A Good Cup of Coffee is Worth Anything

The Sweet Treats Coffee Shop is known far and wide for its unique syrups. The Christmas cinnamon lattes are a big treat. The summertime smoothies are yummy. But if you want a real treat, you need to see what they offer in the autumn.

 The manager, a handsome young man called Quinn, guards his recipes fiercely. They, as he knows, are the root of his success and regard, and he would never sacrifice that by telling anyone.

 But I know.

 And I would tell you, if you promised to keep it a secret.

 Can you keep a secret?

 Oh, go on then. I’ll trust you.

In early October, he packs up his donkey with as many sacks as he can. They are thick and heavy thatched bags. They are large, and although they hang quite easily over the side of the donkey’s back at the moment, soon they will become a true burden indeed. Once the donkey is ready, Quinn takes hold of the lead, and they trot off gently, side by the side, until they reach the New Pine Forest. Quinn likes to whistle on the journey. The donkey, a bronze mare called Annakov, hardly makes any noise whatsoever.

 It is a long journey, and Quinn starts to feel tired. He could have topped himself up with an espresso before he left the coffee shop. But he doesn’t. He’s saving himself for the greatest coffee that any human being – or donkey – has ever tasted.

 He stops when he reaches a fork in the path. The path splits to the left and to the right. At this point, the barista and his steed always argue. Quinn tries to take the left path. Annakov tries to take the right path. The two pull at the reins, and neither can move.

 “Don’t be silly, Annakov,” Quinn says. “It’s this way. You know this. We always come this way, you silly donkey.”

 Annakov doesn’t say anything because she’s a donkey, but she fixes Quinn with a look that says he’s lucky she can’t speak.

 “Oh no,” Quinn continues. “You do this every time. We end up going your way, you realise you’re wrong, and we have to walk all the way back. So, how about you just admit you’re wrong and come along... Don’t look at me like that, Annakov... Oh, alright then. We’ll go your way. But you’ll see how embarrassed you are when you realise that you’re wrong... But if I must go in the wrong direction, I’m not walking.”

 And with that, Quinn hoists himself onto Annakov’s back, and the two set off along the right path. Annakov doesn’t mind him complaining. She knows that she’s right and that Quinn will be the one to be embarrassed.

 Not long after the fork, the Duo of the Pumpkin Syrup are met in the path by the toll taker. They know him well. Annakov lets out an indignant huff because she has been proven right.

 “Hush now, Annakov. That’s a good donkey. You just let me do the talking. Good day, sir. A lovely evening for a walk, don’t you say?”

 The toll taker stands from his default position resting up against the tree. He picks up his head, which rests by his leg, and he holds it under his arm. Quinn and Annakov don’t know how the toll taker came to be separated from his head. It’s not the sort of thing that one asks someone you don’t know intimately. He taps the bark of the tree and then holds out his hand. On the bark of the tree, someone – perhaps the toll taker himself – has carved three words.

 FIVE GOLD PIECES

 Quinn has the money ready in a pouch on Annakov’s side. He removes it and, very sheepishly, drops the coins into the toll taker’s open palm. He retracts his arm immediately. He doesn’t like to touch the toll taker if he can help it. The toll taker pulls down the bottom jaw on his head. Like a purse, he puts the coins in the mouth and shuts it again. Then, he retakes his place by the tree.

 “Yes, well, very good doing business with you, sir," says Quinn. "Same time, next year?”

 The two adventurers carry on.

 Quinn’s eyes are truly sagging now, so it’s good that they reach the sorceress’s cabin. The smell alone is enough to wake him up. The home, put simply, is a very large coffee been stood longways up. A door has been carved into the front. There is a chimney at the top, from which, pours floods of ashy, grey smoke.

 “Right, Annakov. I’m going to tie you by the shortbread bushes. You know how it is. I know, I know. I’d bring you inside with me if I could. But she won’t have four legged animals in the house. Don’t look at me like that, Annakov. It’s what we have to do.”

 He unties and takes the bundle of sacks and knocks on the door. He shuts his eyes and breathes in the warm aroma of coffee. He opens his eyes and jumps to find the door open and the face of the Madame Cheeno watching him expectantly.

 “You’re late. You know, it wouldn’t take you so long to get here if you didn’t argue with that beast at the crossroads.”

 “Yes, well,” he chuckles. “She always insists on taking the right track.”

 “Yes, and you insist on taking the wrong one. I’ve heard that joke before, Quinn.”

 “That’s what I love about you, Cheeno. You always remember our little chats. Are you going to invite me in?”

 “I suppose so. But-“

 “But the donkey stays outside. Don’t worry. I remember.”

