Batthew Aromascent and the Missing Corpse Flower, page 5
BIT 7
SNIFFING AROUND
Batthew snuck out of the meeting room, leaving Lavender in a fierce sausage roll duel with Trobby Wendergreen. He needed to get his diary from his old room.
StreetPig. Vera Vetiver. Jasmine Le Bouquet. His suspects.
And there was Outré. He’d heard that word twice. Mayor Brenchley had said it the night before, talking to Aunt Bella in the lobby. And in the meeting, that strange man had whispered it to Jasmine Le Bouquet. Batthew reasoned that if Outré was connected to the Titan Arum, he needed to find out how. There was a good chance his dad would have written about it in his diary.
When he reached his old bedroom, Batthew was surprised to discover the door wouldn’t budge. It was locked! Odd. No matter, he thought. The window would surely be open. After all, the lock had been busted since an especially lively session of hide and seek with Lavender a few months ago.
Out the front of Olfactory, he hoisted himself up to his old bedroom window. It was closed, but with a little shaking and wriggling, Batthew managed to wedge it open. He slipped inside.
The room was empty.
Batthew lifted the loose floorboard under the windowsill, right by where he had recorded the smell of excitement just the day before. He fished out his dad’s diary. The worn, old, leather-bound book was unmistakable. Aunt Bella had given it to him after his parents went missing. Batthew had been trying to decipher his dad’s notes ever since. Some of the notes were clear and easy like, ‘NEVER USE SALT AND VINEGAR WITH POTPOURRI.’ Or, ‘PEOPLE WITH LONG, BROWN HAIR PREFER THE SMELL OF SUNSCREEN OVER HAWAIIAN PIZZA.’ But there were other bits that Batthew still couldn’t crack – jumbled words that he hadn’t learnt yet or weird scribblings that looked like mazes with no end.
He grabbed the diary and flipped through the pages, searching through the long ingredient lists and the scribbles. His eyes fell on the bottom corner of a messy page. There it was, in smudged ink, ‘The Outré Museum.’ Below it: ‘1200, 105, 210, 315, 420, 525 …’
He thought of Jasmine Le Bouquet and all those keys she wore like medals around her neck. He had to show the diary to Lavender.
Batthew shoved the diary into his pocket, then paused. There was a smell. A familiar smell. His nose wriggled. Burnt sugar with a twist. It was that same smell of excitement that he’d picked up yesterday morning! How strange that it should still be here, long after the excitement had faded away. In fact, it was even stronger than when he had smelt it the first time. He could really smell it now. He paced around the room, the squeaky floorboards, velvety rug and worn walls all so familiar to him, looking for where the strange smell might be coming from. But the room was empty. He fished the diary out of his pocket and ran it under his nose. Nope. It always smelt like old leather and ginger biscuits. Definitely not excitement.
The smell was still on his mind when he entered the Olfactory Main Laboratory looking for Lavender.
‘This is where the magic happens!’ A Senior Nose, surrounded by a flock of thrilled-looking interns, was gesturing wildly about the enormous laboratory. ‘But before we make perfume, we need to extract the smells! Ah! How, you ask? Well, the lab is divided into five main processes of extraction: Distillation, Solvent Extraction, Enfleurage, Headspace and Expression. Each process is supported by a whole department of workers!’
Batthew noticed a familiar expression among the interns. He’d seen that same look of awe and wonder his whole life. Most of Olfactory made sense, you see. But sometimes, no matter how much you tried to figure out how it all worked, things still didn’t quite add up. A single cloud suspended in mid-air in the middle of a room … eh? And hadn’t that blue stained-glass window been red just yesterday? And for that matter, hadn’t it also been a completely different shape? Batthew had learnt long ago that the hows and whys of Olfactory weren’t always the point. It was more of a uh-huh, that’s interesting, isn’t that something and well now, how about that.
Batthew tried to find a gap to shuffle past, but the group was blocking the doorway.
‘Olfactory only uses traditional, time-honoured techniques to extract odour. Take this lemon, for example!’ The Senior Nose indicated towards a lonely lemon sitting idly on a nearby bench. ‘We don’t just pop a whole lemon in a perfume bottle. We need to extract the smell! Who would like to take a guess as to how we might extract the smell of a lemon?’
The interns blinked vacantly.
‘Why, it’s the Expression team, of course! Donatella, catch!’
The Senior Nose tossed the lemon to a lab technician standing on a platform above, who promptly lobbed it into a large wicker basket full of citrus fruits.
