Chapter 35 Do You Speak Carrot?
Do You Speak Carrot?
THE ONCE FLOATING KITCHEN LAY SLUMPED ON THE GROUND like a beached whale. A river of cream spewed out. The scent of butter and soured dreams was gone.
Sylvie pulled herself from the rubble. Her shirt was torn. Bits of mushroom were flecked in her hair. But other than that, she was all right.
Lights flashed as people in the arena snapped photos. White static flickered across the giant rice paper scroll. Sylvie tried to get her bearings. Did I destroy the curse?
“Sylvie!” cried a voice she knew well.
Sylvie spun around. A hand poked out of the skybox. “Mom!” Sylvie rushed over.
She looked tired and a bit bloodied, but she was moving.
“You’re alive!”
Her mom lifted her bloody arm into the air and wrapped the other around Sylvie. “Looks like you won’t be the only one in this family with a battle scar.”
Until this moment, Sylvie hadn’t realized how much she’d missed her mom’s hugs. They were warm and always a bit too tight. Sylvie fought back tears. If she cried now, she’d probably never stop.
“I’ve been so worried about you, Sylviekins.”
“You were worried?” Sylvie decided not to remind her mom that she was the one who’d been shrunk down and trapped in a cwtch. After all, it was sort of my fault. “I should’ve listened to you.”
Sylvie’s mom turned misty-eyed. “No. I should’ve listened. You were worried someone might try to sabotage my recipe.”
“Yeah, but this was even worse! I’m just happy you’re okay,” said Sylvie. Happy. “Wait. I’m not miserable… . Does that mean I stopped the curse?” But how? Her spell had clearly gone terribly wrong.
Her mom smiled. “Not all mistakes are bad.”
“That may be true if you’re trying to make apple pie and end up with tarte Tatin, but turning an entire kitchen to rubble … how did we even survive?”
“Magic isn’t just about cooking. You have to know how to speak to the ingredients.”
Speak? Sylvie wasn’t sure where her mom was going with this. Sure, she’d picked out ripe tomatoes that seemed to scream bathe me in olive oil, but surely that wasn’t the same as do you speak carrot?
Her mom continued, “Language is what gives every spell life. Carcerem … prison. It tells the ingredients what to do. But you said cericum. The difference between the two sounds is minor … but you tried to turn the skybox into silk.” Her mom glanced at the crumbled remains.
“Of course, it didn’t work. But you still destroyed the oven and helped break our fall. ”
“Carcerem.” Sylvie let the word roll across her tongue. Every spell was like discovering a secret room. “Wait.” A new realization hit Sylvie. “You could hear what I was saying?”
Her mom nodded. “All this time, Fernand was responsible.”
Sylvie wanted to ask her mom what they were going to do, but like drops of rain cascading down, the crowd descended.
Sylvie shrunk back as Jack Bass stomped toward them.
“I knew you two were trouble.” His eyes darted across the scattered debris. “Now, you’ve shown the world I was right.”
Before Sylvie could say anything, another familiar face came into focus.
Madame Godard eyed the crumpled kitchen. “What on earth happened?”
Sylvie tried to figure out where to begin.
“I think it’s clear.” Bass adjusted his hat. “Your girl Abby was trying to cheat her way to another win, but something went wrong.”
“No. It wasn’t her fault,” said Sylvie. “It was—”
“It was Josephine.” Her mom squeezed her protectively. “She was preparing a Vindicti-au-vent. Sylvie stopped her.”
“Don’t you try to pin all this on me!”
Sylvie turned.
A fine layer of dust now covered Josephine’s blonde hair. She tucked her Blade into her chef’s coat. “Sylvie is the one you want. Her and her cheating mother.”
Bass shook his head. “Rotten apple. Rotten seed.”
Speaking of apples, Sylvie was about to say, but someone interrupted.
“Jack, my friend. Maybe you’re being too harsh.”
Sylvie recognized the voice, warm as shimmering oil, but just as dangerous.
Fernand LeGrande squeezed past the group of onlookers. “Thankfully no one was seriously injured.”
Sylvie glared at him. “No thanks to you.”
“How dare you speak to LeGrande like that!” Bass’s nostrils flared, making him look like an angry bull. “Fernand is a top-ranking Sage from an esteemed family.”
Fernand flashed a pearly smile. “It’s all right. Poor Sylvie has been under a lot of stress. This grudge between Josephine and her mother has gone too far. I, of course, blame Josephine.”
Sylvie couldn’t help but notice Josephine’s wounded expression.
“Sylvie was just trying to save her mother. If anything, she deserves a reward. She didn’t do half bad.” Fernand nudged Bass. “Perhaps the CCS should give her a shot at taking the test.”
