A large, plump woman with smears of some kind of blue flour on her cheeks came rushing up, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Yes, Head Baker Goone?” she gasped, looking frightened. “What can I do for you?”
“Take this new girl and train her,” the head baker told her shortly. “She claims she’s got baking experience but I doubt it. If she’s no good, give her to Head Butcher Loone next door. Understand?”
“Yes, Head Baker.” May’bell gave Penny an unfriendly look and jerked her head. “C’mon, you. Let’s see what you’re made of.”
Feeling sick to her stomach, Penny turned her head once to wave goodbye to Claudette. She saw a look of sympathy pass over the other woman’s face, and then she had to rush to keep up with May’bell as she led her deeper into the industrial sized bakery.
Forty-Six
The minute Penny got back to the Love Hut she shared with V’rex that evening, she got directly into a hot shower.
“What a day!” she moaned, as she pressed her cheek to the cold tiles while the steaming water sprayed over her. “What a horrible, horrible day!”
Closing her eyes, she went back over her disastrous first day on the job…
It had become clear in the first few minutes that May’bell, who had been assigned to train her, didn’t like her any more than Head Baker Goone did. She had led Penny to a table heaped with thick sacks of flour and nodded her head.
“All right—make the dough,” she’d said, glaring at Penny. “And you better make it right.”
“Uh…what dough am I making?” Penny asked, staring helplessly at the enormous sacks of flour which looked like they weighed fifty pounds or more. “I mean is it for bread? Biscuits?”
“It’s for svetty bread, of course!” May’bell snapped at her. “Our main specialty around here. Ain’t you et any of it before? We got loads of it for sale outside the front door!”
“Not yet, I’m afraid,” Penny said humbly, thinking of the dusky purple loaves she’d seen as they entered the bakery. “I just had my Unification Ceremony yesterday and all I had before that was what they gave us in the Breeding and Conception Center.”
“Well, it’s true you don’t get none of the svetty bread there,” May’bell had acknowledged grudgingly. “All right, I’ll tell you how—just this once.” She held up one thick finger in front of Penny’s face. “And you’d better get it right the first time!”
“Okay.” Penny nodded. “Just tell me how to make it.”
“Ya need two and a half sacks of svetty flour, a bucket and three quarters of water, a half scoop of salt from the salt barrel over there. And two scoops of sugar from the sugar barrel, which is right beside it.” May’bell pointed vaguely to the far corner of the room. “Add a gob of butter from the cooler, a cake and a bit of yeast, and some tinga seeds for texture,” she went on, speaking rapidly. “Let the yeast proof with the sugar in one of the buckets whilst you mix the rest with the paddle—”
“The paddle?” Penny interrupted. She was already feeling overwhelmed, trying to keep the complicated list of ingredients and amounts in her head—what exactly was a “gob” of butter? And how much was a “cake and a bit” of yeast?
“The paddle there—in the mixin’ bowl o’ course.” May’bell pointed to one side of the table and Penny saw an absolutely enormous metal bowl—half as tall as she was herself—sitting on the floor. It did, indeed, have a huge wooden mixing paddle inside it—the thing looked as big as an oar to Penny. She literally could have crawled into the bowl and hidden—it was that big.
“Once you got it all mixed, come and get me so I can test it,” May’bell told her. “And don’t bother me until it’s ready—I got m’own dough to see to!”
Then she’d marched off to another metal table across the room, leaving Penny to stare helplessly at the giant bowl she was supposed to fill with dough. She felt like the princess in the fairy tale who had been left alone in a room full of straw and told she must spin it all to gold or lose her head.
Still, she hadn’t gotten where she was in her profession by being a quitter. Admittedly archeology was a far cry from baking, but Penny wasn’t one to lay down and let life steamroll over her.
Lifting her chin, she decided to try.
She ran into trouble immediately.
