The cloud passed and the sun shone on El Elado once again, turning it to gold. “I’m going to eat that whole tower,” Zeke whispered, his finger pointing to the center of the city.
Guster pressed Zeke’s pointer finger down. As soon as Guster had sniffed the city on the breeze, he’d known that’s what he wanted too. Despite how cold and wet he was, there was nothing more important in all the world than for him to taste it.
But eating up prime real estate didn’t quite seem polite. El Elado was so majestic, so perfect, Guster felt as if they were gazing upon sacred grounds. He could not defile them. He wanted to taste El Elado properly. They would have to go about it in just the right way.
“But this is impossible,” Mariah muttered weakly.
“You must believe your eyes,” said Gaucho.
“And the storm . . .” she said. “It’s gone.”
Guster had been so fixated on the city, he had not realized that the storm had passed without a hint that it had ever been. It must not have been able to penetrate the wall of mountains that surrounded the valley. Either way, the sun shone bright and the skies were clear.
“Such sits El Elado,” said Gaucho, “in the Valley of Golden Light.”
It did look like gold. Down below them in the lush green meadow a dark brown river ran in winding arcs toward the city and shimmering strawberries glinted in the sun like polished red rubies. They covered the plain so that it shone and twinkled as the sunlight reflected off the strawberries’ red skin.
Caramelo and Pistachero climbed up out of the cave behind them. They had gathered their cauldron and equipment and stowed it in their packs.
“Look, they are coming to greet us,” said Caramelo, shoving past Guster.
Out on the strawberry plains a small procession hurried along. There was a half dozen or so men dressed in shiny armor just like Gaucho’s. On their shoulders they carried a small platform. A man in a black suit was seated on top. Behind them were another half dozen men, all dressed in red robes.
They scurried along the plains, darting this way and that down a path that ran more or less parallel to the brown river.
“Come,” said Pistachero. “We are received by his Honor. We must meet them.” He and Caramelo herded Guster, Mariah, and Zeke down the slope and out the mouth of the cave until they were in open sunlight.
They picked their way down a steep, rocky path that led down to the green meadow. Guster chose his footsteps carefully, keeping his eyes on the ground. Here and there the ruby red strawberries peeked out of the brilliant green grass. The further they went, the thicker the strawberries grew, until soon enough they were standing in a field that was more red than green.
Caramelo halted there and waited as the procession met them on the flat plain. As the procession drew close, Guster could see that the man seated on top of the litter not only wore a black suit, but a black top hat and a shiny glass monocle over one eye. On his left lapel he wore an enormous bright blue and white ribbon that opened like a blooming blue sunflower. In the center was a button that read ‘Mayor.’ A shiny silver spoon peeked out of his right breast pocket.
He was short, with a protruding round paunch that rose all the way up to his chin. His face was scrunched like a bulldog’s, and Guster wondered if at any moment the man might bark out loud.
“His Majesty, the Mayor of El Elado, Mayor Bollito,” announced one of the men carrying the litter, breathless. They all set the litter gently on the ground.
Caramelo and Pistachero both bowed deeply. When Gaucho did not, Caramelo pulled Gaucho down into a bow by Gaucho’s shirt collar.
The Mayor strutted forward, stepping down off the litter onto the green field. He adjusted his monocle, setting it firmly between chubby cheek and lumpy brow. He stared at Guster carefully for several moments, his eye magnified to double the size by the glass, so that Guster began to feel uneasy under the weight of his glare.
A line of men in red flowing robes encircled the Mayor from behind the litter.
Were they? No, this was too far away for Gastronimatii. They were all gone, weren’t they?
These men’s red robes were actually woven with parallel strips of red and brown that hung down to their ankles, with sleeves that opened wide at the wrists. On top of their heads they wore a strange flat square, like a thin book balanced on their scalps. The strangest of all was a long, wavy strip that hung from the center of their square caps that looked like a strip of bacon.
Guster sniffed. Salt. Their clothes were made of cloth to look like bacon, but that tassel on their hats was actually real bacon.
They were of all different heights. Most of them were older than Dad, but some of them were just a few years older than Zeke. All of them were at least a head taller than Gaucho or Mayor Bollito.
Caramelo looked up from his bow. “Your Majesty,” Caramelo said. “We apprehended the traitor Gaucho del Pantaloon and brought him back to your custody! We leave him in your hands for punishment.”
The Mayor peered down his nose at Gaucho, his eyes narrowing.
Gaucho grinned sheepishly, turning his helmet in his hands.
The Mayor’s monocle eye settled on Guster, Mariah, and Zeke once again. “And the Flatlanders?” he asked in a voice so deep and low it sounded like it came straight from his chest.
The men carrying the litter began to mutter one to another. “I’ve never seen a Flatlander before,” one of them whispered.
“Your Majesty,” Caramelo said. “We think he’s the one Yummy has been looking for. We have not failed you. He knows things from a single spoonful that others cannot ever tell. This one has vision of tongue like we have not seen.”
Guster felt his insides turn hot. He’d been too obvious. Is that why they were in this mess? Because he’d given himself away at Bubalatti’s?
