Vermilion ~ Fifteen: Baker

[annarti.livejournal.com]

The baker smiled at the four dusty faces across her worktable. Her eldest daughter of fifteen, the two boys of thirteen, and the cheekiest of the lot, not at all shy of reminding everyone that her tenth birthday was tomorrow and she was getting cake. The baker hadn’t truly been thinking when she had promised her a cake all those months ago. It had been such an innocent request at the time, and one easily granted, until she remembered the week in which her little girl’s birthday fell.

More loaves and rolls and bread sticks and sweet buns than she had ever baked in a month were required in just one week. She had begun preparing all her yeast and starters months ago, but there were already surprises. One of the castle messengers had delivered the news they would need another four loaves this evening, and so the baker had recruited her whole family to help with the preparations. With the promise of cake tomorrow, they were more than happy to oblige.

The boys were each performing the last lot of kneading required on the two sourdough loaves. Leave that to rise for another half an hour and it could go in the oven, ready to come out hot and steaming just on dinner time. The girls had charge of the brioche, still rising for another three hours yet, but the baker wasn’t worried. The nobility wouldn’t need it until well after dinner, anyway.

She and her husband were working on the dinner rolls, as per schedule. The risen dough had been cut into appropriate sized lumps, and they were now rounding them into neat little rolls.

Her husband bent over and gave her a light peck on the cheek, reminding her to relax her shoulders a little. ‘We’ll make it,’ he promised. ‘You’re right on top of everything.’

She wiped one meaty arm over her brow, doubtless smearing it with more flour. ‘I don’t doubt it,’ she told him. Her years in this business had taught her to trust her judgement on time. ‘That doesn’t stop it from being a trying time, though.’

The girls, still waiting for their brioche to rise, knelt on the bench by the window, peering out at the square with just their eyes over the window ledge.

The baker frowned at them. ‘What’s happening, girls?’ she asked.

The eldest didn’t dare break her attention to face her mother as she answered. ‘There are children out there stealing from the nobles,’ she whispered.

‘What?’ the baker hastily wiped her hands on her apron, swinging around the table even as she turned her stern gaze on the boys. ‘Don’t move, you two,’ she warned them. ‘You’ve got another two minutes of kneading yet, and don’t over-work it.’

She moved up behind her daughters, arms folded as she glared out at the town square. Sure enough, one little boy, no older than her youngest daughter, was sauntering up all-too-casually to one of the noble ladies. With a flick of his fingers, he lifted her purse from her waist and sauntered off into one of the streets leading off from the square.

The baker rested one hand on her eldest’s shoulder. ‘Go to the castle, and tell the guards at the front gate what you’ve seen,’ she said.

Hands on hips, she stared as another boy approached the audience. ‘What are you up to?’ she murmured. She recognised that boy, the son of one of the staff at the palace. He would have no need to steal, none at all.

She glanced briefly over to the boys, glad to see they were still working steadily and covering their lumps of dough with damp tea towels.

Another young one, the carpenter’s daughter, she noted, crept up on Master Vermilion. ‘Of all people!’ the baker blurted. She was just about to go out there and put a stop to this herself, before the young master’s reputation could be damaged, as well, when her daughter returned, palace guard in tow.

The guard nodded her thanks silently through the door to the bakery, and strode silently up to the girl, just as her sticky little fingers were delving into Master Vermilion’s coat pocket.

By now, the boys, too, had crowded around the window, hustling for space with their sisters to watch the guard watching the girl.

‘Too much time on their hands,’ her husband lamented, winding an arm around her waist.

‘It’s disgusting!’ the baker spat. She had brought her children up to know better than to steal, let alone from their master.

As though to prove her thoughts, the four children cheered when the little thief turned around, saw the guard and collapsed into a wailing ball on the cobblestones.

‘What’s going to happen to her, Mother?’ one of the boys asked, turning with an evil grin.

