Evertaster

by Adam Glendon Sidwell

  Storfjell hoisted a thick wooden mast straight up into the air and drove it down into the deck, then unfurled a billowing red and white sail. “Behold, the Sea Dragon!” he cried.

  “You have a ship!” cried Mariah.

  “Ya,” nodded Torbjorn. “It’s been so long since our last visit to the cave. I was not believing that it might work, but my brother is right: the vessel is seaworthy.”

  Zeke pounded on the side of the ship. “Dude, this thing is solid. Are we taking a trip around the island?” he asked.

  Storfjell laughed. “Nay! We are taking you back to the Warmlands, of course.”

  “Sweetness!” said Zeke.

  Storfjell threw a gangplank from the dry shore to the side of the boat and led the entire herd onto the deck. Torbjorn carried Mom aboard, then Zeke, Braxton, Mariah and Guster boarded the ship. Henry Junior made a low mooing noise in Guster’s ear.

  Storfjell and Torbjorn fixed a dozen oars on each side to the gunwales, while Braxton watched the whole process in disbelief. “Who’s going to do the paddling?” he asked. He hadn’t been able to stop gawking at the two Buttersmiths and their strange appearance since he’d met them.

  Storfjell smiled. He barked a command in his melodic language and the herd lined up in two rows, one on each side of the ship. “The bovines, of course,” he said, and one by one, fastened each oar to a harness on the back of a cow.

  “Well I never seen the likes of that,” said Braxton as Storfjell pulled up the ramp. Torbjorn began to beat a big skin drum next to the mast and the cows began to move, leaning forward, then back in time with the beats, dipping the oars in the water as they did so. The ship pushed slowly against the waves, then gathered speed, rocking up and down as it sailed toward the open ocean.

  Chapter 15 — The Sky Demons

  Two nights later Guster sat next to Mom, staring out to sea. She showed no signs of stirring. Her face seemed blank–like she’d forgotten how to dream.

  They were much further south now, so the sun dropped closer toward the horizon than before. For as far as Guster could see, there was nothing but open water.

  Torbjorn leaned on the ship railing next to him. “You will find a way to cure your mother,” he said.

  “I will,” said Guster. He wouldn’t rest until he had.

  “I think that the Master Mead Maker would be proud for you to finish his quest,” said Torbjorn.

  Guster hoped so. It was funny, but he realized right then that he actually cared what Archedentus would think, even though the chef had lived so long ago. It was as if Archedentus were watching over his shoulder, waiting for him to make the right moves.

  “I also am sure that he would want you to have our creamy gold,” said Torbjorn, nodding toward the stacks of butter barrels scattered across the deck. “When we get to the Warmlands, you may take as much as you like, of course.”

  “Thank you,” said Guster. The two Buttersmiths had been so kind to him, even after all the danger Guster had put them in.

  “Also, there is another thing,” said Torbjorn. He took the glass vial of dark liquid from around his neck. Guster had almost forgotten about it. The sight of it renewed his curiosity.

  “Some drops of these we like to use in our muffins — but only on special occasions. When the Master Mead-Maker came to us long ago he gave them to our people and said that someday, like the butter, they would be needed. So my fathers handed them down to their sons, and they gave them to their sons, until my father gave them to me. Storfjell and I are the last ones left. We have no brides, and so have no sons.” Torbjorn dangled the vial in front of Guster. “Will you take them, Guster Johnsonville?”

  Guster closed his hand around the bottle. It was smooth to his touch. If Torbjorn’s ancestors had gotten it from Archedentus, it had to be one of the ingredients. Guster uncorked the bottle and smelled it. It was spicy and sweet, with flavors so deep and complex, it would take blissful hours to absorb them all. Seven drops of Sweet, Black Tears, thought Guster.

  “Yes, Torbjorn. I will protect them,” he said, hanging the bottle around his neck. He would see to it that they found their way into the Gastronomy of Peace, no matter where that would take him.

  “Now let us rest,” said Torbjorn. Guster nodded. They took Mom and made their way past the lines of cows to the low roof where the rest of the family slept.

  Guster made himself comfortable, and after a much worrying, finally fell into a light sleep.