 Quinn wipes his feet before he enters the house. He’s polite like that. He takes his shoes off and hangs his coat.

 “It’s been too long since I’ve been here, Madame Cheeno. We must do this more often.”

 “We most certainly must not. It takes me twelve months to grow these pumpkins. Ten months, and they would die when plucked. Thirteen months, and they would kill you the second you take a sip.”

 “Yes, thirteen is a very unlucky number. I understand. Still, I don’t see why we couldn’t drop by for a more – social – visit. There’s more to me than business, you know.”

 “I know you better than you think, Quinn. I know what you’re after. You’re not getting your hands on my pumpkins until they’re ripe. You’ll ruin my reputation, you will!”

 “Oh, Madame Cheeno. You know how to cut me deep.” He gives her a wink. She tries to turn away quickly, but he catches her grin. She’s an old woman, but she’s a teenage girl inside.

 “Come, sit on the back porch, Quinn. You can sample the new recipe.”

 “Try and stop me.”

 On Madame Cheeno’s porch, there is a two-person swing covered in plump, orange cushions. There is a wooden coffee table. On the table, sits a pile of Madame Cheeno’s favourite books. A bookmark in each one reveals her tendency to be drawn into a new read before finishing the previous. Quinn has seen all of these before and takes his usual place on the swing. What he does notice, however, is the sweet aroma of pumpkin spice, frothed milk and roasted coffee beans. That is new. It grows stronger as Madame Cheeno joins him, carrying a tray of two coffees and a plate of biscuits.

 “Smells delicious,” he says.

 “Of course, it’s delicious,” she replies. “It’s mine. Here.”

 He takes the cup and breathes in the coffee’s unique aroma. Then, he puts the cup to his lips.

 Mmmmmmm…

 “They’re going to love it.”

 “Who?”

 “Oh, did I say “they”? I meant “I”. I love it.”

 The pumpkin patch sits down the steps from the porch. Madame Cheeno takes one of the pumpkins and places it gently on top of the stack of books. She takes her coffee and leans back, comfortably, into the swing.

 “It’s perfect,” Quinn says.

 “It certainly is. I’ve worked so hard. I’ve nurtured them all year round.”

 “I can see that.”

 “And what do you have in return?”

 “Ah yes, of course. How silly of me.” He puts his cup down and presents one of Annakov’s satchels. He hands it to Madame Cheeno, who reaches in and pulls out three green apples.

 “Apples?” she asks. “Again?”

 “Not just any apples, Madame Cheeno.” He takes one from her and holds it over an empty glass. With great strain, he squeezes the apple and twists it tightly. Normally, of course, a human being couldn’t do such a thing to an apple, but this is a special apple. Slowly, but with gathering speed, a thin trickle of cider runs out of the white of the apple. Quinn squeezes until the glass is full. Then, he raises the glass by the handle, and Madame Cheeno sees that it is steaming. She blows on it to cool it down and takes a sip.

 Mmmmmmm…

 Now, Quinn and Annakov put their plan into action. For when Madame Cheeno takes but one sip of the sweet, warm, comforting cider, she falls into a deep sleep. Quinn grabs the glass and only just manages to stop it from spilling all over her. He places it gently on the coffee table. He strolls down the steps and round the front, and he unties the patient Annakov. He allows her to munch happily on an apple while he loads her saddlebags with Madame Cheeno’s wonderful pumpkins. Annakov grumbles a little at the weight.

 But they don’t stop there. Do you know what they do next? I bet you don’t.

 Quinn takes a trowel from his pocket, and he uses it to pull chunks of coffee bean from the cottage walls. He packs each of them tightly into Annakov’s satchels. Her legs begin to bend a little. He continues at this until the house is entirely gone, with only some exposed pieces of furniture standing in the clearing in the woods. Later, Quinn will grind these chunks and serve them with frothed milk and pumpkin spice. His customers will ask where he buys such delicious coffee beans, and he will never tell them.

 Madame Cheeno will sleep well into the middle of summer. Her home and her pumpkins will have nearly regrown by then. She won’t remember much. She will remember the greatest glass of cider has ever drunk, she will remember a very handsome young man who arrived one night to share a drink, and she will feel sad when she wonders where he went.

 “I know it’s not very gentlemanly,” says Quinn, as they slowly trot back to town. “But it’s what the consumer wants. Supply and demand, that’s what they call it, Annakov.”

 And the customers of the Sweet Treats Coffee Shop do truly love their coffee. Already, they are excited to see which flavours will be released for this year’s Halloween season. And soon, they will be sat in one of Quinn’s cosy reading chairs. They will take a bite of cake, and a sip of his new pumpkin spiced latte, and wonder to themselves, “How does he do it?”