First of all, the bags of dark blue svetty flour, which apparently turned pale purple when baked, weighed even more than they appeared to. Penny grunted and strained as she struggled to get one to the edge of the table.
There was no way she was going to be able to lift the damn thing in her arms and pour it in, so she tried to just position it over the mixing bowl on the floor below, which she pushed until it was right under the bag. Then she grabbed the sharp knife, which was hanging from a hook over the table and sliced open the top of the bag, expecting the flour to pour out into the bowl.
The flour poured out, all right—all over the place. To Penny’s credit, most of it landed in the bowl, but a great deal of it went on the floor and into the air too. It coated her skin and hair and toga, making her look more than a little like a Smurf.
She could see the women on either side of her looking at her askance so she tried to watch what they were doing instead. Maybe there was a technique to this madness.
Unfortunately, Penny soon realized that everyone at the bakery was much stronger than she was. The women around her simply hoisted a bag of flour onto their shoulders and leaned over to make sure the flour poured directly into the bowl as they slit the bag open. They did this with the ease of long practice—almost all in one motion—making it look ridiculously easy.
But it wasn’t easy, Penny admitted as she tried this technique herself. The bag of svetty flour nearly crushed her and again, more of the flour went into the air and onto the floor than actually got into the bowl.
With the third bag, she went back to the technique of pouring the flour from the edge of the table down into the bowl. She did a little better this time by grabbing the ends of the sack and using it as a kind of funnel to aim the dark blue flour into the bowl. By the time she was done, she figured she’d gotten about two and a half sacks of flour into the bowl…and at least half a sack all over the ground, herself, and her work area.
What a mess! Penny would have liked to sweep things up, but she didn’t see any kind of cleaning implements like a broom or vacuum so she decided to just forge ahead. Now what was the rest of the recipe? Had it been two or three buckets of water? And wasn’t she supposed to do something with the salt and sugar with part of the water while she added the other ingredients? Well, she would figure it out.
She grabbed the wooden bucket off her table, which had been hidden behind the sacks of flour, and went in search of the water and salt and sugar and butter.
She found a huge industrial sized sink in the middle of the room where everyone could get to it and filled her bucket. Going back to her mixing bowl, she dumped it in and then went back for another. But she hesitated before pouring that one in too—she was certain that May’bell had said something about putting the salt and sugar in with the water before she added them. So, carrying the bucket, she went to look for the salt and sugar barrels.
They were sitting side by side in the far corner of the room, furthest from the ovens. There was also a cooler right beside them where butter was stored. At least, Penny assumed it was butter. Rather than being pale yellow, it was a vibrant green but it smelled kind of buttery when she opened the glass door and sniffed it.
Remembering that May’bell’s recipe called for a “gob” of butter, she stared helplessly at the huge cake of the stuff just sitting there in the cooler. It wasn’t portioned out at all. How much was a gob?
Penny decided to wait for someone else to come and get butter so she could see how much they took. In the meantime, she added two scoops of salt and half a scoop of sugar to her remaining bucket of water, which she was pretty sure was what May’bell had said.
Pretty soon, a woman came bustlin
g up to the cooler and pulled open its glass door. She grabbed a paper from a stack of them located on top of the cooler and snatched up the flat cutting tool lying beside the butter. Then she attacked the huge, bright green square, cutting off a chunk as big as her own head with a few swift strokes of the cutter. Loading it onto the piece of paper, she lifted it out and took it away without sparing a glance at Penny as she left.
So that’s how much a gob is!
Penny copied the other woman’s actions—or tried to, anyway. But once again, it turned out that she didn’t really have the upper body strength to do what the job required.
The bright green butter was much harder to cut than she’d thought it would be. Rather than being soft, it had the consistency of ice cream that’d been in the deep freeze for years. Penny really had to hack at it with all her might, just to get any out at all.
In the end, she wound up cutting lots of little chunks instead of one big one which left the main slab of butter looking like cheese that had been attacked by huge, ravenous mice. But at last Penny had enough of the stuff piled on a paper. She held it carefully in one arm and took the bucket in her other hand as she went back to her workspace.
