by Sharon Lee
She looked pointedly at the younger girl, who opened her wide eyes even wider.
“We will remember,” the older girl said, her voice unexpectedly deep. “We are grateful for the information.”
“You’re welcome,” Algaina said, gruffer than she meant to. She cleared her throat. “Either one of you want a cup of something hot?”
She nodded at the hot pot, steam gently rising from its spout.
“Thank you,” the older kid said politely, “but not this time. We are to deliver Don Eyr’s cookies. They come with this message.”
She gave the younger girl a slight nudge with her foot.
“Try it!” that one said, loudly, holding the plate high; “and tell him what you think!”
“That is correct, Elaytha. Well done.”
Algaina took the plate and set it in the center of the counter.
“I’m obliged,” she said. “I ain’t got anything out yet, but if you—”
“Thank you, no,” the older girl said, with a small bow. She held out her hand.
“Come, Elaytha.”
“Yes!” said the child, and that quick they were gone, the bell ringing over the closed door.
Algaina shook her head, and lifted the towel from the plate. A warm breath of spice delighted her nose, and she smiled as she picked up one of the dainty little rectangles, and bit into it carefully.
Still warm, and it fair melted in the mouth, soft and sweet, with just a bite of something tangy on the back of the tongue.
She had another bite, analyzing the taste, working out the spices, wondering how he’d gotten it so soft . . .
The bell jangled, jerking her out of her reverie. She opened her eyes as Luzeal stepped into the shop, shaking her head from the cold.
“Mornin’,” she said, moving over to the hot pot.
“Mornin’,” Algaina answered. She pushed the plate down the counter.
“Try one o’ those and tell me what you think.”
Luzee picked up a cookie and bit into it, eyebrows rising.
“’Nother new receipt outta the box?” she asked.
“This,” said Algaina, “is what Donnie Wayhouse thinks those cookies I made yesterday oughta be.” She took another bite; sighed.
“He had a bite o’one of mine, and I asked him to tell me what he thought—and he did think something, but he run outta words. Promised to send a demonstration.”
She nodded at the half-cookie still in Luzee hand.
“That’s his demo, right there.”
Luzee took another bite, pure satisfaction on her face.
“I tell you what, Gaina,” she said. “You know I don’t like to meddle in other people’s bidness—” That just wasn’t so, but let it go; they all meddled in each other’s bidness, that’s how the street had stayed more or less peaceful, even in the baddest of the bad ol’ days.
“I’m thinking you’d do worse’n go partners with that boy, if he don’t got other work. Be good for both of you.”
“We’re thinking along the same lines,” Algaina assured her, picking up another of the dark, soft cookies. “I’ll return his plate proper after I close up this afternoon. Can’t hurt to ask, can it?”
“Not one bit,” said Luzee, and reached for another cookie.
• • • • • •
It was snowing, but only enough to make an old woman wish she’d remembered put on her flap-hat, ’stead of the one that just covered the top of her head.
She knocked on the door of the Wayhouse.
It snowed a little more before the door opened, and she looked down into a pair of bright blue eyes under a shock of bright red hair.
“Yes?” the kid said. “Please say what you want.”
Well, that was one way to answer the door, Algaina thought. Right to the point, anyhoot.
“I’d like to see Donnie,” she said, and hefted the plate she was carrying covered over with the same cloth. “Wanna return his plate.”
L’il Red took a bit to chew that over, then stepped briskly back and raised a hand to wave her in.
She crossed into the tiny hall, and stood to one side so the kid could shut the door and throw a series of bolts.
“This way,” was her next instruction, and off the kid went, turning right into the hallway, and Algaina barely able to keep up.
It wasn’t a long hall, but they passed four kids, and then a couple, three more on the stairway before the one she was following cut right again, through a swing-door and into a cramped, too-warm kitchen.
There were another two kids at the stove—older kids, Algaina thought, though none of ’em was tall enough to look like anything but a kid to her.
Not even the one standing at the table, working with a spoon in one hand and something else in the other, a plate set before him, and a couple small bowls.
“Donnie, there’s a lady,” the red-haired mite said, and turned to look up at her.
“Here you are, lady.”
And was gone.
Donnie looked ’round from his work, eyebrows lifting slightly on seeing her, his face a study in unsmiling politeness.
“Baker Algaina. It is good to see you. Did the cookies please?”
“The cookies more than pleased, which is something I’d like to talk with you about, when you’re less busy. In the meanwhile, I brung your plate back, with a little something to say thank you . . .”
She glanced around. There didn’t seem to be any room on the work table. There didn’t seem to be any room, anywhere. Every surface was full, and there were kids underfoot, and . . .
“Kevan,” Donnie murmured, and one of the kids at the stove turned, gave her a frank smile, and slid the plate out of her hands.
“I’ll take care of that,” he said, and his Terran was good—not ’bleaker, but not sounding half-learned, neither. “Thanks very much, Miz—?”
“Now, no Miz called for. I’m Algaina from the bake shop down the street, like your brother here says.”
Dark eyes flicked to Donnie, back to her.
“Miz Algaina, then. Thank you; we always appreciate something extra with dinner.” He turned back to the stove, uncovering the plate, and showing it to his partner there.