  He woke a few hours later to the sound of helicopter blades beating the air. He turned over, got up and staggered onto the deck. The wind beat down on him and salt water sprayed his face in sheets, jolting him to consciousness. Two large, armored green helicopters hovered over the ship in the grayish night. The cows strained against their harnesses.

  Storfjell stood at the back of the ship with his battle-axe raised, yelling something to Braxton over the deafening clamor.

  Torbjorn circled the mast and grabbed Guster by the shoulders. “There is no telling what these sky demons are,” he said, opening a hatch in the deck. “Your mother is below; you must go there until we are sure of your safety,” he said. Before Guster could explain what a helicopter was, there was a hissing noise and Torbjorn winced. A small, metal dart stuck out from the back of his neck. He grunted, then turned and looked upward.

  A man in dark military fatigues with a long sniper rifle leaned out of the closest chopper and took aim. Panic caught hold of Guster. Someone was shooting at them!

  “Watch out!” he cried.

  Torbjorn raised his shield. Guster ducked behind the mast. Two darts zipped past Guster’s ear, hitting Torbjorn in the thigh. He winced in pain. “Go!” he cried.

  Henry Junior was safe down below; Guster had to make sure Zeke and Mariah were too. Frantic, he scanned the ship. He spotted them crouched beneath a pair of cows on the far side of the deck. He had to get them below.

  “Zeke!” shouted Guster. He didn’t respond. The helicopters were too loud.

  If he stayed low, he might be able to make it to them; he was a smaller target than Torbjorn. He darted to the nearest cow, when a rope dropped onto the deck. A mercenary in dark fatigues zipped down the line toward him. Guster put on the brakes. Two more ropes hit the deck — one behind and the other to his right–cutting off his route to Zeke. The first mercenary hit the wood in front of Guster and grabbed for his jacket. Guster dodged, then a strong hand clamped onto his arm from behind.

  Torbjorn smashed into that mercenary with his shoulder and sent him flying. Freed, Guster dove under the nearest cow’s belly. No one is a match for our giant, he thought.

  Another rifle cracked twice. Two more darts lodged in Torbjorn’s shoulder. Guster rolled under a second cow. Tranquilizers. They were trying to take down Torbjorn. When he looked up, Mariah and Zeke were gone. Where are they? he thought, as two more mercenaries landed hard on the deck. Torbjorn was surrounded.

  More rifle cracks. There were so many of them. He had to think of something fast.

  Then, a half-dozen cows charged from the front of the ship toward the four mercenaries. The stampede plowed into the mercenaries, knocking all but one of them to the ground.

  The last mercenary jumped nimbly up on the mast and out of the way. Torbjorn was riddled with darts. He staggered, then fell forward like an overturned refrigerator, unconscious.

  Guster screamed. His faithful protector had fallen. There was nothing he could do. Where was Storfjell? An arm caught Guster by the middle and strapped a harness around his chest. He struggled to break free, but the mercenary was too strong. With a clip and a whir, he was hoisted into the air like a marionette, his feet kicking desperately, the rope reeling him upward fast.

  The ship below him was in chaos. Another half-dozen mercenaries were closing in on Storfjell. There were a few–no doubt bludgeoned by his shield–lying unconscious on the deck. Storfjell was fighting valiantly, but slowing down with each rifle crack.

  A second group of mercenaries broke into t
he hatch and swarmed below.

  Out of the corner of his eye Guster saw Zeke reeling up to the chopper, just below him. A pair of hands grabbed Guster from above and yanked him onto a warm, humming metal floor. He landed face-down in front of a pair of boots. A second later, Zeke landed with a thump right beside him. Two hands shoved Guster to the back of the helicopter, took off the harness, and strapped him to a seat. He struggled against the restraints, trying to unbuckle himself, but it was no use. He was locked into place.

  The mercenary who pushed him into the seat strapped Zeke down, while another tended the ropes. Their helmets, goggles, and vests did not look like the uniforms of the Gastronimatii. So who were they?

  “Are you okay, Capital P?” whispered Zeke. He looked scared.

  “I think so,” said Guster. There was still a chance Mariah had escaped. And where was Braxton? No matter how wily the old pilot was, he was no match for armed men who had felled two giants.