Sylvie knew exactly what Fernand was trying to do. Win her silence with favors. It was dizzying, how ingeniously he could spin things.
Bass glanced uncertainly from Fernand to the steaming wreck.
“Sylvie!” Georgia and Flora muscled their way through the crowd.
“Ah, ladies! I told you we’d find her.” Fernand clapped a hand on Sylvie’s back. “They’ve been worried about you, running off like that. It was noble to try and save your mom, but you really should’ve let the experts help.”
“You all right?” asked Georgia.
Sylvie felt Fernand’s hand around her arm, squeezing like a nutcracker.
“Yeah. I’m … fine.” The truth suddenly didn’t feel so easy. What if no one believes me? What if all I do is make things worse?
“Take your hands off my daughter!” Abby’s lips curled into a snarl.
“Abby!” Godard seemed both surprised and confused. “What’s going on?”
“I think we’d all like to know,” said Bass.
A hush seemed to fall over the packed arena. The scent of charred sugar and wet steel clung to the air. It was now or never.
“Fernand is the one who swapped Josephine’s ingredients,” said Sylvie. “He was worried about the competition becoming irrelevant. So, he sabotaged his own team. He was planning to blow up the skybox too. Just to keep it all covered up.”
An audible gasp echoed across the room.
Fernand laughed nervously. “You see what I mean? The poor girl has clearly gone mad.”
Bass glared at Sylvie. “You expect anyone to believe that? Unlike Jones, LeGrande is one of the oldest and most respected families.”
“Careful. That’s my daughter you’re talking about,” snapped Abby.
“Sylvie, do you have any proof?” asked Godard.
“Well, no. See, he claimed he didn’t get Guy’s cwtch. But then Guy got trapped, and we found his message. So, Georgia, Flora, and I decided to take matters into our own hands. That’s when Fernand showed up and confessed.”
Godard turned to Flora and Georgia. “Is this true?”
Flora stared at the ground. “Well, we were trying to rescue Sylvie’s mom.”
“Flora’s right.” Georgia glanced apologetically at Sylvie. “But … I’m not sure about the rest.”
“That’s because he slipped something into our drinks,” added Sylvie. “He wanted us to forget, but I didn’t finish mine.”
Sylvie could hear the laughs bursting across the arena, like fireworks.
“Oh, this is absurd,” snapped Bass. “I was there all those years ago. I remember what happened. I’m certain Fernand didn’t cheat!”
“Exactly.” Fernand eyed Sylvie. “I told you… . Now, the lies must really come to an end.”
Sylvie had been hoping for a miracle. Like, maybe the elixir Fernand had given her friends would suddenly wear off.
Then, they’d shout, it’s true! But now, it was clear none of that would happen.
Even Sylvie, who knew the truth, had to agree.
Her story sounded ridiculous. So, if she hardly believed it, why would anyone else? The answer seemed clear. They won’t.
A waxy smile spread across Fernand’s face. He turned to Bass. “I still have a show to put on. So, if you don’t mind, I’ll handle the skybox. Your team can deal with the girl, and her mother.”
Sylvie’s heart sank. She’d done the right thing, but it didn’t feel good. Fernand was going to get away with everything, again. “Wait!” she cried.
All eyes settled on her.
“I can prove it.” Beads of sweat trickled down Sylvie’s back.
She’d read enough mystery books to know you didn’t want to point the finger at someone until you had ironclad proof.
What she had was hardly solid. In fact, it was little more than a hunch.
Three different recipes with butcher’s-broom, all sent on the same day.
Sylvie had been wondering if the same person who’d sabotaged the competition had a hand in those spells.
If her guess was right, the answer was yes.
The rice paper scroll suddenly flickered back to life. Sylvie stared up at it. The podium that had been projected across it was gone. Now, all anyone could see was Jack Bass, looming over Sylvie as she stood guiltily next to the remains of the accident she’d made happen.
Sylvie cleared her throat and held up her hand. “A batch of muffins laced with butcher’s-broom gave me this scar. On the same day, someone sent Boris and Guy similar hexes. Fernand cooked up those spells. Check his Blade. It’ll prove it.”
“This is ridiculous. Why would I have sent them hexes?” Fernand’s eyes, once full and round, narrowed into angry slits. “You can’t take someone’s Blade and search through their spells because of … of baseless accusations.” The conviction in his tone seemed to waver.
Now Sylvie was sure she was right.
“Before Balthazar died, he sent out cwtches to my mom and her team, confessing what Fernand had done. Fernand told me himself… . He’d almost gotten away with it, but then his father threatened to ruin it all.
