Chapter 11 Bubble & Squeak
Bubble & Squeak
SYLVIE WOKE TO THE SOUND OF SOMEONE RAPPING A FIST against the door. She jumped up.
“I’ll get it,” said Georgia, who was already dressed.
The piece of paper was still squeezed tightly in Sylvie’s hand. She refolded it and tucked it into her backpack for safekeeping.
“Good morning, Flora.” Georgia opened the door wide. “Are you escorting the Pips to breakfast this morning?”
“No. Actually, I’m here to get Sylvie.” She hesitated. “It’s Madame Godard… . She wants to see you in her office.”
“Me? Really?” Sylvie ran a hand through her tousled hair, avoiding eye contact as she put on her shoes.
She couldn’t stop picturing Flora hunched over the desk in the dark classroom.
What was she doing? Sylvie tried to force the image from her mind.
Maybe it was silly, but she was afraid Flora would somehow see through her and realize, she knows.
“Sounds like someone got the headmistress’s attention,” said Georgia, checking her reflection in the mirror. “Well, I’m off to breakfast. Good luck!”
Sylvie wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or sincere. Although, she supposed it didn’t really matter. Either way, I’m in trouble.
A large walnut door was now all that stood between Sylvie and Madame Godard. She tucked her shirt into her leggings, adjusted her backpack, and knocked.
“You may enter,” said a voice with a reedy timbre that reminded Sylvie of a fluttering clarinet.
Sylvie tried to ignore the sensation of jumping beans in her stomach.
Godard wants to punish me because of last night.
But that didn’t matter. Whatever Godard’s plan, this was also Sylvie’s chance to speak her mind and try to get to the bottom of things.
Sylvie stepped into the room. The same balls of light she’d seen floating in the garden drifted through the air like clouds. Her eyes followed them. Blown sugar globes filled with … Sylvie wasn’t sure what the silver strobes inside were made of.
She craned her neck, trying to follow them as they moved higher, illuminating shelves that stretched to the ceiling, crammed to the hilt with books and orbs of luminous glass, each housing a peculiar plant. Sylvie read the names etched into those closest to her.
CORPSE FLOWER
DRAGON’S TOOTH
PORCUPINE TOMATO
“Do you like my plant collection?” asked Madame Godard. She was seated in a large velvet chair behind an antique desk, reading the newspaper.
“What are they?” Sylvie stared at the porcupine tomato. A fine mist swirled between purple blossoms and leaves covered in dagger-sharp thorns.
“Powerful ingredients. All quite useful, but too valuable to keep in the garden… . I’m afraid Tidwick’s isn’t the only one dealing with the theft of ingredients recently.”
“Here too?”
Godard nodded.
Something cold and sharp gnawed at Sylvie. Is that what Flora was doing last night? But why steal? Besides, she didn’t seem like a thief. But not all thieves wear grubby clothes and ski masks, she reminded herself.
“Ch-chocolate… . Criollo. Is that what was s-stolen?” Sylvie stammered.
Godard furrowed her brows. “No. Why?”
The cold stabbing sensation lifted a bit. Maybe it’s not Flora. “Oh, no reason. Just something I heard some kids talking about,” lied Sylvie.
“I see. Well, I didn’t call you here to discuss disappearing ingredients, anyway.” Godard gestured to the chair opposite her and set aside the newspaper. “Come. Sit.”
Sylvie couldn’t help but notice the headline splashed across the front page: “Fernand LeGrande Takes Extra Measures to Ensure Memorable All-Star Competition Free of Cheating.”
Perhaps the sentiment would’ve been reassuring, if Sylvie hadn’t read the confidential memo. Three days. That’s how much time she had left until the Golden Whisk. After that, it would be too late to stop Bass and whatever he had planned for her and her mom. She was sure of it.
“Are you all right?” asked Godard. “You’re suddenly quite pale.”
Sylvie let her backpack slip down as she took a seat.
“I have a lot on my mind. The competition that will decide my mom’s fate is in just a few days.
Now Flammé has vanished, and someone stole dangerous ingredients from Tidwick’s…
. I can’t help but wonder if it’s all connected.
” She was still unsure if she should show Godard the letter.
After all, August’s note was clear. Give it to Godard the day of the competition.
But was that really the right thing to do?
There’s a spy at Brindille. What if they find the note?
As long as I keep this secret, I’m in danger.
“I understand your concern,” said Madame Godard. “It feels a bit like history is repeating itself to me too. I’m sure you don’t remember. But I visited you once … after the Golden Whisk.”
Godard’s face was creased with delicate wrinkles. Her hair, ghostly white, fell to her jaw in a sleek bob.
Sylvie did remember. Although, the memory of that meeting had been boiled down to little more than a flavor.