  Two more mercenaries climbed into the helicopter. A moment later, they pulled Mom’s limp body up after them. A third mercenary forced Mom into a seat and buckled her down, while a fourth hoisted Henry Junior up in a net. “Gusser!” he cried, reaching out to Guster as the men pulled a sobbing Mariah, a barrel of butter, and the giant egg onto the helicopter deck.

  The last mercenary spoke into a headset attached to his helmet. “Targets acquired. Chopper two has the rest of the team,” he said. “We’re clear to exit.” The chopper surged forward.

  Guster noticed a patch stitched to the mercenary’s left arm. It was the letters ‘FC’ shaped like a house with a white picket fence in front of it. Who are these people? If they were after ingredients that was one thing, but to kidnap the entire family? It didn’t make sense.

  “Ten-hut!” shouted a polished voice from the cockpit. The mercenaries snapped to attention on either side of the helicopter deck. A middle-aged woman with blond hair that framed her face like a masterpiece painting, teeth that shined like porcelain toilet bowls, and tiny grenade earrings that dangled from each ear turned to face them.

  “I hardly expected to find you way out here,” said Felicity Casa.

  Chapter 16 — The Harbinger of Peace

  This didn’t make sense. Felicity Casa was supposed to be in prison. He’d seen her there. Capturing a bunch of kids and their sleeping Mom in the middle of the arctic sea was hardly something a celebrity-homemaker-prisoner ought to do.

  “We’ve been kidnapped by a TV star!” cried Zeke.

  “She’s not a star anymore!” Mariah shouted. “She’s supposed to be behind bars!”

  Felicity smiled smugly. “I respectfully disagree.”

  “Then why are you here?” shouted Guster. “We don’t have the eggbeater! The Cult of Gastronimatii stole it!” He was boiling mad at her; Felicity had tranquilized Torbjorn and Storfjell and left them and Braxton to drift in the middle of the ocean!

  Felicity’s perfectly aged face darkened, but only for a moment. “There is more than a list of ingredients at stake here,” she said, removing one of her grenade-shaped earrings and sticking Mom in the neck with the sharp end. Mom flinched, then kept right on snoozing.

  “Hey!” cried Guster. Mom couldn’t defend herself; Felicity was taking advantage of that. He tried to break free from his harness. It was no use.

  “I see the Cult has left its calling card,” Felicity said, lifting one of Mom’s closed lids, “I recognize their work.”

  “If you don’t care about the eggbeater, then what do you want with us?” said Guster.

  “Don’t assume you know what I care about,” said Felicity, “but since you asked, I’ve come to ask your opinion.” She turned to a small cabinet and pulled out a jar of wriggling, slimy worms. Guster shivered at the sight of them. She unscrewed the lid and dumped the entire contents into a blender bolted onto the helicopter wall, then pressed a button. The blades whirred, chopping the stringy worms into a thick paste that looked like mashed up spaghetti soaked in stale rainwater. She poured the mixture into a glass and pushed it at Guster’s face. “Have a taste,” she said.

  Guster threw up a little in his mouth.

  “You ought to be a more gracious guest. This is a delicacy in some countries,” said Felicity. “And if you can tell me what these worms were fed before I prepared them, I’ll wake your mom up for you.”

  Mariah looked pleadingly at Guster. He’d already decided he would do anything for Mom. Did it have to be that? He wasn’t sure he could. “Give me the drink,” he whispered. Hot sweat dripped down his neck.

  She put the glass to his mouth. Guster smushed the worm-slime to his teeth with his lips. It was warm and salty, like squishy raw beef seasoned in dirt. He spat. His stomach turned dry.

  “Wilted spinach,” he said, trying to breathe. “Probably grown somewhere dry,” He felt like he was going to pass out.

  Felicity clapped her hands slowly, “Arizona to be exact.” She allowed herself a triumphant grin. “Renoir was right. You are an Evertaster.”

  “What about my mom?” Guster demanded.

  “All in due time.”

  “Let us go!” yelled Zeke, his face flushing pink as his pimples.

  Felicity shook her head. “And let you miss out on all this?” She asked, glancing around the helicopter. “Guster, isn’t it?” she said to Guster, extending a manicured hand. He did not respond.

