” The Princess’s guards herded Guster and Zeke further into the dungeon to the door opposite the one they’d come in.

  Guster glanced back. Dad was looking over at him, his eyes drooping sadly at the corners.

  “Son, we’ll find a way out of this,” he said. “Be sure to take care of each other.”

  The heavy wooden door shut behind Guster. Behind that was another corridor of cells, much like the ones that held Mom, Dad, Henry Junior, and Mariah. Those cells held Felicity Casa and her mercenaries.

  “Guster,” said Felicity. She rushed to the bars. She was dressed in a trim, beige parka with white fur lining the hood. Her blonde hair was picture perfect, and a snowflake earring dangled from each ear. “There’s something here, Guster. This is what I was trying to tell you. There are more treasures to find. Archedentus was here.” Her perfect, painted face was serious, her eyes earnest.

  Archedentus? “How do you know?” he asked. This was too far off any of his known travel routes.

  Felicity gestured around her. “This city. The roads. The flavors. The confectionary workmanship like none I’ve ever seen or imagined. Who else could have done this?” she asked.

  It was possible. Or it could have been someone like him.

  “The ship that brought everyone here, they were conquistadors! It must have been the very same ship that took Archedentus to Machu Picchu and around the world! After tasting all those marvelous flavors, they found this natural phenomenon and settled here and built a city. This was his grand, delicious utopia!”

  How could she be so sure? Most of Archedentus’s journeys had been in the Western Hemisphere. It was possible, however unlikely.

  “Guster, there’s more,” Felicity said. “The Baconists—don’t they seem familiar to you?”

  Guster nodded. The red robes. They were all too familiar.