The Sweet Adventures of Henry P. Twist: The Island of Milk and Honey

By B W Van Alstyne

Join Henry Peppermint Twist As He Embarks On Another Scrumptious Adventure!

Someone has stolen all of the Vfilanderbra Blossoms on the Island of Milk and Honey and tensions between the two neighboring kingdoms are quickly reaching their boiling point. Can Henry Peppermint Twist and his intrepid elven friends so

• Language: English
• Publisher: B.W. Van Alstyne
• Release date: Oct 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9780578426518

B W Van Alstyne

Mr. Van Alstyne is a singer/songwriter, retired chef, Navy Veteran (disabled) and author. When he is not writing he enjoys spending time with his family and traveling the world. He currently lives in Texas.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

A Disturbance in the Territories

ON THE SOUTHERNMOST part of the Ice Cream Sea lies the Island of Milk and Honey. On this island sit two kingdoms. In the North lies the kingdom of Milk: a territory inhabited by Her Royal Majesty, Queen Moo, and the rest of her bovine, and elfin, subjects. All of the milk and other dairy products produced in this territory came from her contented, grass-fed, Guernsey cows.

In the South lies the kingdom of Honey. In this territory, Her Royal Majesty, Queen Sweet Sting, rules over all with an iron sting, working her bees relentlessly, day in and day out, to keep its honey production flowing freely.

For a time, which can only be measured in human centuries, the two neighboring territories lived side by side in relative peace and harmony; relative, that is, until a dispute over the third territory threatened to disrupt that happiness and productivity of the Island. Separating these two kingdoms sat a three-kilometer-long lush parcel known as the Pristine Field. Sweet grasses, clover, orange blossoms and chamomile grew wild here, unmarred by pests or chemicals that so often plagued the human world. A long, candy stone fence surrounded the field.

At a certain time of the season, among the clover, orange blossoms and wild chamomile, grew the object of both queens’ desires. Hundreds of extremely rare flowers bloomed for only one cycle of the full moon each spring: The Vfilanderbra Blossom. These rare flowers, with their bluish-purple petals and pale, pink berries, were covetously prized. For her majesty, Queen Sweet Sting, the flowers’ nectar, when collected by her bees, made a far superior honey than either the clover or orange blossom. Its properties were rumored to have extraordinary medicinal powers for both elf and humankind. Every Spring, hundreds upon hundreds of small clumps of Vfilanderbra blossoms filled the air with their sweet fragrance - an irresistible message to the royal pollinators that these rare flowers were once again in full bloom.

For Queen Moo and her courtly bovine herd, it was a chance, once a season, to produce the richest of butters and creamiest of creams, which the elves put to significant use by making celebratory sweets to mark each new blooming. Chocolates, when mixed with the creams, were chocolatier. Cream fillings, when piped into pastry or spread on cakes, were far creamier than ever before. Everything was well and good for many, many centuries, or so it seemed.

The first cracks in the relationship between the two territories started to show when a breach of protocol reared its ugly head one spring day. The Breach, as it was forever referred to by both sides, revealed that the Vfilanderbra Blossoms had been deliberately picked clean before the bees had a chance to gather their store of nectar and pollinate. Representatives from each side met to discuss The Breach and, after a lengthy discussion, each blaming the other, the two sides walked away, satisfied that the incident was a total misunderstanding and that the culprit or culprits - who or whatever they were - would be found and dealt with harshly and expeditiously. It appeared, then, no such thing would ever again happen. But it did.

As the blooming drew near, tension in the hives reached a feverish pitch, for no one knew exactly what that day would bring or if another breach would cause her royal buzziness to fly off her hive. They would not have to wait for very long. Once again, the first cycle of the full moon appeared in the sky, heralding the blooming Vfilanderbra. Excitement, coupled with a bit of nervousness and uncertainty, filled the hives as the bees made ready to collect the very special nectar. When they arrived in the field, however, they found it stripped of all the blossoms. This made her majesty hotter than May brandy.

Thizzzzz is an outrage! buzzed Queen Sweet Sting, furiously. It izzz larceny and I shan’t stand for it any longer! Those walking hamburgers will pay for their treacherous deedzzzz! She flitted agitatedly back and forth in front of her golden honeycombed throne.

Fear and frenzy swept through the hive as her guards watched their queen’s rage continue to crescendo to the top of her throne room.

Find General Stinger and bring him here at onezzz! she snapped to the drone standing next to her.

The royal drone quickly bowed and left her chambers. After a time, the entire territory was all abuzz with the talk of war, now that the queen had summoned her general.