” Sylvie had seen how fragile cwtches could be.
Even a paper slingshot and enchanted peanut butter ball can break them.
“The recipes laced with butcher’s-broom were the perfect solution.
Everyone thought it was about revenge. No one realized the real purpose …
destroying Balthazar’s messages before anyone could open them. ”
Fernand’s face hardened. “This is madness.”
“Perhaps,” said someone in the crowd.
Sylvie looked up. There was the man with the star-spangled face. He moved through the audience.
People began to gasp and whisper. “It’s Guy Fabre!”
Even with the paint, Sylvie could see they were right. It has to be … and yet, something about him seemed different. Her eyes locked on the ring he was wearing, a grape leaf with a pinpricked circle in the center. He pulled out a vial and chugged it down.
Sylvie stood there, riveted, as August Strange shed off his disguise. A veiled lady spell … of course! The final piece of the puzzle fell into place. That’s why Guy needed the skullcap.
“Sorry about the theatrics,” said August. “But I’m afraid the CCS didn’t make it easy for me to sneak in today.”
Bass wheeled around. His face now looked like a bowl of half-set jelly, red and wobbly. “Get this thief!”
August pulled out the gleaming Apple of Discord. Sylvie could see it, glowing on the scroll, as big and bright as the moon.
Several CCS agents charged forward, then froze.
Inky words splashed across the rice paper, permanent as a knife wound to the chest.
PROOF! THE CCS HAS BEEN LYING TO YOU!
Sylvie could hear the sharp draws of breath.
“The problem isn’t Sylvie’s story,” said August, lifting the Apple so that it hovered above the words on the scroll.
Her name sparked inside it, like a moth to a flame.
“It’s the fact that Jack Bass doesn’t want you to believe anything that might contradict his narrative.
That’s why he tried to keep this hidden.
But we all have a right to know the truth. ”
“This is all a misunderstanding.” Bass pulled off his hat and fumbled with it.
“In that case, there’s an easy way to clear it up,” said August, turning to his old partner. “If Fernand has nothing to hide, have him turn over his Blade. Let us see his spells. After all, it’s justice you’ve been after … right?”
The auditorium grew so still, you could’ve heard one of Bass’s ranking pins drop.
“Well, I suppose.” Bass glanced from the audience to the Apple and back again, as he contemplated his next move.
“Surely, you agree with August,” prodded Godard. “After all, the backbone of your policies is to quell cheating and preserve families with an unblemished past. We wouldn’t want Fernand to be wrongfully accused.”
All eyes were fixed on Bass.
“That is true,” said Bass, holding out his hand. “Maybe we could take a quick look at Fernand’s Blade. What do you say, old friend?”
“I … ah …” Fernand’s eyes darted around the room. “Never!” He charged toward the door.
The arena erupted. “GET HIM!”
Fernand had almost made it to the exit when someone pushed through.
Guy tackled him to the ground, pinning Fernand in a dark slick of chocolate.
August rushed over. “I was starting to worry about you.”
“Sorry,” said Guy, brushing chocolate off his collar. “There was an incident in the train.” He lowered his voice. “Then, I had to get the rice paper scrolls running… . I couldn’t let the world miss out on our best headline yet.”
Sylvie smiled as Guy threw her a crooked wink with his good eye.
Josephine slowly turned to Fernand, studying his face, as if she were seeing it for the first time. “It was … you? All these years of suffering and wondering, you just let me believe …” Her voice trailed off, as if the sentence were too painful to finish.
Sylvie waited for Fernand to say something, but he didn’t even look up.
“I’m sorry you were cheated out of the truth, and the win, Josephine.” Sylvie picked at words like a loose string. “My mom was a victim … but so were you.”
“Y-you were actually telling the truth.” Slowly, Josephine absorbed the words. “He … betrayed me.”
Sylvie tried to read her expression, but like a cloud-covered night, darkness descended.
Josephine turned to Bass. “All these years, I hated Abby… . I wanted her to pay, along with everyone else. But I was wrong. We were wrong.” She reached into the folds of her chef’s coat.
Sylvie didn’t know what she expected, but it certainly wasn’t this.
The onyx handle of Josephine’s Blade shuddered. She clenched it tightly. Something inside her seemed to break. “Argh!”
Glimmering shards of steel scattered across the floor, as she drove the knife into the ground. Colorful sparks exploded.
Sylvie stared in shock. She wasn’t sure what she was seeing.
Memories of spells? Unused bits of magic?
Only one thing was certain. Josephine Flammé was bound to her Blade. With it destroyed, so is her power.