Baker's Magic (Middle-grade Novels) Page 7

  “Well, young lady,” she heard the mage say. “Have you finished your morning’s lessons?”

  “Yes, I have, Uncle,” Princess Anika replied. Bee marveled at how calm and even her voice was. “After my music lesson, we spent some time looking at the maps on the wall. It was very interesting indeed, to learn about the geography of Aradyn.”

  “Geography,” the mage mused. “It is a valuable course of study for a ruler—or even for the wife of a ruler. To know a kingdom’s reaches is to know the kingdom itself.”

  “I think that to know a kingdom’s people is to know the kingdom,” Anika said. Bee held her breath. It didn’t seem wise for the princess to argue with her guardian. But perhaps she was trying to distract him.

  “Well.” The mage was not pleased at being contradicted. Bee heard his footsteps on the hard tile. “I see that the baker’s girl has been here.”

  Oh no! Bee thought. She had left the plate of pastries!

  “I thought I made it clear you were not to see her again.”

  Anika laughed, a charming, tinkly sound. “Well, Uncle, you made it clear to me, but no one told her not to come. And I am not at all sorry to have her lovely tarts!”

  Master Joris made a noise that might have signaled agreement. “They have an odd delicacy, I will give her that.” This description interested Bee. An odd delicacy. Could he have been affected in some way by her first batch of tarts, as the princess had been?

  But then Bee heard Joris’s footsteps pace toward her hiding place. He walked slowly, slowly. She held her breath again. Did a mage have powers to sense a hidden person? Could he smell her, or look right through the door to see her scrunched in the tiny room?

  Bee didn’t understand how, but the mage knew she was there. The footsteps stopped right before the closet. She closed her eyes, wishing she could somehow become invisible, but when Master Joris threw open the closet door and bent to look inside, she summoned all her courage and met his gaze with her own. His eyebrows winged up in outrage, and his black eyes narrowed.

  “Come out of there this minute, you sorry wench,” he commanded. “I cannot imagine what you are doing hiding in my closet, but your explanation had best satisfy me, or you’ll know what it is to be truly sorry.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Bee crept out of the closet and straightened up with difficulty, stiff from crouching. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her palms felt clammy.

  “Oh, Uncle!” Anika cried. Her voice was high and playful. Bee didn’t dare look at her. “You’ve found her—and spoiled the game!”

  Master Joris turned his dark eyes to the princess. “Game?”

  “We were playing hide-and-go-seek,” Anika said. “I’d quite forgotten about that closet—I should never have guessed it as a hiding place!”

  “You have deliberately disobeyed me.” Master Joris’s mouth was pinched, as if he’d tasted a sour berry.

  “But Uncle, I see so few people. I didn’t think it would matter, just for an hour. And she is only the baker’s apprentice. I am sorry to have contravened your orders. But I get so lonely, you know… .” Anika’s voice trailed off, and she gazed downward, her mouth quivering.

  Master Joris looked from Anika to Bee, from Bee back to Anika. Bee tried to make her face look innocent and sorry and not very smart. She twisted her hands together and scuffed her shoe on the floor for effect.

  “Out, girl,” Master Joris commanded her finally. “Go to your master and tell him that his disobedient apprentice has cost him the honor of supplying the palace with sweets. We shall go back to using the bakery on Caneel Street.”

  Bee was about to protest, but thought better of it. “Yes, master,” she mumbled, bowing. She bowed again and again as she backed out of the room, bumping first into a chair and then the table as she went. She only missed stepping on Pepin by an inch, and the animal gave her a tiny hiss of warning as she stumbled by him.

  “And you, child,” Master Joris said to Anika, as Bee exited backward through the door, “you shall not be lonely much longer. I will see to that!”

  Bee couldn’t see Anika’s face, but she could imagine how the princess’s heart must have fallen at the mage’s words. “Courage!” she whispered, though she knew Anika couldn’t hear her. Then she picked up her skirts and fled.