‘With lemon,’ the Senior Nose beamed, ‘you must squeeze the smell from the rind. But not everything can be squeezed! Would you squeeze a rose? No! And so, every natural ingredient has a different extraction method.’
The Senior Nose spotted Batthew trying to sneak past.
‘Perfect timing. Batthew Aromascent, hello!’ The Senior Nose waved. The group of interns turned towards him, like a huddle of wide-eyed penguins. Batthew froze, uncomfortable with the attention.
‘Then there are our Noses and their assistants! The famous Batthew here is an unofficial lab assistant to Mr Sandalwood, one of Olfactory’s Master Noses! And of course, I don’t need to tell any of you that Batthew has some big shoes to fill! Any words of advice for our up-and-comers, Batthew?’
‘Er …’ Batthew started.
‘All right then!’ the Senior Nose declared without waiting for an answer. ‘Let’s keep moving, shall we? Step right this way and I’ll show all you what a perfume organ looks like.’
The group of interns shuffled away, leaving Batthew to himself.
Tucked away from all the madness in the nookiest nook behind a large silver pipe, where the chink of metalwork and grumble of urns muffled out the rest of the lab, was Mr Sandalwood’s workstation.
Mr Sandalwood told Batthew that Lavender had been apprehended by the Head of Cleaning and was marched straight back to the Meeting Room.
‘Serves her right for sticking a lamington into Patty Birtwhistle’s ear,’ Sandalwood muttered without looking up from the cerulean beaker on his desk. Batthew figured he’d join Mr Sandalwood in his work while he waited for Lavender.
Moments later, Mr Sandalwood gazed doubtfully at the vial in Batthew’s hand.
‘Marmalade vapour and sea breeze? Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure.’ Batthew nodded. ‘And besides, there’s only one way to find out!’
His position as Mr Sandalwood’s assistant wasn’t official, but everybody knew that Mr Sandalwood was training Batthew to become a proper Nose someday. The two of them had been mixing in the lab together since long before Batthew could even remember. Batthew doubted he’d ever make it as far as a Nose, but he did make a world-class assistant. He could track down just about any ingredient in the Smell Library. And he could even tell the difference between pepperberry and peppercherry. Of course, it would have normally been Batthew’s parents, Roger and Joy, who would have been tasked with guiding their young son. Mr Sandalwood had, in many ways, adopted the roles of both parents.
‘Spoken like a true Aromascent.’ Mr Sandalwood slapped him on the back encouragingly. He nimbly lifted a misty vial from the front pocket of his overalls, peering at its contents over his moustache. A label on the side of the vial read: SEA BREEZE. NOT TO BE USED WITH VANILLA. Sandalwood took a cautious sniff. His moustache winced. He splashed the sea breeze into another vial: MARMALADE VAPOUR. PARTICULARLY POTENT WITH POPPY. The two combined with a hiss and a pop. A fluorescent orange cloud spouted into the air. Mr Sandalwood took a deep breath in through his nose. A smile spread across his face. ‘By barbeque and bacon,’ he grunted. ‘It’s marvellous! You are your mother and father’s son.’
Batthew opened his mouth to ask Mr Sandalwood about Outré …
‘And your aunt’s nephew,’ a voice interrupted. Aunt Bella appeared beside the workstation and smiled down at them. ‘Good to see that you’re thinking outside the box, Batthew. Olfactory needs exceptional problem solvers if we are to reclaim the title of best fragrance house in the city!’ She waved a delicate hand at Mr Sandalwood. ‘I can sense good things ahead, Mr Sandalwood, very good things!’
‘So you really think that it was StreetPig then, eh?’ Mr Sandalwood scratched his head. ‘Young Artie Musk finally went one step too far?’
‘That’s what happens when you want to be new and edgy and current,’ Bella sniffed, her smile dropping. ‘Extreme behaviour is the price of innovation. Take a look at the work that we’re doing here at Olfactory, by comparison, Mr Sandalwood. Classic scents. Immortal beauty. Timeless quality.’
‘Well, if it’s not recovered soon, the Titan Arum will wilt and go dormant,’ Mr Sandalwood said, pensive. He noticed the look of confusion on Batthew’s face and clarified, ‘Dormant. Alive, but asleep under the soil, waiting for the perfect environment to resprout. When the flower is under the ground like this, there is no way of seeing it or smelling it. And if it’s not kept safe in the Glasshouse while in its dormancy, finding it will become near impossible.’
Terry, from the Dry Woods department, wandered past with a boiling vat of wood shavings.
‘Why would StreetPig want to steal the Titan Arum, though?’ Batthew asked.