In the northern territory, Her Royal Majesty, Queen Moo, sat stately upon her wicker throne, replete with plush royal blue throws and fluffy straw-filled quilted cushions. She sipped on a cup of hot Lemongrass tea and nibbled daintily on Hay Biscuits. She had just reached for another biscuit when the doors of the throne room suddenly burst open. An elf ran in, huffing and puffing, then collapsed from exhaustion upon the stone, straw-strewn floor. He carried in his hand a rolled piece of parchment.

I… bring… an… urgent… message… to her… Royal… Majesty! he puffed and wheezed, handing over the scroll to an important-looking elf, whose incredibly long nose was held so high that it gave him an air of stately pomposity.

The courtly elf snatched the scroll quickly from the messenger without as much as a backward glance at him and carried it promptly to the queen, holding it gingerly between his thumb and forefinger as if it were somehow contaminated.

Yoour-Ma-jess-ty, he said in long, drawn out tones of sugared snobbery, an uuurgent message.

Thank Yooou, Quelbert! lowed the Queen, taking the parchment in her hoof. Oh, and have the kitchen send me up more tea and biscuits.

Right away, Marm, said Quelbert, stiffly, before turning sharply on his heels and exiting the room.

Queen Moo unrolled the scroll with a shake, took a sip of her tea and began to read:

From HRM, Queen Sweet Sting

Begun and held in the Territory of Honey, on the Umpteenth of Spring, at the first Grist. Declaring that a state of war now exists between the Territory of Honey and the Territory of Milk, and all subjects thereof.

Whereby the Territory of Honey has formally declared war against the Territory of Milk, and its inhabitants, due to the repeated, egregious offenses (theft of the Vfilanderbra Blossom) in the shared territory known as the Pristine Field.

HRM, Buzzilda Sweet Sting

Queen Bee

A sudden crash of fine porcelain rang out as Queen Moo’s Lemongrass Tea and Hay Biscuits joined together in a royal, soggy mess upon the stone floor.

Send for my advisers at ooooonce! lowed the Queen. If it is a war Sweet Sting wants, it is a war she shall get!

CHAPTER 2

A Kink in Thyme

HENRY SAT BOLT upright in his bed, not knowing where he was. He rubbed his eyes, yawned and stretched, jarring his mind awake. He spied the bunk on the wall opposite and the elf that lay sleeping therein. He smiled, his thoughts as sweet as milk chocolate. He got out of bed, crossed over to the washbasin and splashed a bit of water on his face, bringing his mind around fully, and recalling where he was and why he was on this adventure. For never in a million years had Henry Peppermint Twist, master pastry chef extraordinaire, ever imagined himself living among elves in a land made entirely out of sweets. Never had he imagined living in a place where no one ever grew any older. Nor had he imagined that he himself would be transformed into his 13-year-old younger self, and then again into an elf. Nor had he, in his wildest dreams, ever imagined that he’d be living in a house made of gingerbread or that he’d be sailing to strange and enchanted lands on a boat made entirely out of candy - afloat on an ice cream sea. Up till now, Henry’s life had been anything but ordinary.

For forty-five years of his life, Henry had worked as a master pastry chef and confectioner for Brackmeyer Sweets, an enormous factory that produced the most mouthwatering treats imaginable. Then, one dreadful day, the factory’s 90-year-old founder retired, leaving his horribly wicked son, Charles B. Brackmeyer Jr., in charge.

Brackmeyer’s first order of business had been to fire all the elderly workers and replace them with machines. But it didn’t stop there. Shortly thereafter, Brackmeyer had indiscriminately fired hundreds more, replacing all of the workers with machines.

Henry, who was 65 at the time, was forced to live out the rest of his life in a retirement home in the countryside - or so he thought. He had almost given up hope when he met an elf named Mackulian Winkleplixzen, or Mac as he liked to be called, who promised to take him to a place where he’d never ever grow any older. Forgoing all reason, Henry let his curiosity get the better of him and followed the little elf through the forest to a huge boulder. But this was no ordinary boulder, as Henry soon discovered. The little elf blew a funny little tune on a peppermint flute he had pulled out of his pocket and, magically, the boulder cracked open, revealing a cave of many colorful bright lights. Once inside, Henry was met with a wondrous sight. Hundreds of precious gems, of every shape and color, seemed to be everywhere. But these weren’t gems at all, as Henry soon found out. They were candy: Rock candy, to be precise. Henry continued to follow Mac through the many tunnels and out of the cave, revealing another world: The Sweet Lands.

An enchanted place with a Peppermint Forest, a Pink Lemonade Lake, Bittersweet Chocolate Mountains surrounded by an Ice Cream Sea. A magical land where elves lived in houses made of gingerbread, and everything, from the grass, rocks, flowers, and trees, was made from something marvelously sweet. It was a place where Henry found he could be young again, and useful.

He turned from the washbasin, looking at the elf still slumbering peacefully in her bunk: Emlin, a beautiful, redheaded halfling,