Baker's Magic (Middle-grade Novels)

by Zahler, Diane

  Finally they stopped before a dark wooden door. Bartholomew knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again, harder. From the other side came a deep voice.

  “Enter.”

  Bartholomew scuttled back down the hall as the door opened, seemingly on its own, to reveal a long, dim chamber holding only a table that appeared to stretch on and on. Though it was day, candles flickered at intervals down the table, barely lighting the space. The table was lined with tall, carved chairs, and each chair held a mage. They looked like the portraits in the hallways, all white- or gray-haired, the men bearded. Bee counted them quickly. Thirteen men, seven women. Twenty pairs of piercing eyes turned toward them, and involuntarily Bee took a step back. But Anika moved forward, pulling Bee with her, and bowed her head, saying, “I am Princess Anika of Aradyn, and I have come to beseech you for your assistance.”

  Forty eyes stared without blinking.

  Finally the mage seated at the far end of the table, whom they could barely make out in the gloom, spoke in a cracked, ancient voice. “Welcome. I am Master Nicon. What aid do you seek?”

  Anika’s damp, icy hand clutched Bee’s more tightly. “I am the ward of Master Joris. My father, King Crispin, drowned in a shipwreck twelve years ago. Now Master Joris wants to marry me to an elderly king and seize for his own the kingdom I should rule.”

  The forty eyes all blinked at once. Then there was silence.

  Master Nicon cleared his throat. “And what do you want from us?”

  Anika took a deep breath. “Master Joris has done great damage to Aradyn. He’s eradicated all the trees and planted the land with tulips. He appropriates the money from the tulip trade for himself. The land is in peril, and the people grow hungry and destitute. I want him removed.”

  Bee gasped. The words sounded outrageous when Anika said them out loud, especially in this place, with all the mages staring at them.

  “Remove him!” said Master Nicon, his beard waggling. “However could we do that? Aradyn is his kingdom. Each mage has a kingdom, and each kingdom has a mage. It has ever been thus.”

  Wil spoke then. “But he is destroying Aradyn. No one else has the power to stop him. We are asking you to do it.”

  An ancient mage with a high, piercing voice, said, “I recall Joris. He was difficult, even long ago when I was the mage of Lyng. Wasn’t it he who … who … oh dear. No, I’ve forgotten the story.”

  The fourth mage on the left, a woman with watery eyes and a lisp, said, “It is wrong that Joris abuses his land. The land is our responsibility, our main and true duty. He should be removed. Once before, it was done. I remember it. Back in the time of King Idris.”

  “No,” another mage protested, “that was just a story. That was not a true thing.”

  Suddenly all the mages were talking at once, arguing and speaking over one another. “It was true, Porcius!” Bee heard, and “You are confused, as always, Clymene,” and “Don’t speak to me that way, I am your elder!” The candles flickered wildly as they wheezed and panted with agitation, and Bee, Wil, and Anika looked at one another in alarm.

  “What is wrong with them?” Bee whispered.

  The mages’ voices trailed off into silence, broken only by the mumbling of the sixth mage down on the right and another mage’s intermittent coughing.

  “Can you remove Master Joris?” Anika asked again. “Will you give me succor?”

  The mage Clymene, her white hair standing out like a halo around her head, said, “Missy, we cannot remove a mage. We are mages ourselves. It would be like … like cannibalism!”

  Again the mages erupted. “You are an idiot, Clymene!” one of them cried. Another looked around, confused, and said, “Who is a cannibal? Are you saying one of us is a cannibal?” A third got shakily to her feet and asked, “Is it time for supper yet?”

  Master Nicon hammered on the thick wood with a trembling fist. “Mages, come to order! Stop this bickering right now. Behave yourselves!” Gradually the others subsided.