The Mayor removed the monocle from his face, breathed on it, then rubbed it on a handkerchief. He placed it back on his eye—the right one this time—and leaned forward, examining Guster closely.
Guster could feel the Mayor’s breath on his cheek. He stared into the Mayor’s scrunched face, trying his best not to look away. He wouldn’t let this man intimidate him.
The Mayor reached out a white gloved hand, took hold of a single hair from Guster’s head, and plucked it free.
“Ouch!” Guster cried. He covered his mouth. He hadn’t meant to let that slip. He was trying to sound brave.
The Mayor held the hair up to his eye, and sniffed. He seemed to be considering it. The men in the red robes surrounded the Mayor, whispering and muttering back and forth over their shoulders to each other and to him. Some of them were even scribbling down notes with feather quill pens on scrolls.
“The Exquisite Morsel,” said one.
“Could it be?” said another.
“Evertaster . . .” a third whispered.
How could they know about Evertasters way out here? Guster hadn’t heard anyone use that word since last summer, aside, that is, from Felicity a few days ago.
Guster dared not ask. They were so intimidating, standing there, towering over him with their shiny red robes, all standing in a ring like a herd of old goats.
One of them whispered in the Mayor’s ear, loud enough that Guster could hear. “Trial by Taste,” he said.
The Mayor seemed to consider Guster for a moment, his bottom lip protruding outward like a wrinkled worm. His eyes widened as an expression of realization spread across his scrunched face. He nodded. Then he took the silver spoon from his pocket and pointed it at Guster.
“You shall undergo the Trial by Taste!” he barked in a voice that seemed to reach the mountain tops.
Gaucho stomped his foot. “You can’t!” he cried. “It’s too much! He’s just a boy.”
If Gaucho was afraid, this couldn’t be good.
“Guards, take him to the mansion and make the preparations,” the Mayor said. He looked down at Guster. “You may be just the boon we’re looking for.” He laughed coldly. “Welcome to the City of El Elado,” he said dryly. He didn’t seem to mean it.
The Mayor retreated to his seat, then motioned for the litter to be raised up. The men in the colorful robes heaved and hoisted him back up on their shoulders. Then in one motion, they turned back toward the city and carried him away.
“Wow. A mayor,” said Zeke, his jaw open. “I’ve never met a real mayor before.”
The red robes parted, and four soldiers marched through their midst. They carried spears with long, red banners trailing from the end of the shafts.
“Flatlanders,” barked the one in front. He unhooked a heavy chain with curved manacles on either end from his belt and clapped them onto Guster’s wrists. They pinched his skin as they clicked shut.
Guster did not protest as his wrists sunk to his thighs under the weight of the heavy iron links. They were outnumbered.
The guard clapped Zeke and Mariah in irons too. Mariah was too weak to protest, but Zeke flailed about, swinging his arms this way and that, like a tornado, until three guards finally wrestled him down.
“This way,” said the lead guard. He motioned to Guster, Zeke, and Mariah. Two of the soldiers marched around behind them, boxing them in.
“And you.” He pointed his spear at Gaucho. “You are under arrest. We’ll let the Culinary deal with you.”
They clapped thick-gloved hands on Gaucho’s shoulders, chained his wrists to his back, and shoved him toward the city.
Gaucho managed to turn his head back toward Guster and give them a sheepish grin. “Sorry,” he mouthed.
“This way,” said one of the soldiers behind Guster. He and the other soldier herded Guster, Zeke, and Mariah down the path through the meadow, marching them toward the city behind Gaucho.
The men with bacon strips hanging from their hats fell in behind the guards, following so close they nearly stepped on his heels. They were muttering even faster now, scribbling down notes. One even poked him with his feather quill.
“Ouch,” said Guster, more out of surprise than actual pain. “What did you do that for?”
The red-robed man behind him looked surprised. Instead of responding, though, he turned to his colleague and muttered something excitedly. The man responded, nodding his head and muttering back.
“I think they’re teachers,” said Zeke, whispering to Guster with his hand blocking one side of his mouth.
Guster nodded. It was possible. Anything was possible way up here. And there caps and gowns did look like something you’d wear to graduation.
A sudden look of dread came over Zeke. “What if they give us homework?” he said. He gulped.
The strawberries grew larger the closer they got to the city wall, until eventually they were the size of baseballs. The path that led up to the city gates grew wider, and the way more steep, until the guards herded them up a staircase of rectangular, dark brown bricks that looked like oversized chocolate bars. The higher they climbed the colder the air grew, until they were at the city’s emerald-colored wall. Up close it was easy to tell it was made of solid mint ice cream.
The city wall was at least three stories tall with crenellations set into its top, an impenetrable barrier between the outside world and the city within.
A pair of soldiers marched toward its center from either side and stopped above a massive gate. Two enormous light-brown doors opened as they approached, swinging inward. It looked like they were made of polished stone, with chunks of smaller rock—wait, no, Guster could smell it. It wasn’t rock.
“Peanut brittle,” he said.
The soldier behind him grunted. “Harder than granite,” he said. “Nothing can break those gates. Nothing gets in or out of those gates without our saying so.”
And with that, the four guards pushed Guster, Zeke and Mariah through the gates into The Delicious City.