‘I imagine that all depends on Master Candlewood,’ she answered, emphasising the master’s proper title. She had heard too many stories of townsfolk coming close to calling him Vermilion to his face, and wasn’t about to instil such appalling manners on her children.

Half the crowd dispersed while the other half stood a few paces back, watching the heir to Candlewood sitting on the cobblestones and talking to this stupid young thief. Even from here, the baker could see the exasperation on his face, emphasised when he held the back of his hand to his forehead with a visible sigh. The baker almost wished her children could hear whatever lecture he was giving the girl.

Finally, master and thief drew themselves to their feet, Vermilion dusting the back of his coat. The girl reached up for his hand; Vermilion folded his arms and stepped backwards.

In a tiny voice, the little girl announced something to the crowd, but with her back turned and the wind blowing the other way, the baker couldn’t hear her words. She imagined he was probably making her apologise for her actions, though.

The baker gave a small nod of satisfaction to see her master reacting in the way she had hoped, then left the window to get back to her dinner rolls. After a few moments, her husband joined her.

‘What possesses a child to do that?’ she asked.

Her husband shrugged. ‘She certainly doesn’t need to. The thrill of it, maybe? Seeing all her friends doing the same and testing her luck?’

She shook her head and dusted her hands with more flour before shaping the last of the rolls. ‘With no thought to anyone else in town, of course. I’d like to have a word with her parents. Of all their parents, truth be told.’

‘I’ll bet you would,’ her husband said with a good natured smile.

‘I don’t think you’ll need to, Mother,’ one of the boys said from the window. ‘I think Master Candlewood’s going to do it. He’s going off with her now.’

The baker allowed a satisfied smirk to spread across her lips. She mixed up the glaze for the rolls, a quick mix of cornstarch and water, then brushed each roll liberally as her husband followed behind with the knife to cross each of them. They could sit there covered until the sourdough was ready, then the lot of it could go in the oven at once.

For those fifteen minutes, she could flop down in her favourite chair and put her feet up, which she did with a thankful sigh.

‘Can we go to see the merchant, Mother?’ her eldest asked.

The baker laughed and shook her head, in disbelief rather than in denial. ‘I don’t know how you have the energy for it, but yes, you may. Thank you for all your help today. You’ve all been lifesavers.’

‘Thank you, Mother!’

‘I want you cleaning up first, though!’ the baker added. ‘You’re covered in flour, and I won’t have our visitors seeing you all in such a state. Clean yourselves up, get some clean clothes on, then you can go.’

Her husband flopped down beside her in the armchair the perfect size for them both. ‘Nearly there,’ he said, brushing a smudge of flour from her face.

The baker gave a smile and a rueful laugh. ‘And then day one of eight will be over.’

‘Don’t think of the other days for the moment,’ he all but ordered her. His fingers twined with hers, and he lifted her hand to his lips for a kiss. ‘You’ll manage as you always do, and then I think all of Candlewood will have earned a day off.’

‘Hmm,’ she half-heartedly agreed, though really she was just too tired to argue. Her eyes closed and she lay back, listening to the breeze rustling the leaves outside, the steady breathing of her husband lying beside her, the distant murmur of townsfolk and visitors going about their business, all of it briefly interrupted as the children thundered out the door. She managed to briefly crack her eyes open to make sure they were presentable, then resumed her relaxation. Just for a few minutes more, she promised herself.

It wasn’t long, though, before the bread began nagging at the back of her mind. She needed to get them in the oven and baking.

With a groan and a grunt of effort, she pulled herself to her feet. With a stretch that lifted her to her toes, the baker got back to work.

Comments

[ladylight.livejournal.com]

Too bad she deferred the birthday - I would have liked to see what a Llayan cake looks like! (Llayan mudcake??)

[annarti.livejournal.com]

Ostentatious XD And really really sweet. If the baker could get her hands on enough cocoa you BET she'd make a mudcake X9