CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The Trojan Cake

In which Matilda’s ingenious plan unfolds (and in which there are a few mushy bits, but not too bad).

The intrepid Matilda temporarily moved her bakery to the kitchens of Toad Hall to avail herself of the cavernous oven built a century before to accommodate a whole roast ox. For the next two days, our heroes busied themselves with secret preparations. The Rat in particular slaved away under Matilda’s direction, mixing huge vats of butter and dozens of eggs with a paddle and sifting veritable mountains of flour until he was quite covered with the stuff, leaving him looking like a ghost. He lifted and carried, he sieved and stirred, but instead of being exhausted and miserable, he was exhausted and exhilarated; he pitched into bed at night with a wide smile on his face.

Mole and Badger conferred in a corner of the library, pored over dusty maps of the various trails and tunnels known to lead in and out of the Wild Wood, and debated the merits of alternate routes of attack and escape. They debated whether Sammy had recognized Matilda, and whether or not there was anything they could do about it.

Toad rounded up pistols and stout sticks and ancient swords for each of them. He stumbled on a stray collection of various pieces of pitted, ancestral armor in one of the storerooms and hauled it downstairs to the library, intent on assembling a suit of armor for each of them.

“Look, you chaps,” he said, holding up a sixteenth-century shield and seventeenth-century gauntlets. “I think we’ll have to mix the centuries to fit us all. It’s generally not done, not being historically correct and all, but you fellows won’t mind, will you?”

“Toad,” said Badger, “I’m not wearing armor, and that’s that.”

“But, Badger, whyever not?” Toad buckled himself into a heavy iron cuirass to protect the chest, followed by heavy iron greaves to protect the legs, followed by a heavy iron helmet with a visor that squeaked when he lowered it.

All followed by Toad falling facedown on the floor with a resounding crash.

“That’s why not,” said Badger.

With great effort, Toad managed to roll over on his back, where he lay squirming and thrashing like a large metallic beetle. “Uh,” he said, “I say, you two … I … uh … can’t get up.”

“Exactly,” said Badger.

Mole took pity on Toad and helped the clanking creature to his feet. “Perhaps Badger’s right,” he said. “We probably don’t need armor.”

“Oh, all right,” pouted Toad. Always the mercurial animal, he suddenly brightened and said, “What about horses? And cannon? Can’t we have horses and cannon?”

Mole said, “I don’t think we need those, either. Especially since we’re embarking on a campaign of stealth and secrecy. No, no, they’d hear us coming from miles away. Er, why don’t you go down to the kitchen and see if Ratty and Matilda need a hand?”

“I did,” said Toad. “They told me to come up here and see if you and Badger need a hand.”

“Ah. I see.”

The wonderful fragrance of baking cake wafted into the room. Toad sniffed deeply and said, “Smells like they’re well under way. I wonder if Miss Matilda will let me lick the spoon?” He wandered back down to the kitchen and found Matilda and Ratty struggling to extract a huge golden cake from the giant oven.

“Good heavens,” said Toad. “I had no idea it would be that size.”

Matilda mopped her brow with her kerchief and said, “And this is only the first layer. It’s going to be three layers tall once I”—she glanced at Ratty—“that is, we finish making it. The Chief said he wanted the biggest cake on record, and he’s going to get it.”

“It’s going to be big, all right,” said Ratty, beaming at her.

“And full of surprises,” added Matilda. “Shocking surprises.”

Ratty said, “Three shocking surprises, in fact.”

A trifle nervously, Toad asked, “You, er, will be making plenty of air holes, right, Miss Matilda?”

“Of course, Mr. Toad. Don’t you worry about that. It wouldn’t do to smuggle you in half smothered. You’ll need to be in tip-top condition when you arrive.”

“I still wish I could talk you out of coming, Matilda,” said Ratty, gnawing his lip.

“Nonsense,” she said, patting his paw and looking at him fondly. “I know you mean well, Ratty, but I’m the only one who knows the way. And I’m the only one who can get you in. Let’s have no more talk about it. Now, I need three more pounds of butter, and there’s none left in the larder. Will you run to the shop for me?”

It’s a good thing the Mole wasn’t there to see it, for the Rat leapt to his task so enthusiastically you’d have thought there was no higher meaning and purpose in life than to run to the shop for three pounds of butter.

*   *   *

At sunrise the next morning, our team gathered in the kitchen to assemble the enormous cake, almost three weasels high. Matilda cunningly excavated each layer with a long, sharp knife before they stacked the layers one atop the other. She then took a large wooden spatula, practically the size of an oar, and slathered a thick layer of white icing over the entire cake. Finally, she took a thin rod and poked several small air holes in each layer.

“There,” she said, “that should be adequate for your needs. And by the time I’ve finished with the icing, you won’t be able to spot the holes.” She filled her piping bag with pink icing from a barrel. “Come back in an hour,” she said. “And don’t forget to bring a stepladder.”

The team of warriors returned to the library for a final look at their maps and a final talk of strategy.

“Remember,” said Badger, “don’t move a muscle until they’ve finished singing. Then the Chief’ll blow out the candle and everyone will cheer. That will be your signal.”

“What if we can’t hear inside the cake?” said Toad.

“I’ll be standing by, and I’ll thump on the top,” said Badger. “Believe me, you’ll hear that.”

The butler entered and announced, “Miss Matilda is ready for you.”

They picked up their weapons and trooped down to the kitchen to find their singular conveyance covered in pink and blue rosettes. Their machine of war looked like nothing more than an enormous—and innocent—birthday cake. They examined it and praised Matilda’s handiwork.

“It’s perfect!” exclaimed the Rat. “Why, if I didn’t know any better, I’d be completely taken in.”

“It’s a Trojan horse, er, cake,” said Mole.

“Well done,” said Badger.

“Erm, there are plenty of air holes, right?” said Toad.

Matilda beamed at their praise. They carefully loaded the cake onto the gardener’s first-best wheelbarrow. Toad and Mole climbed up the stepladder and gingerly lowered themselves into the hollowed-out interior, taking pains not to smudge the icing. Then it was the Rat’s turn. But first he took Matilda’s paws in his and said, “We are embarking upon a dangerous mission. If anything should happen, promise me you’ll save yourself.”

“I promise,” she said. They gazed deeply into each other’s eyes and then tenderly touched noses.

Badger looked away and cleared his throat. “Time to go,” he said gruffly.

The Rat lowered himself into the cake, but not before bestowing upon his beloved a last look that spoke volumes. Badger hoisted the false top and eased it into place. From inside the cake came muffled complaints: “You’re squashing me!” “Move over!” “I am over!”

“Settle down, you lot,” ordered Badger, and there was immediate silence. Matilda piped a last ribbon of icing around the seam. She circled the cake, examining it with a critical eye, and found everything satisfactory. “Right,” she said. “There’s only one last thing…” She retrieved a large apron and neckerchief and white cap from the scullery and gave them to Badger, who put them on to play the part of her assistant.

“Here we go,” said Badger. He hoisted the wheelbarrow’s handles.

“Steady on!” came the faint complaint.

“Be quiet,” said Badger. “We’ve got a long trip ahead of us, and I don’t want to hear a single word on the way. Not one. Understood?”

Silence reigned.

Matilda took up her basket. It contained two long French baguettes, each of which cleverly concealed a long stick. She opened the kitchen door for Badger and his burden, and they set off, headed for the darkest heart of the Wild Wood.