The Magic Cake Shop (16 page)

“Crackle! Open this door at once!” barked Uncle Simon.

Mr. Crackle glanced at Emma, gave her hand a good squeeze, and took a deep breath. “Gentlemen, behind this door are my most precious ingredients and priceless recipes. I’ve protected it with a very special system. In order to go through, you must follow my directions exactly.”

He approached the door and pointed to the glass pipe that led into the box full of metal loops. “I will blow through this tube, and on the count of three, all of us must push on the door together.”

The Brussels sprout blundered to the door and gave it a suspicious look. “Why together?”

“If you touch it even a fraction of a second before I do, then the door will bounce you back like a sack of Jell-O.” Mr. Crackle blew into the tube. “Ready? One, two … three!”

Maximus and Uncle Simon eagerly threw themselves against the door … just as Mr. Crackle, Emma, and Albie took a teeny step back.

CRACK! BANG!

Oily green smoke exploded into the tunnel. It smelled horribly of burned fish and vegetables. Emma began to sneeze and hack as her throat clogged. The tunnel swam before her eyes.

Behind her, Albie began to gurgle.

“Quickly!” cried Mr. Crackle. “Up the ladder!”

Emma dashed to the ladder. The rungs were slick with anchovy slime and stank terribly, but she gripped them tightly and raced up. Albie and Mr. Crackle followed right behind.

The foul smoke chased them, curling around Mr. Crackle’s shoes.

Then his legs.

Then his neck.

“Hurry!” he gasped. “Hurry!”

Emma’s fingers flew from rung to rung until at last she reached the top. With a mighty push, she dove out of the
flour barrel. Albie launched himself over, and Mr. Crackle tumbled out after.

The smoke erupted from the barrel and flooded into the kitchen.

With Emma and Albie at his heels, Mr. Crackle ran to the front of the shop, wrenched open the door, and stumbled out.

“Whew!” wheezed Mr. Crackle. “What a smell!”

“Even my grandfather’s toots aren’t this bad!” gasped Albie.

Emma coughed and coughed out puffs of dark green smoke. With every cough, the puffs grew less green, until she was breathing only sweet, fresh outside air.

They waited until the smoke had cleared from the shop. Then they went back in.

Emma went to the flour barrel and peered down. She could still smell charred anchovy and Brussels sprout, and the lamps threw out a blurry greenish light, but not a trace of Maximus Beedy or Uncle Simon remained.

Mr. Crackle joined Emma at the barrel. “Goodness, that was exciting!”

Emma turned to Mr. Crackle. “Where do you think Mr. Beedy and Uncle Simon went?” she asked.

Mr. Crackle thought for a moment. “If I remember correctly, the king who turned into a lamb chop when he drank the Elixir of Delight at noon never turned back into his human form. I suppose your uncle and Maximus will forever be bits of smelly green smoke.” He fanned the air
with his broad hand. “It may take a few days for the odor to disappear, but soon enough there won’t be a bit of your uncle or Maximus left.”

“Good riddance!” cheered Albie. He kicked at a stray wisp of green smoke.

Emma smiled. For the first time that summer, she felt free.

Mr. Crackle reached for the wall switch. “Might as well air out the tunnel for a bit.” But before his fingers closed on the switch, a gust of air swirled up through the tunnel.

“What the dickens? Someone must have turned the air current on from below!” Mr. Crackle cocked his head. “I wonder if it’s Mabel. She might be wondering if everything turned out all right.”

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Mabel’s head poked out from the flour barrel. “Hello, Gregor,” she said as she hoisted herself over the top. “I brought you some wicklewipes for the ghastly condition your ladder rungs are in.”

“Mabel! How did you know I would need them?” Mr. Crackle yelped.

“When I left the spice shop this morning to go grocery shopping, I noticed a rather pungent odor in the air. On closer inspection, I discovered that it was coming from your tunnel. Really, Gregor,” Mabel admonished, “you need to clean up after yourself. Other bakers need to use the main tunnel too!”

Mr. Crackle’s shoulders slumped. “So you came up to
ask me to disinfect my ladder rungs, and not to see if I was all right?”

Mabel smiled very slightly. “Gregor Crackle, I had no doubt that you would get yourself out of your current pickle. But I do know that when something exciting happens, you tend to forget to pick up after yourself.”

Emma started to giggle. Albie joined in, and although she did not laugh, Mabel looked at Mr. Crackle with a twinkle in her eye.

Mr. Crackle grinned ruefully. “Correct, as always, Mabel. I’ll wicklewipe the ladder rungs clean today. If you’re not too busy, could you lend a hand?”

“Gladly,” Mabel said.

A
fter the cleaning was done, Mr. Crackle baked a pizza for the four of them. As Mr. Crackle, Mabel, and Albie chatted and munched, Emma sat silent. During a pause in the conversation, Mabel gave Emma a concerned look. “Emma, what’s wrong?”

“I guess now that Uncle Simon’s gone, I’m going to have to call my parents and go back to the city.” Emma stared mournfully at her green pepper and onion slice.

“Pish,” said Mabel. “I’ve got a better idea. You’ve got a month left before school starts. Why don’t you stay with me at the spice shop? I could use an assistant.”

Emma stared at Mabel. A lovely tingle of happiness crept through her. “Really?”

“Of course,” Mabel said warmly.

“Cross my buttons, that would be splendid!” Mr. Crackle crowed. “And you can help me in the kitchen whenever you want.”

Emma gave a holler of joy.

“Well,” said Mr. Crackle as the late-afternoon sun spilled into the kitchen, “I must ask you all for one more favor. My cake shop has been closed for two days, and I’m afraid my customers are going to be insatiable. Could you help me whip up some desserts for tomorrow?”

Albie jumped up. “Woo-hoo! Of course! What shall we make?”

Mr. Crackle grinned. “Have you ever tried babbleberry pie?”

“Didn’t babbleberry juice turn all the Supreme-Extreme Masters into Popsicles?” asked Emma.

“Yes, but used properly, babbleberries make the best fruit desserts. Come, I’ll show you.”

And they began to hunt for mixing bowls and teaspoons.

Meika Hashimoto attempted to make her first dessert, a basic chocolate cake, when she was eight. In her excitement, she forgot the sugar. And the baking powder. And she left the cake in the oven for far too long. Although it resembled a brick, her parents politely ate it. Meika’s baking techniques have improved greatly since then. When she’s not mixing batter or eating truffles, she can be found editing children’s books.