Chapter 21 Cattywampus! This Is Bad
Cattywampus! This Is Bad
THAT NIGHT, SYLVIE COULDN’T SLEEP. SHE ROLLED TO THE LEFT and tossed to the right.
She wasn’t sure if it was nerves or because of the gardening she’d done before dinner.
She and the other Pips had helped Gideon harvest mugworts and chocolate vines.
Unfortunately, the chocolate vines oozed a syrup that packed a serious dose of sugar.
Now, Sylvie felt like she’d downed a dozen sodas.
She readjusted her pillow.
Georgia threw off her covers. “All right, what’s going on? It’s impossible to sleep with you rolling around over there like a dog with fleas.”
“Sorry,” said Sylvie, still trying to get comfortable. She flopped over, arms splayed out. “I just have a lot on my mind.”
Georgia nodded. “Tomorrow’s a big day.”
Bigger than you realize, thought Sylvie. She’d decided not to tell Georgia about the forbidden recipe. Yes, they were friends now. But she didn’t want to get Georgia in trouble. If Sylvie got caught, and Georgia knew her plan, Godard would string them both up like plucked chickens.
“I’m sorry about Belinda Bass giving you a hard time today,” said Georgia suddenly. “That girl has got the charm of a mule with a thorn stuck in its backside… . My first day at Brindille, she shoved my head into one of the soda fountains.”
Sylvie rolled over. “So that’s what she meant about the bath… . Did you tell Godard?”
Georgia snorted. “Making an official complaint against Belinda Bass probably won’t help me score a scholarship.”
Sylvie sighed. “Unfortunately, you’re right.”
Georgia sat up and faced Sylvie. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad it’ll be you and me tomorrow… . Two outcasts showing the school winning isn’t about where you come from. It’s about what’s inside.”
Sylvie nodded. “I’m glad too. You’re all right, Georgia Shaw.”
The next day, Sylvie stood outside the Pip dorms, waiting for Georgia after lunch. She suspected Georgia wanted to go back to the room to change her outfit for the Commis Contest.
Normally, Sylvie would’ve found the wardrobe change to be a waste of time, but today she didn’t mind.
In less than an hour, she’d hopefully have the magical ingredient she needed to complete the Devils on Horseback recipe.
As if that wasn’t reason enough to celebrate, the win in the macaron bake-off meant they wouldn’t have to spend the afternoon in class with Darius.
Though, Sylvie was sorry to miss today’s lecture.
Boris was covering the best ways to cut alligator pears and how to scoop the flesh out of horned melons without getting stabbed.
“Ready?” Georgia swooshed out the door wearing a pink pastel sweater set, narrow pinstriped pants, and a pair of black ballet flats.
“Um, yeah.” Sylvie tried tucking in her shirt. She slung her backpack over her shoulders. “Let’s go.”
It didn’t take them long to cross the garden.
Flora waved to them from the foot of the school steps. “Welcome, bake-off winners.”
As usual, her chef’s coat was perfectly pressed, and not a hair was out of place. “Storage cellars are around the back.” Flora dug several chocolate peppermints out and tossed them on the stairs. “Follow me.”
Excitement tickled Sylvie’s insides as they climbed toward the school. This was it, her chance to reclaim what the CCS was trying to take from her. Sylvie slipped her hand into the pocket of her jacket.
Plastic bag is there.
Once they got into the storage cellars, Sylvie would find the woad and wait for the right moment. Everyone was so excited about the contest. They’d probably be too distracted to notice her slipping something into her pocket.
“You know, a few days ago, I wouldn’t have believed you two could spend an afternoon cooking together, much less win,” said Flora, snapping Sylvie from her thoughts. “You should be proud.”
“Yeah.” Georgia ran a hand through her hair. “We’re kind of like bananas and peanut butter… . Not the pairing you’d expect, but a killer combo nonetheless.”
Sylvie laughed. “I guess that’s one way to look at it.”
They wound their way along the path past the main entrance. Flora stopped in front of a stone archway. “After you two.”
Darkness pooled beyond the curve. Sylvie stepped in first.
Only a shadow of the tunnel running under the school’s belly was visible. It took her eyes a few moments to adjust from sun to darkness.