  She dropped her hand. “My men had been keeping a close watch on New Orleans. Apparently, one of them followed you all the way to Key West.”

  The chopper pilot turned and waved. He had a thick neck and wore aviator sunglasses. “The man in the cream Cadillac!” said Zeke.

  “After you came to the prison, I made arrangements for my escape. I can read French, naturally, so I made sure to memorize as much of the handle as possible. We were on our way to Bear Island when we detected your ship on radar.”

  “Then you know where the ingredients are. You don’t need the eggbeater,” Guster said angrily.

  Felicity laughed. “If only. It was just a glance, Guster. The One Recipe contains infinite subtleties. One can memorize the location of Bear Island and the symbols, but to make the Gastronomy of Peace without clear mixing instructions — it would be foolish to attempt such a feat.”

  So she didn’t get all of it. She needs the eggbeater back just as much as we do. “You attacked us for nothing?” Guster cried.

  She raised a well-plucked eyebrow. “No. You have my ingredients, for one thing,” she said, waving her hand at the giant egg and the butter barrel.

  “Those ingredients aren’t yours to claim!” he shouted. He’d never talked to anyone like that before, least of all a celebrity, but she’d torn them from their friends, made him eat worms, lied about waking up Mom, and now she had nothing to offer. He would have kicked her if he could, but he was strapped too tightly to his seat. He wanted to get her back; he wanted her to pay. “The Gastronimatii might have backtracked and found more ingredients. For all you know, they’ve already made the One Recipe!” he said.

  Felicity’s eyes settled on Guster. “No, I am quite certain they have not.” She looked him over from head to foot. She’d said it with such conviction, it made Guster uneasy. It meant she knew something. He remembered the vial of Sweet Black Tears around his neck. Instinctively, he reached for it. It was well hidden under his shirt.

  “You don’t have any idea who you are, do you Mr. Johnsonville?” she asked.

  It was a puzzling question. What was she talking about? She’d already told him he was an Evertaster. He folded his arms and glared at her; he had to pretend like he didn’t care.

  “Not interested?” said Felicity, cocking an eyebrow. “You will be.” She was so sure of herself, it was aggravating.

  “Long ago, Archedentus left France and set out with conquistadors on an ocean voyage to the New World,” Felicity said, “While the Conquistadors sought to plunder the land for its gold, Archedentus sought a treasure of a different sort. The King of France had co
mmanded Archedentus to bring back something new and exotic, something never before tasted in Europe.

  “That’s when Archedentus discovered the eggs you found in Peru,” she nodded to the giant egg cradled by one of her mercenaries.

  “When Archedentus found the egg, I think that’s when he began to imagine the possibilities; the first inklings of the One Recipe stirred in his mind.”

  “The Conquistadors set sail back to Europe, but the great chef wasn’t done exploring. He jumped ship and — to the fury of the King — didn’t return to France for years. The exact details of his journey after that are cloudy; some evidence indicates he made his way to North America with Ponce de Leon.”

  “The one who discovered the Fountain of Youth,” Mariah whispered to herself. However upset she might have been about their capture, she could not resist stating the facts.

  “If you believe in that sort of drivel,” said Felicity, smirking. “The next few years Archedentus spent stowing away on ships as the Age of Explorers opened up an uncharted world. Who knows how far his journey took him? Some think he sailed around Africa with Vasco da Gama. Others say he made it as far as the Orient. I think he was gathering ingredients, piecing it all together in his mind, fitting together the parts that could make the whole like only he knew how.

  “When he finally returned to France he spent a year in isolation. Archedentus had made so many promises about the recipe, there were many in Paris anticipating its completion.

  “That’s when he took the understudy. No one knows why, but the apprentice had no training or skill as a cook. Most people criticized Archedentus’ choice of apprentice. Some were jealous — they could not understand why Archedentus had rejected the best and brightest chefs of the time in favor of someone so inept. They wanted Archedentus to pass his knowledge on to them.”

  That made sense to Guster. Perhaps the recipe wouldn’t have been lost if Archedentus had given it to a skilled chef. “That was stupid,” Guster said.

  Felicity crossed her arms. “Maybe. But maybe not,” she said. “I think Archedentus found his first Evertaster.”