The part of the flour she’d poured the first bucket of water in had turned bright purple but the rest was still dry and blue.
Well, time to change that, Penny told herself.
She poured in the other bucket of water—the one with the salt and sugar—and then added the lumps of butter as well. Then she grabbed the huge wooden oar of a paddle and began mixing with all her might.
Dark blue flour flew out in a puff on her first attempt and she reminded herself to take it easy. The problem was, the svetty flour didn’t seem to want to combine with the water at first. But Penny kept at it until she had a dry, crumbly mixture that was pale purple at the bottom of the bowl.
This doesn’t seem right—I must not have added enough water, she thought, staring at the mess in dismay. Also, hadn’t she forgotten one of the ingredients? She thought hard and snapped her fingers.
“Tinga seeds—that’s what she said. I have to add them to the dough.”
She went back for another bucket of water and while she was at the sink, she asked another woman who was in line behind her where the seeds were kept.
The woman gave her a strange look but pointed to a small barrel located beside the sink. There were three wooden cups beside it—one the size of a thimble, one about the size of a teacup, and one as big as a huge forty-two ounce Slurpee cup from the 7-Eleven back home.
Penny chose the largest cup, since she was obviously making a giant batch of dough. The seeds were a brilliant, iridescent pink and shimmered prettily as she poured them into her mixture.
She poured the third bucket of water in as well and was glad to see that her flour was finally getting hydrated. However, it soon became apparent that it was too hydrated.
As Penny stirred with the wooden oar, she saw that, rather than a cohesive lump of dough, what she had was a purple soup, the consistency of Elmer’s glue. The purple glue-soup had fist-sized lumps of butter and the bright pink tinga seeds floating in it. It looked about as nasty and unappetizing and un-dough-like as it was possible for anything to look.
“Crap—I need more flour,” Penny muttered to herself. She was just positioning another heavy sack of the dark blue svetty flour over the bowl when someone shouted in her ear.
“Shining Star above, what have you done?”
Turning guiltily around, Penny saw May’bell and the woman she’d asked about the location of the seeds standing there.
“I told you she was making a mess, May’bell,” the woman said, frowning at Penny. “I saw her—she used enough tinga seeds for eight batches of dough! And here she’s only making one.”
“She ‘ent making anything but a mess as far as I can see,” May’bell seethed. She pointed to the gluey purple soup with the lumps of bright green butter and the many bright pink seeds floating in it. “This ain’t dough! What did you do to it?” she demanded, glaring at Penny.
“Just…just followed the recipe you told me,” Penny faltered, feeling her stomach fist into a knot. “I think I just need a little more flour—”
“Oh no! You ‘ent wasting any more ingredients!” May’bell declared. “How much water did you use, anyway?”
“Three buckets,” Penny admitted. “But I started with two and it wasn’t enough—the dough was all dry and crumbly!” she added hastily.
“Well, why didn’t you melt the butter afore putting it in to hydrate the flour? “ May’bell demanded. “And speaking of the flour, why is it all over the blessed place?”
“You didn’t say to melt it first,” Penny pointed out. “And I looked for something to clean up the spilled flour, but I didn’t see a broom or anything so I thought I’d finish making the dough first and then look for a way to clean up.”
“What a mess!” May’bell shook her head. “Well, maybe it can still be saved…” She dipped one finger into the purple soup and stuck it in her mouth. Then she spat into her palm and gave Penny a fresh glare. “What’s wrong with you? How much salt did you put into this glop you made?”
“Just…just two scoops, like you said,” Penny faltered. “And then half a scoop of sugar.”
“That ‘ent what I said!” May’bell bellowed, her face getting almost as purple as the dough. “I said half a scoop of salt and two scoops of sugar!”