Dinner, she thought. They was cooking dinner, with all these pots ’n pans. Dinner for—
“How many kids you got here?” she asked Donnie, before she had a chance to work out if that was the kind of question he was likely to answer.
Turns out, it wasn’t.
His eyelids flickered.
“Some few,” he said quietly. “If you do not . . . mind, we may talk now.” Another quick glance at her before he said over his shoulder.
“Velix, take Miz Algaina’s coat and hat to dry. Cal Dir, bring her a cup of tea. Ashti—”
A stool appeared even as her coat and hat were whisked away to hang on a peg near the stove, and steam that smelled like flowers rising from the mug that was put in her hand.
She took a careful sip, just enough to discover that the tea tasted like the steam. Then, she put both hands around the mug, and watched Donnie make another one of . . . whatever it was it was he was making.
Flowers, birds, leaves . . . all somehow fashioned from one scoop of whatever was in the bowls, and him working with a spoon.
He put the latest creation—a fish—on the plate with the others, and she sighed in mingled pleasure and frustration, which caused her host to look straight at her.
“There is a problem? The tea does not please? We have—”
She held up a hand.
“The tea’s wonderful, thank you. It’s only—I just watched you make that, and I can’t figure out how you did it.”
He smiled then—she could tell more by the way the corners of his eyes crinkled up than from his mouth curving, and it come to her then that Donnie wasn’t as young as she’d taken him, even on second look. In fact, now she was close, she could see there were some few threads of silver mixed in the dark brown hair, and lines worn in ’round
his eyes and mouth.
Still might be the older brother, she thought, at least to some of the kids. An’ he wasn’t gonna tell her nothin’ about ’em at all. Well, she thought, taking a sip of tea, why should he? He didn’t know anything ’bout her; and the kids had to come first.
’Course they did.
“Once you have made a few dozen, it comes without thought,” he was saying. “These are chernubia. Small sweets, to have with mid-morning tea, after the first work of the day is done.”
She watched him make two big wings connected at the center; she didn’t think it was a bird. Something from his home, prolly. Way she’d heard it, there were a lot of things on his homeworld that never’d quite made it to Surebleak, nor weren’t likely to ever arrive.
“I tell you what,” she started, and then stopped, turning on her stool to discover the reason for the sudden ruckus out in the hall.
The mob in the kitchen shifted, one kid going out the door with a big bowl held in both hands, calling out what might’ve been names. She’d scarcely cleared the room when another took her place—older, though younger still than Donnie. This one was wearing a tool-belt and a couple shirts, Surebleak style, heavy over lighter, and a knit cap on his head.
“Jax Ton!” Kevan called from the stove. “I don’t think we made enough food!”
“All is well, little brother; I will be satisfied with your dinner, only.”
That was greeted with laughter, and a little one came running into the room, arms working, yelling, “Jax Ton! Jax Ton!”
“Kae Nor!” the newcomer called back, and swooped the kid up into his arms, spinning in the tight space like he had the whole street to dance in. The child screamed with laughter; and was still laughing as he was transferred to another pair of arms, to be toted out of the kitchen.
“Jax Ton,” Donnie said quietly, and here he was, slipped in close, right between her stool and the table, like it was all the room anybody needed.
“Don Eyr,” he said, quietly, and paused, his eye drawn to the plate of fanciful shapes.
“Chernubia in cheese and vegetables?” he asked. “I do not think this is one of your better ideas, brother.”
“Elaytha has become afraid of her dinner,” Donnie—no, Algaina corrected herself, Don Eyr said levelly.
Jax Ton looked solemn.
“Badly?”
“Very badly.”
“Will this cast work, do you think?”
“It is all that I can think,” Don Eyr said, sounding suddenly weary. They’d forgotten she was there, Algaina thought, and sat very still while they talked family around her.
“I am happy you came tonight,” Don Eyr continued. “She needs a Healer. Can you find if they will they see her at the hall here?”
“They see Terrans at the hall here,” Jax Ton said. “They train Terrans at the hall here. I will take her with me when I go back to work.”
“We cannot leave her alone among strangers . . .”
“Which is why Kevan will accompany us. He will bide with her, and I will join them after the boss is done with me. They will neither be bereft.”
Don Eyr took a breath, sighed it out.
“The cost?”
“If the child needs a Healer, that is where we begin. We do not count cost against need.” Jax Ton extended a hand and gripped the other’s shoulder. “So you yourself taught us.”
Don Eyr half-laughed.
“Did I? A poor influence on soft minds, I fear.”
“Never that,” said Jax Ton.
He removed his hand, and seemed to see her for the first time.
“My apology,” he said. “I—”
“Jax Ton, this is Miz Algaina from the sweet bake shop. Our neighbor.”
“Ah!” Jax Ton smiled like he’d been born on Surebleak. “Welcome, neighbor. I am Jax Ton tel’Ofong—or Jack O’Fong, according to my boss.”
“Pleasure,” Algaina assured him. “You live here, too?”
“I am ’prenticed to Electrician Varn Jilzink, in Boss Torin’s territory. It is too far to travel every day, but I come home here for my day off.”
