فصل سی و دوم

chapter-32

Everything about Mr. Lemoncello’s Imagination Factory world headquarters in New York City was wild and wacky.

The front wall of the building at Sixth Avenue and Twenty-Third Street, in the heart of downtown Manhattan, was filled with grand columns, incredible arches, and wildly imaginative gargoyles—including several that were chiseled to look like Mr. Lemoncello wearing a hooded monk’s robe, his nose stuck in a stone book.

There was a balloon store, a bookstore, and a bakery on the ground floor of the block-long office building. The arched golden doorway into the Imagination Factory’s lobby was guarded by a pair of mechanical bears in circus band uniforms blowing bubbles out of their trombones.

Once Kyle, Akimi, Angus, and Abia stepped into the lobby, they smelled cotton candy, popcorn, and caramel apples—even though they were nowhere near a county fair.

“They’re using Mr. Lemoncello’s smell-a-vision technology,” said Akimi. She pointed to a placard on an easel where the smells of the week were outlined. Today’s theme was “The Circus Is in Town.” Tomorrow would be “Chocolate-Dipped Fruit Day.” The day after that was “A Scentsational Tribute to American Bubble Gum.” Robots, similar to the ones working at Mr. Lemoncello’s library, whizzed across the lobby’s shiny floor, silently whisking baskets of mail and trays filled with important packages to wherever they were supposed to go.

A man named Vader Nix, whose parents had been huge Star Wars fans, was the head of marketing and advertising at the Imagination Factory. Kyle had called Mr. Nix when the banana jet began its descent into the New York area. Mr. Nix knew Kyle and Akimi from their star turns in Mr. Lemoncello’s holiday commercials (their prize for winning the escape game back when the library first opened). He stepped out of a glass elevator (designed to look like a rocket ship) to greet them.

“Welcome to Lemoncello world headquarters,” said Mr. Nix. “I wish you kids could’ve come on a happier day.” He gestured over his shoulder to a giant brass meter mounted on a wall beneath a mural depicting all the crazy characters and screwy playing pieces from the Lemoncello universe of games. The meter looked like the floor indicator on an old-fashioned elevator, but instead of pointing to a half circle of numbers, the ornately scrolled hand dipped from a toothy happy face past a closed-mouth-smile happy face to a straight-line-mouth semihappy face.

If it nudged much farther to the left, Mr. Lemoncello’s Universal Happiness Meter might plunge all the way to frowny face and then angry/snarly face.

“It appears everyone in the world heard Irma Hirschman on the radio this morning,” said Abia.

“Did Mr. L come with you kids?” asked Mr. Nix.

Kyle shook his head. “He’s still in Ohio. Talking to the police.” “About this Irma Hirschman brouhaha?”

“No. Someone stole the blueprints for his Fantabulous Floating Emoji game.” “And I didn’t think it could get any worse.” Mr. Nix showed the kids the cover of a special edition of Game Maker magazine. “Hot off the presses. It just came out this morning.” The magazine had Mr. Lemoncello illustrated like the Mr. Moneybags character from Monopoly being hauled off by a billy-club-wielding cop—just like on the classic “Go Directly to Jail” Chance card. The headline was horrifying: MR. LEMONCELLO’S IMAGINATION FACTORY BUILT ON LIES, DECEIT, AND THEFT OF INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY “Have you heard from this Irma Hirschman before?” asked Kyle.

“Nope. Never.”

“She says she called you guys,” said Akimi, watching to see if Mr. Nix tried to touch or cover his mouth. He didn’t.

“Nobody here has ever heard of her.”

“She’s never made these claims before?” asked Abia. “She’s never sued Mr. Lemoncello?” “Nope,” said Mr. Nix. “But now the accusation is spreading like warm butter on hot waffles.” “That’s why we’re here,” said Kyle. “To prove that Irma Hirschman is a liar.” “Has anybody seen her shuffling her feet a lot lately?” asked Akimi.

“Huh?” said Mr. Nix.

“Never mind,” said Akimi. “Her feet aren’t our top priority.”

“However,” said Abia, “her allegations are.”

“True,” said Mr. Nix, checking his phone, which was buzzing in his palm. “Great. Another tweet. This one takes a swipe at you, too, Kyle.” “What?”

Mr. Nix showed the four of them the tweet, from @SirCharlesThe1st: @MrLemoncello IS a liar and cheat. He helped super loser @KyleKeeley cheat his way to victory in the escape game!

“Chiltington,” said Akimi through clenched teeth.

“Whoa,” said Angus. “He’s totally trashing you, dude.”

“Yeah, well, who cares?” blustered Kyle. “It’s not true.”

“That may not matter,” said Abia. “If Charles Chiltington says it loud enough and often enough, it will seem true.” “I figure that’s what Irma Hirschman is trying to do, too,” said Mr. Nix. “She probably wants us to offer her a cash settlement. That’s why she’s screaming so loudly. Unfortunately, it’s working. Hashtag JusticeForIrma is trending like crazy. Toy stores have been calling the sales department all morning to cancel orders.” Kyle heard a ding behind Mr. Nix.

The Universal Happiness Meter had just dipped into the frowny-face zone.