“You were the one who brought me the tin of butter cookies after the accident.” Sylvie held up her hand.
“Langues de chat … cat’s tongues. You loved them.” Madame Godard smiled. “You do remember.” There was a calmness in her eyes, like a sea that had churned out all its waves, leaving only placid waters. “Speaking of sweets …”
She hoisted a glass jar onto her desk. A school of colorful fish were inside, swimming in circles.
“Chef Devon just brought me a batch of gummies to sample.” Madame Godard dipped her fingers in and yanked a wriggling purple fish up by the tail. “Would you like to try one?”
Sylvie’s stomach grumbled. “Sure.”
“Devon has been trying out new spells in her captivating confections class.” Godard pointed to the floating spheres Sylvie had been eyeing. “She also made the zing-n-zap taffy for our sugar lanterns. Between you and me, they’re lovely to look at, but rather jarring to eat!”
Sylvie gazed back up. Now, the strobes of light inside made sense. Luminescent taffy cylinders.
Godard turned her attention back to the fish. “Normally, I don’t like being a guinea pig, but for candy and chocolates, I make an exception.”
Sylvie slipped her hand into the jar and felt the fluttering of fins.
“I like the orange and pink best,” said Godard, “if you can manage to grab them. They’re faster than the others, but delicious. They taste like tutti-frutti.”
Sylvie snatched at a flopping orange fish but ended up grabbing blue.
“Razzleberry,” said Madame Godard. “I haven’t tried that flavor yet. You’ll have to tell me if it’s good, and I’ll report my findings to Devon.”
Sylvie stuffed the squirming gummy in her mouth. A burst of liquid hit her tongue. “It’s delicious!”
“Excellent!” Madame Godard slid the candy jar aside. “Now that we’ve sweetened things up, I’m afraid we need to get to the reason I called you here … your scuffle yesterday. It could’ve ended quite badly.”
“Scuffle?” Sylvie swallowed the sticky lump in her mouth. “Wait. You mean this is about Georgia?” I can’t believe she ratted me out! “She started it. Besides, I didn’t mean to shoot concentration cream onto her shirt.”
“Concentration cream? Georgia?” The creases between Madame Godard’s brows grew deeper. “What are you talking about?”
“Uh, what are you talking about?”
“Your scuffle last night with the stairs.”
Sylvie felt a passing twinge of guilt. It wasn’t Georgia. “Right. About that.” More emotions charged through her. “Listen, I know I shouldn’t have been out in the garden, but it was for good reason.”
“And that reason is? Because I’m not buying the story you fed to Chef Jake. If you’re anything like your mother, you’re too smart to do something so foolish.” Godard leaned forward. “What’s really going on?”
Sylvie glanced down at her bag and took a deep breath. Maybe I should show her the letter now? “This whole thing … me having to finish first in my class, my mom having to win All-Stars. What if there’s no way for us to succeed?”
Godard frowned. “I know it won’t be easy, but your mother is very talented. You are too… . She’s told me about your skills. So, of course you have a chance.”
“No. You don’t understand.” Sylvie opened her backpack. “Things aren’t what they seem. This opportunity for me and my mom, it’s really a—”
There was a knock at the door.
Godard sighed. “Come in.”
A young woman with long auburn hair hustled into the office carrying a tray stacked with folders and fragrant fritters.
“Sorry to interrupt. But I have the documents you requested and the platter of Bubble & Squeak.” She handed it to Godard.
Sylvie eyed the paper on top. Written in bright red were the words: List of Missing Ingredients from Brindille’s Storage Cellars. Before Sylvie could read further, Madame Godard flipped it over.
“Thank you, Maxine. I’ll review this later.”
“Oh … all right. Will that be all?” Maxine’s eyes drifted over to Sylvie and lingered.
Sylvie felt the back of her neck grow warm. What if Godard’s assistant is the spy? Maybe that’s the reason August didn’t give her the note himself? Until they catch the mole, it isn’t safe. Sylvie closed her backpack.
“That is all,” said Godard. “Please shut the door on your way out.”
“Of course.” Maxine flashed a toothy smile and left.
“Now, where were we?” asked Godard.
“I was just saying … I’m worried about my mom competing and me finishing top in my class,” said Sylvie.
“I understand your fears. But do you have any idea what would’ve happened if Jake hadn’t found you last night?” Madame Godard shook her head. “The school steps have now been embedded with aconite.” She pointed to one of the globes on a nearby shelf.
Clusters of hooded purple flowers swayed inside, as if hypnotized by an invisible breeze. They looked like the sort of thing her mother would tuck into a vase on the breakfast table.
“Those flowers may seem harmless,” said Madame Godard, as if she knew what Sylvie was thinking. “But aconite blooms are one of the world’s most ancient and lethal poisons.”