Bella shrugged, looking distracted.
‘Maybe they want to feed it to that wombat!’ Lavender appeared, landing on Sandalwood’s desk with a thud. Aunt Bella frowned. Batthew grinned. Mr Sandalwood sighed, not looking up. Lavender snatched the smoking vial out of Mr Sandalwood’s hand. ‘What’s this?’ she asked, a glob of jam slithering down her plaits.
‘I like the StreetPig wombat,’ Batthew said absently. ‘Wombat is an interesting smell.’
‘Don’t get any ideas, Batthew.’ Aunt Bella raised her eyebrows, a wry look crossing her face. ‘It’s exactly that sort of thinking that got Artemesius Musk into all this trouble. Let’s not go around putting wombat into our fragrances, eh.’
‘I wasn’t suggesting …’ Batthew began. But Bella had already whirled away in a flurry of aroma, disappearing out the lab door. Mr Sandalwood shrugged, plucked the vial out of Lavender’s hand, and turned back to his work.
‘So,’ Lavender sidled up to Batthew. ‘Have you?’
‘Have I what?’ Batthew asked.
‘Cracked the case?’ Lavender cried. ‘Mended the mystery? Solved the situation?’
He told her his list of suspects: StreetPig, Jasmine Le Bouquet and Vera Vetiver.
‘And there’s this one thing …’ Batthew fished his diary out of his bag. There it was, in his dad’s handwriting. Outré.
‘Outré?’ Lavender shot him a quizzical look, picking sausage roll crumbs out of her ear. ‘What the heck is Outré?’
‘I heard Aunt Bella mention it to Mayor Brenchley last night. And then this morning, at the meeting, I heard Jasmine Le Bouquet say it to the man sitting next to her. Remember when the whole room went quiet? I thought there might be something about it in Dad’s diary. And look what it says underneath.’
They huddled together over the open diary.
‘The Outré Museum. 1200, 105, 210, 315, 420, 525…’ Lavender read aloud. She squinted at Batthew. ‘You reckon Jasmine Le Bouquet stole the Titan Arum?’
‘Yes. And maybe she’s hiding it in the Museum District.’
‘What do you suppose these numbers mean?’
‘I’m not sure. Maybe some kind of code for a padlock?’
‘To the Museum District?’
‘To the Museum District,’ Batthew agreed.
‘You know, Batthew, I’ve been thinking. Maybe your parents were right about you in that letter. You might be the only person in the city who’s able to solve this mystery!’
‘What do you mean?’ Batthew asked.
Lavender tapped his nose. ‘I don’t care what you say, you got something special going on in there. And I reckon if anyone is going to sniff out the stinkin’ corpse flower, it’s you. Come on, let’s go! To the Museum District!’
BIT 8
THE MUSEUM DISTRICT
‘The smell of excitement?’ Lavender was sceptical.
Batthew gazed out the tram window, distracted. Candlenut galloped by in a blurry jumble. The gloomy shadow of the Titan Arum’s theft was hanging heavy over the usually vibrant city streets. Sweepers hoovered up day-old confetti. Wanted posters with photos of the Titan Arum asked, ‘HAVE YOU SMELT THIS FLOWER?’ Police cars were parked on every street corner. Batthew caught sight of a pair of detectives grilling a panicked roadside florist while a white and brown police dog with distinguished whiskers yapped at their feet.
StreetPig was everywhere Batthew looked. Kids wearing StreetPig T-Shirts chased each other in playgrounds. A fast-food joint was selling a new burger called ‘The StreetPiggery’. Billboards plastered with Artemesius Musk’s handsome smile sat high in the Candlenut skyline. Was Olfactory genuinely becoming a thing of the past? Batthew wondered. Maybe Aunt Bella was right to be worried.
‘I dunno, Batthew,’ Lavender was still talking. Batthew had told her about the strange odour in his old room. He had smelt it before the Titan Arum’s theft, and then again this morning when he had gone back to collect his diary. Lavender shook her head. ‘Your nose has my full support, you know that. But every now and then I think it likes to get ahead of itself. Remember that time you tried to tell me that video games smell?’
‘I definitely smelt something,’ Batthew said firmly. ‘It was different. It was sweet, but not like a good sweet … and video games do have smells!’
The tram screeched to a stop. ‘DOWNTOWN CANDLENUT! THE MUSEUM DISTRICT!’ the conductor called. Batthew and Lavender bounded out of their seats and squeezed their way towards the nearest door, popping out into the open. The air was crisp, the skies clear. Perfect for sniffing out a stolen flower.