  The rain pelted her as she sprinted along the streets back to the bakery, which had closed for the day by the time she got back. In the kitchen, she toweled her short hair vigorously and told Master Bouts what had happened as he prepared their supper.

  “You agreed to what?” Master Bouts stood at the stove, his face a mask of astonishment, his mouth a perfect O.

  “To help the princess run away,” Bee said in a small voice, hiding her face behind the towel.

  “To help the princess run away,” Master Bouts repeated. “You are completely mad.”

  “I know,” Bee said helplessly.

  “You got us fired as the palace bakers.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you agreed to help the princess run away.”

  “I already said that,” Bee protested. “You can’t yell at me for it again.”

  “I haven’t even begun to yell at you!” Master Bouts said. He wasn’t quite yelling, but he was close. His face had grown very pink. Behind him, a pan started to smoke.

  “Something’s burning,” Bee noted, grateful for the distraction.

  Master Bouts spun around and snatched the omelet pan off the stove. He forgot to use a cloth, though, and the heat of the handle scorched his fingers. He shouted and the pan went flying. Bee watched in horror as the omelet flipped out of the pan, sailed up, up, up—and then, twice as fast, down. It missed Master Bouts’s head by a breath and landed with a splat on his shoes.

  For a moment there was silence in the kitchen. Then Master Bouts snorted. “My girl,” he said and had to stop to chuckle. “My girl,” he began again. “Oh, Bee, you will be the death of me!”

  Bee was giggling just a little, more out of relief that he wasn’t truly angry than anything else. But when she saw his reddened fingers she ran to pump a pan of cold water, and they sat at the table while he soothed his burned hand.

  “I had to promise,” she told him. “They are going to marry the princess off to some ancient king with three children. She’s only sixteen—and she has no one!”

  Master Bouts grimaced, whether in pain or sympathy Bee couldn’t tell. “Yes, I do understand. Truly I do. The poor child. But Bee, how can it work? Have you a plan?”

  “Not much of one,” Bee admitted. “I’m to meet her in two days, at midnight. With a boat.”

  “A boat! Where on earth would you get a boat?”

  “Well …” Bee let the word trail off. She gave Master Bouts a hopeful smile.

  Master Bouts looked at her severely. “I see,” he said. “So I am to be implicated in this grand plot. And what do you think will happen when you’re found out?”

  “I don’t care!” Bee said, defiant. “All I know is that I’ve made a promise that I intend to keep.”

  Master Bouts ran his uninjured hand through his white hair. “Master Joris is a powerful man, Bee. I don’t even know the extent of his powers—no one does. But it’s certain that he would be dangerous to cross.” He paused, then nodded decisively. “Still, year by year, he starves his own people to gain more wealth from his tulips. No one has taken a stand against him in all this time. It’s time someone did—even if that someone must be me. I’ll not let him marry that poor child to a man three times her age and more. I’ll help with your plan, my girl—that I will!”

  There was a knock at the kitchen door, and Wil let himself in. He took in the pan, the ruined omelet on the floor, and Master Bouts with his hand submerged in water.

  “Come to my house for supper,” he suggested, and Bee and Master Bouts exchanged a glance. Yes indeed, their eyes a
greed. Yes, Wil should be told. Yes, we should go and eat his mother’s cooking.

  On the quick walk to Wil’s house, which stood beside the blacksmith’s shop, Bee filled him in on her visit to the palace and the planned escape.

  “I have a friend with a reed boat,” Wil said softly as they picked their way past puddles on the cobbled street.

  Bee clapped her hands. “Will he loan it to us?”

  “I’m sure he will—if I am with you to ensure its safe return.”

  Before Bee could protest, they were at the house, and Wil opened the door to a room overflowing with relatives. Bee had met his mother in the bakery once or twice, a wisp of a woman who looked as if she could float away on a strong breeze. But she didn’t know his father, who was enormously tall and broad, all muscle and soot-blackened skin, with a fringe of singed hair the color of ash. And she’d had no idea Wil had so many brothers and sisters—two brothers, one just a year or two younger, and the other tottering about on wobbly legs, and three sisters, all younger, who seemed to take great delight in teasing Wil.