“It’s good to be with family,” she said.
“That is truth,” Jax Ton said solemnly, and turned back to his brother, who was holding out a plate full of fanciful shapes.
“Do you think that you might try?”
“Of course, I will try, though it likely means I will have to eat a carrot chernubia myself.”
“The carrot chernubia are very good,” Don Eyr told him gravely.
“Everything you bake is very good. Where is she?”
“Upstairs. In the tent.”
Jax Ton’s smile faded somewhat.
“Ah, is she? Well, as I said—I will try. Miz Algaina, I hope we will meet again soon.”
He was gone, bearing the plate, and it came to Algaina that the kitchen was empty now, save for herself and Don Eyr. There were still voices to be heard, but down the hall, in another part of the house.
“Well.” Don Eyr turned to her. “Now, at last we may address your topic.”
“I don’t wanna be keeping you from your supper,” she said, “so I’ll be quick. I’d like it if you made cookies like you sent down to me this morning, an’ some of those shernoobias—sweet ones at first, then we’ll try and see if the veggies’ll sell—”
There was the smile again—easy to see now she knew what to look for.
“I figure the split to be seventy for you, thirty for me. I buy flours and other supplies wholesale, you can buy from me at my cost, if that’ll suit. Anything special you need . . .”
She let it run off and waited, taking a sip of her tea, which had gone cold, but was still tasty.
“I will like that,” Don Eyr said slowly. “When do you wish the first baking, and how many?”
Algaina smiled, and leaned forward.
“Okay,” she said. “Now, here’s what I’m thinking . . .”
• • • • • •
Don Eyr had gotten up early, to see Jax Ton and Kevan and Elaytha on their way, with two pails packed with food and chernubia. Elaytha had been so excited to be going with Jax Ton that she scarcely had time to give him a hug. It pained him to let her go, but that was foolish. Jax Ton and Kevan would keep her safe, both knew her moods and her foibles, and Kevan understood—or seemed to—a good deal of the language she had created for her own use.
He hoped the Healers would see her.
He hoped the Healers would effect wonders.
He hoped . . .
Well.
In the end, it was good that he had the baking to do; it kept him aside of worry, even as he was reminded of other days—better days—when he was up early to bake for the shop in Low Port, and Serana would slip in, cat-foot, to make tea, and sit on a stool to watch him. The early morning had been their time, when they reaffirmed their bond, and their curious orbit, each around the other.
He had expected her to leave, many times over the years.
Serana had a warrior’s heart; she had been born a hero, fashioned for feats of valor. Caring for children—for gormless bakers—wasted her.
And yet, she had stayed . . .
. . . until that moment when her skills were at last called for, and she had not hesitated to take the lead.
He took out the first batch of spice bars, and slipped the second into the oven. He had a brief moment of nostalgia for his ovens, then shook his head. What was, was. This oven, this kitchen, was perfectly adequate for the baking of a few batches of sweet things.
At . . . home, he had made loaves, cheese rolls, protein muffins—sweet things—those, too. But it had been the bread that drew customers in, and provided the household income.
He had spoken of bread to Miz Algaina. Her kitchen was also too small to accommodate large baking, nor, she confided, did she have the knack of yeast things.
He had the knack, but his bread-heart was lost in the shambles of Low Port, with his ovens, and the library, and the homey t
hings they had amassed over the years. Algaina had spoken of a larger house at the far end of the street, beyond the gate. It had been part of the former boss’s estate. There were ovens, she said, and quarters above that were more spacious than those of the Wayhouse.
They might, so he understood, petition the Council of Bosses Circuit Rider to relocate to this other house. He would have to show that the property would be put to “use and profit,” so it was even more important that this venture with Algaina prove successful.
He also understood that the granting of the petition would go easier, if he secured the support of the rest of the neighbors—and here, too, Algaina had offered her aid. All the street came into her shop, and she would talk about the idea. It would also be useful, she said, if he worked the counter a couple hours every day to show the world his face.
This made sense, and was something he could easily accommodate. Without the shop, now that they were settled again, together, he found himself with few duties. The elder children taught and cared for those who were younger, with any disputes brought to Ashti, who now stood as his second. It would be good, to have work, and to meet their new neighbors.
The timer chimed, and he removed the second batch of spice bars from the oven.
While they cooled, he looked in the coldbox where the chernubia prettily adorned their plates. He glanced at the clock and did a quick calculation. Yes, he did have time to make a batch of quick cheese rolls—not real bread, but satisfying enough. Perhaps Algaina’s customers—his new neighbors—would find them pleasant.
• • • • • •
Well, that might not’ve been the best decision she’d ever made in her life, Algaina thought, but it’d sure do for now.
She waved day’s done to Don Eyr and Velix, and locked the door behind them. He’d taken to bringing one of the kids with him on-shift, so the neighbors would get to know all of them.
Don Eyr taught her his way with the hermits—spice cookies, according to him—so that baking came back into her shop, while he continued to provide chernubia, and day-rolls. She’d shown him the receipt for flaky pastries, and the sorry result of her efforts. He took it away and brought back a plate of buttery crescents so light she feared they’d float out the door and into the sky.