A speeding car with a thundering horn and a grumpy driver who smelt of oily spaghetti bolognaise hurtled by, missing them by millimetres.
‘Hey, watch it!’ Lavender shook her fist at the disappearing car. ‘I’m walkin’ here!’
‘You kids!’ a voice cried. A gap-toothed street merchant was perched on the grass, gesturing to the rug in front of him. It was splayed with books, suspicious trinkets and dusty perfume bottles. ‘At your sh’ervice!’
‘We’re looking for the Outré Museum?’ Batthew asked optimistically.
‘Howz’ bout a bottle of sh’mashed coconut hushksh instead? Sh’mells too good to be true!’ Batthew knelt to have a sniff. A fishy odour grabbed angrily at the air inside his nostrils.
‘Not today, thanks!’ Lavender grabbed Batthew’s hand and dragged him away.
Batthew tugged back. Candlenutians zipped to-and-fro around them. Someone would be able to point them in the right direction. Batthew tapped a passer-by on the arm. ‘Excuse me, do you know the way to the Outré Museum?’
The woman stopped and smiled warmly.
‘What has hands but can’t blow its nose!’ She gave Batthew a friendly wink and kept walking.
‘Helpful.’ Lavender rolled her eyes skywards. She pulled Batthew away. ‘Let’s try the Information Centre.’
The Museum District Information Centre stuck out halfway up a grassy hill. It was a set of three glass structures: one big round one in the middle, with two smaller domes nestled on either side.
They marched up the grassy slope through a throng of giddy sightseers, bouncing up and down on their toes, rubbing the grass and taking deep breaths with their noses to savour the Candlenut air. Up ahead, tourists swarmed the front of the three glass domes. On each of the smaller glass structures were two pronounced holes. One hole was marked ENTRANCE. The other was marked EXIT. It clicked. The openings were nostrils. The Information Centre was in the shape of a giant, glass nose.
‘BWAAAARP!’ sounded the huge nostrils. A warm gust of wind spluttered outwards from the exit, delivering a lady onto the grassy lawn. The lady, in the middle of a laughing fit, whipped out her camera and aimed it at the exit nostril. A moment later, the exit ‘BWARRPED’ again and a man, posing with his fingers in a peace sign, tumbled out towards the flashing camera.
This was Candlenut tourism at its finest.
‘That way, I suppose?’ Lavender nodded towards the left nostril, marked ENTRANCE. They followed a thrilled-looking family towards the opening. Here goes nothing. Batthew shrugged, stepped forward, and let the air suck him in through the big nostril. The pull was more blast than breeze.
P H W O O O O O O O O O O O O O O S H ! KERPLUNK!
Batthew took a moment to regain his balance, landing somewhere close to the entrance inside the Information Centre. He was dimly aware of Lavender KERPLUNKING onto the ground next to him.
‘And WHY are you not at school?’ a curly voice behind them asked.
Batthew turned and caught his reflection in a pair of polished leather shoes. His gaze followed the legs upwards. A spiralled moustache shadowed by a long nose pointed outwards from a man’s face, his plucked nostrils like two prying eyes pointed directly at Batthew and Lavender. He was decidedly tall and terribly skinny. The man wore a velvet tuxedo that was far too small for him and a bedraggled top hat, which made his tallness and skinniness even odder. Batthew recognised him. It was the strange man who had been sitting next to Jasmine Le Bouquet at the meeting at Olfactory earlier that morning!
‘It’s Saturday,’ Lavender replied. ‘And it’s school holidays.’
‘Saturday, eh?’ The man raised his eyebrows. ‘School holidays, you say? All right then, little Miss. Where are your parents? You both look far too young to be walking around all by yourselves.’
‘My dad is Mr Sandalwood,’ Lavender replied. ‘From Olfactory.’ She nodded towards Batthew. ‘His parents are Roger and Joy Aromascent. I bet you’ve heard of them.’
‘BAH!’ The man’s nostrils widened into two black holes. He straightened his top hat. ‘Pardon me! Roger and Joy Aromascent! Then you … why, you must be Mr Batthew Aromascent.’ The man gave up on straightening his top hat and pulled excitedly at his bow tie. ‘Sweet cinnamon candles! What a day this has turned out to be! Can I … sorry but …’ And with that, the man leant down and hugged Batthew, taking a big breath in through his nose. ‘Olfactory Classic Shampoo! Of course! I would know that smell anywhere. I too wear it. I ONLY wear Olfactory!’ His face dropped. ‘You poor little Nose! Your parents, what treasures they were. The world will never see their likes again!’