Flickering sugar lanterns were once again floating in the air, casting shadows as they flitted through the crepuscule like a school of crystal jellyfish. Sylvie followed Flora down a flight of pale stone steps. It was considerably cooler in the cellars, and smelled of grape must and vinegar.
Sylvie pulled her jacket tightly around her.
“Brindille has four storage cellars,” said Flora as they walked. “Rooms are kept at forty-five degrees with humidity below ten percent. It helps prevent ingredient spoilage and fungal growth.”
“F-f-fascinating,” said Georgia, through chattering teeth.
Sylvie got the feeling she was probably regretting her choice of wardrobe. Wooly hat. Gloves. That’s what we should be wearing.
“Students and staff will be divided evenly among the storage cellars,” continued Flora. “That way, there isn’t too much body heat building up and disturbing the natural flora.”
Damp earth and sour musk. It hardly seemed like a killer combination worth preserving. But Sylvie decided to keep her opinion to herself.
Several minutes and one enthusiastic lecture later, they were standing in front of four large wooden doors.
Sylvie eyed the golden plaque to her left.
STORAGE CELLAR 1
“My group is in cellar three,” said Flora. “But you’ll be parading with the first-year students. They’re assigned to cellar one.”
“P-perfect. Whatever gets me into a group with body h-heat fastest,” said a shivering Georgia.
Flora gave the brass handle a tug. Light poured out as the door swung open.
Sylvie ogled the room.
It reminded her of an apothecary or fancy library. A checkout desk was situated near the entrance. A ledger, brass scales, small sachets, and glass vials were stacked on top.
“Look at this place!” Georgia spun around.
The round room stretched up two stories, with sturdy shelves built into the walls. On each sat an assortment of glass jars filled with glowing flowers, bright powders, and wooly bits of dried herbs. Signs with names hung around the jars like pendant necklaces.
“I’ve seen this place in books,” said Sylvie. “But it’s even cooler in person.”
Flora smiled. “Brindille houses thousands of ingredients here: Sneezewort, gallus plumes, ground skunk cabbage.”
“My grandma has a storage cellar,” said Georgia. “But it’s mostly full of mouse traps and jars of overcooked peaches.”
Sylvie side-eyed her. “I can understand the mouse traps … but overcooked peaches? That’s inexcusable.”
“I know,” said Georgia. “Unfortunately, mutilating food is what most of my family does best.”
Sylvie’s gaze drifted casually across the shelves as she searched for the woad.
“First-year students this way,” said a voice behind her.
Sylvie turned.
Maggie was standing in the entrance, ushering in a large group of wide-eyed kids. She smiled and waved. “Hey guys! You’ll be parading with my group. Exciting!”
Sylvie nodded. “How did the SIFT sign-up go yesterday?”
“Great,” said Maggie. “We now have seventy-five members… . Godard said we could set up another booth tonight. So, we’ll hopefully pick up a few more.”
Flora scratched at her head. “I just hope we have time to squeeze everything in.”
Maggie frowned. “I know… . I’m already stuck doing double duty. Plus, I still need to set my booth up for the contest. Godard was supposed to help get the first-years ready for the parade.” She glanced back and lowered her voice. “But she’s got her hands full.”
It only took Sylvie a moment to understand what Maggie meant.
The last of the kids piled into the room. Standing behind them, locked deep in conversation, were Madame Godard and Jack Bass.
Aside from Godard’s memory, this was the first time Sylvie was seeing him in person.
Bass was even taller in real life. He wore a light gray suit that looked like it had been dragged through a barn.
Just like Belinda, his eyes seemed too small for his face, and his nose looked like a crushed mushroom.
His shirt collar hung open, as if the top button had given up on closing around his thick neck. In fact, the only part of Bass that seemed thicker was his accent. A deep drawl, which he now unleashed.
“Well, howdy Brindille students!”
Several CCS agents squeezed in. Behind them, dressed in her usual wrinkled chef’s coat and red cowboy boots, stood Belinda Bass.
Her eyes roamed across the room like scurrying weevils. Then, they settled on Sylvie and Georgia.
Georgia took a step back. “Cattywampus! This is bad.”
Georgia was right.
Sylvie grabbed the straps on her backpack as if they were anchors tethering her to the ground.
Jack and Belinda Bass. Plus, several CCS agents … all inside the storage cellar.
This was bad.