  “So this is your girlfriend, Willem Weatherwax!” his sister Sanna crowed. “She’s a bit young for you, don’t you think?”

  “Enough,” Wil growled as Bee’s face turned red. “They’re company.”

  “Yes, they are—behave yourself, miss!” Mistress Weatherwax scolded her daughter, wiping her hands on her apron and coming to the door to greet them. “Hambert Bouts, it has been far too long since you’ve supped with us. And Bee, I am so happy to see you!” As tiny as she was, Wil’s mother seemed to fill the room like a whirlwind, cuffing Sanna’s ear in reproof for her rudeness while lifting the toddler away from the danger of the hearth and then shaking her visitors’ hands with her free hand.

  “We’re sorry to intrude with no notice,” Master Bouts said, “but there was an accident with our supper, and Wil took pity on us.”

  “You’re welcome any time at all,” Mistress Weatherwax assured them. “Isn’t that so, Klaas?” This was directed to her husband, who sat in a very large chair before the fire, his eyes closed. He grunted in reply without opening them.

  “Da gets tired of an evening,” Wil explained. “Now, sit here with me, and we’ll sort this out.” He directed them to a window seat away from the flow of traffic in the main room.

  “Supper in five minutes,” Mistress Weatherwax called. “Sanna, set extra places.”

  “So you need a boat—and where do you plan to go?” Wil asked Bee, his voice low.

  She shook her head and shrugged. “Away is all I thought. We’d decide when we got there.”

  “Bee, you’re talking about the princess,” Will said. “You can’t just go away. Master Joris will find you in an instant.”

  Bee pursed her lips. “Does he read minds? What exactly can he do?”

  Wil looked blank. “Well, I’m not quite sure. He can … I think he can …”

  “When I was a child,” Master Bouts cut in, “he used to create the most marvelous fireworks for the king’s birthday. Remarkable, that they were. Dragons made of fire, and flowers that whirled around in circles, and once a whole city that grew out of sparks and then crumbled into ash.”

  “That’s nice,” Bee said, “but it doesn’t really tell us much. What danger would we be in? What power does he have?”

  Master Bouts shrugged. “I told you, no one is certain. I know each mage’s job is to maintain a balance in his kingdom. To keep it healthy, and stable. But I’m not sure what that demands.”

  “Maintain a balance? What does that even mean?” Bee asked.

  “As with baking, I believe,” Master Bouts said. “If you don’t balance the moist and the dry ingredients, your pastry won’t turn out right. If you don’t balance the sweet and the tart, it won’t taste good. The land must be balanced as well.”

  “But Master Joris hasn’t done that,” Wil pointed out. “Aradyn is covered with tulip farms, always more and more of them, and there is less and less space for crops. The people are hungry. And the storms are worse, or at least doing worse damage. The land doesn’t seem balanced at all.”

  Bee was surprised at his passion, and he seemed a little surprised as well. But his mother overheard and said, “That’s my gardener. Look out back if you want to see what he’s done. He practices what he preaches, that one.”

  “No, no,” Wil protested, embarrassed, but Bee insisted. Wil led her and Master Bouts to the back door, which opened onto a kitchen garden that even in early fall was lush with herbs and vegetables—squashes of all sorts, tomatoes, beetroot, sage and dill and basil.

  “It’s beautiful,” Bee said as Mistress Weatherwax called them back in.

  “Tell that to Da,” Wil said morosely. “He doesn’t think a blacksmith should think about anything but metal and fire, fire and metal.”

  It was time for supper, and Bee had a grand time eating Mistress Weatherwax’s good roast and potatoes and joining Wil’s sisters in tormenting him. He pretended to be cross, but it was clear that it was all in play. Bee had never seen a family where everyone got along. When the baby passed by, Master Weatherwax scooped him up and planted a big kiss on his head, leaving a smear of ash on his beaming face. When one of the girls carried in a big platter of roasted vegetables, Mistress Weatherwax ruffled her hair and then made gentle fun of her when she fussed over her ruined braid. The teasing was nonstop, but nobody’s feelings were hurt. Everyone laughed.