“Well, it’s not like you wrote it down for me!” Penny flared back. There was only so much she could take and she felt she had reached her limit. “I was doing my best!”
“Well, your best is slop!” May’bell shouted.
“May’bell, maybe we could still save it if we divided it among some of the rest of us and waited for the butter to melt. We could add some more flour and work it up proper-like,” the woman who had told on Penny in the first place offered timidly. “I mean, I know Head Baker doesn’t like us to waste ingredients…”
“No, she don’t,” May’bell said shortly. She looked doubtfully at the dough again. “I s’pose it could work, as long as she’s added the right amount of yeast. But why isn’t it bubbling any if she did?” She looked at Penny. “You did add the yeast, didn’t you? Like I told you—a cake and a bit.”
Penny felt her heart sink. That had been the other ingredient—the one she’d forgotten.
How could I be so stupid as to forget the yeast of all things? she asked herself despairingly. It was, in fact, the same mistake she’d made back home when she’d attempted to make a loaf of homemade bread. Which was the reason it had come out like lead.
“Um…” She cleared her throat, not quite sure how to admit her latest transgression. “Possibly I didn’t add quite enough,” she said hesitantly.
“Well, how much did you add?” May’bell demanded, putting her fists on her meaty hips.
“Um…none?” Penny winced as she admitted it. “I’m really sorry, but I’ve never made this kind of bread before and I—”
“No more excuses!” May’bell held up a hand to shut Penny up. “Head Baker Goone said to give you one chance—which I did—and you made such a mess as I’ve never seen! I’m sending you over to the Head Butcher—let him deal with you.”
“Oh please don’t!” Penny clasped her hands under her chin in a pleading gesture. “There’s a butcher over there that has it in for me. I mean, he wants to hurt me. Please don’t send me over to him! There must be something I can do to help around here that doesn’t have anything to do with actually making the dough!”
May’bell pursed her lips.
“I’d put you on oven duty, ‘cept you’d probably burn the loaves. And it’s clear you ‘ent strong enough to deliver the flour bags to the tables.” She nodded at the spilled flour all over the floor.
“We don’t got a bread girl out front ever since Talula got recycled,” the other woman suggested. “Somebody’s always having to stop their duties to go out and serve whenever customers come
by.”
“Well, that’s so.” May’bell nodded as though she was considering it.
“Oh please, please let me be the bread girl!” Penny begged. “I’m a great saleswoman! I can sell bread to anyone and everyone, I swear I can!”
May’bell gave her a funny look.
“It ‘ent like you have to convince folks to buy our bread, y’know,” she pointed out. “We’re the only bakery in the whole Compound. All you got to do is take their food coupons and hand them a loaf of bread.”
“I can do that!” Penny said eagerly. “And then none of you will ever be bothered with customers again—I’ll take care of all of them!” Her heart was beating against her ribs as she made her plea. If only the other woman would listen!
“Well…” May’bell nodded grudgingly at last. “I s’pose we can use another bread girl.” She shook her head. “Go on then. But you’d best stay out front and don’t come back in the bakery. Head Baker Goone ‘ent gonna be too happy when she sees what a mess you made.”
“Thank you! Thank you, thank you!” Penny gabbled. She left the bakery as fast as she could and ran back out into the open porch-like store front filled with the dusky purple loaves…
And ran headfirst into Skrug.
She bounced off the butcher’s broad chest and fell back on her rump on the flour-dusted floor.
“What…who…?” She looked up uncertainly and saw the lipless, snaggletoothed alien grinning down at her.
“Well, well, pretty girly,” he snarled. “I was just comin’ to get some bread to bring home. Didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Ain’t you supposed to be inside baking?”
“No, I’m the new bread girl,” Penny said stiffly, getting to her feet. She brushed herself off as well as she could and took a step back, putting some distance between herself and the huge alien.
“The new bread girl, eh? And what’s that like?” Skrug asked, still leering at her.
Stolen: Brides of the Kindred 25 Page 24