  At the end of the evening, when Master Weatherwax was dozing over his tumbler of ale, Master Bouts and Bee bid the family good night. “I’ll walk them out,” Wil said, and his mother nodded.

  “Come back soon,” she told her guests, enfolding Bee in a hug. “You need no invitation. I know you’ve kept my son supplied in buns these many years, Hambert—we couldn’t pay you back if we fed you roast beef every night for a twelve-month!”

  Back on the street, Wil said, “So, is it decided? Shall I bring a boat, and myself, and join the expedition?”

  “But your father needs you in the forge,” Bee protested. “What will he do while you’re gone?”

  “My brother Geert loves the forge, and he’s getting old enough to help,” Wil said. “He’ll take my place gladly. And he’ll do a much better job than I!”

  “He loves it, you hate it—and yet you’re the one who must do it?” Bee was honestly confused.

  “That’s the way it is,” Wil told her. “Is and always has been. The eldest son has the family business, and the others must fend for themselves.”

  “That’s absurd!” Bee declared.

  “My girl,” Master Bouts said, “the rules of human behavior are absurd much more often than they’re reasonable.”

  “Then I’m glad to give you a chance to get away for a bit,” Bee said to Wil. “You provide the boat, and you may come.”

  “You may have saved my life, too,” Wil said, grinning. “I’ve longed for an adventure for years. Do you know, I’ve never been away from Zeewal?”

  Bee spent the next two days baking things that would travel well and were seasoned in very specific ways. She cooked up a batch of cookies flavored with confidence, after she made her first Bouts Bun successfully. She stayed up very late and made oatmeal bars spiced with exhaustion, and a few more Bouts Buns as well. She packed all the pastries, along with cheese and bread and sliced salami, into a leather haversack that Master Bouts gave her, being careful to keep straight which pastries were which.

  The day before they were to leave, Master Bouts came into the kitchen as Bee prepared the dough for the next day’s tarts. He towed behind him a man Bee had never seen before, small and dark and dressed in the dark green robes of a hedge wizard.

  “Bee, this is Master Arjen, an old friend of mine.”

  Bee bowed, and the hedge wizard bowed back.

  “I saw him on the street and invited him in to talk to us. He kno
ws a little something about mages. More than I do, at any rate.”

  “Well,” the hedge wizard said modestly, “I am no mage, of course. My own magic is very small, very small indeed. And my ignorance is very great.” Despite his humble words, there was something self-important in his manner that irritated Bee.

  “Not at all!” Master Bouts protested. “You have a fine way with bees—the namesake of my apprentice here.”

  “Bees are my specialty,” Master Arjen admitted. “Most people do not know how important they are. They only think, Beware the stinger! and swat, there goes one of nature’s great wonders.”

  “I’m very fond of bees,” Bee said, taking up the rolling pin. She knew that many hedge wizards had an area of expertise, a little corner of the world that they were responsible for. She hadn’t known that the corner was ever as small as bees.

  “Hambert, there was a promise made,” Master Arjen reminded Master Bouts.

  “A promise—yes, of course! Bee, fetch Master Arjen a Bouts Bun. It’s his payment for telling us what he knows.”

  Bee gave the hedge wizard a sidelong look, but obediently she went into the shop, brought back a plate of buns, and placed it before the guest. He took a big bite of one and closed his eyes, sighing deeply. “Ah, it has been too long since I tasted one of these!” It took him an extraordinarily long time to finish, and Bee had rolled out five tart crusts and was ready to use the rolling pin on the hedge wizard by the time the bun was gone.

  “So, the powers of the mage,” Master Bouts prompted.

  “Indeed. The powers of the mage.” Master Arjen closed his eyes again as if summoning strength.

  “They are … ?” Master Bouts said. His voice betrayed just a little impatience.