  “Come closer, little Princess,” he said to Anika. Anika still clutched Bee’s hand, so the two walked forward together, Wil trailing behind them. The other mages turned their heads to watch their progression down the room. Now they could see Master Nicon more clearly. He looked, if it were possible, even older than the others. His eyes were bleary and faded, his skin like parchment that had been crushed and crumpled and badly straightened out again. They stopped in front of him, and he looked at them for a long minute.

  “There is really nothing we can do for you,” he said at last. “I do not know why you came to us.”

  “You are the Council of Mages!” Bee burst out. “You have the power to do what you want!”

  Master Nicon let out a bark of laughter that turned into a frenzy of coughing. When he stopped, he sat and wheezed while he caught his breath again. “Look at us,” he said, motioning to the others seated at the table. “We are older than you can imagine. We do not sit here and make rules to govern the world, or magic to improve it. Other mages have taken our places in our kingdoms to do what needs to be done to keep the world in balance … or not, as you have noted. We are here because we are of no use anymore. Our magic is only strong enough to change a flower’s color, or fill a basin with water. I am sorry, little Princess. I would like to help you. It is long since I have been of any real use. But there is nothing I or any of us can do for Aradyn.”

  Anika looked at Bee, and the tears in her eyes reflected the dancing candlelight. “Thank you,” she murmured. She bowed her head to the table at large, and then she, Bee, and Wil turned and started out of the room.

  But Bee couldn’t bear to see Anika so distressed. She turned back, pulling off her haversack. “Masters, I know you can’t help, but I’ve brought you something as a thank you for seeing us. I am a baker, and these are my specialties.” As she took the cookies from their wrappings, Bartholomew appeared at her side, holding a plate. A murmuring went up from the mages. In the eyes of the ones closest to her, she could see a glimmer of interest.

  “There’s enough for all,” she said, passing the plate up the table. Then she unwrapped a Bouts Bun and brought it to Master Nicon. “I only have one of these left,” she said to him. “I think you should have it.”

  Master Nicon stretched out a trembling hand and took the bun, turning it about and looking closely at it. Satisfied, he tasted it, and his watery eyes widened. “You have a singular talent, child,” he said. Then his brow creased. Bee held her breath. She had no idea if the helpfulness in the cookies or the truthfulness in the bun would affect the mages at all—or, if it did, what would result.

  For a moment there was only the sound of pleased chewing and swallowing. One mage choked a little on his cookie and had to be pounded on the back. Then Master Porcius said, “Are you quite sure there is nothing we could do for them?” Bee’s heart lifted. The helpfulness was working!

  “Yes,” Mistress Clymene said, “surely we could …” But her voice trailed off. She had no ideas.

  Master Nicon shook his head. “We cannot keep them here, and we cannot go back with them. And our powers, such as they are, do not work over water, as you know.”

  There was a general sigh of dismay at the table, and all the candles flickered wildly. It was clear from the expression on Master Nicon’s face that he spoke the truth, whether as an effect of the Bouts Bun or not Bee couldn’t say. Her shoulders slumped, and she turned away again.

  As they reached the door, they heard Master Nicon’s deep, shaky voice. “Wait, little Princess. There is one thing I can tell you.”

  Anika spun around, her face brightening. “Yes? What is it?”

  The old mage had risen and was making his doddering way down the room toward them. “Did you say that your father was King Crispin? That he drowned in a shipwreck? Or am I confusing you with someone else?”

  “That was me,” Anika said, baffled.
“That is what I said.”

  “And this was … twelve years ago?”

  “Yes. I was four years old.”

  “Ah, I thought as much. Well, my dear, it did not happen as you say,” Master Nicon said. “I do not remember how I know it, but this I know: King Crispin, your father, is still very much alive.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Anika gave a little gasping cry, and Wil rushed to support her as her knees buckled. “What—what do you mean?” she asked, her voice wavering. “My father is alive?”

  Master Nicon looked astounded at his own words. He wobbled as if he too would fall to the ground. Bartholomew put an arm around him, and the old mage leaned against the hedge wizard. “What did you put in the bun, girl?” Master Nicon accused Bee.

  Bee blanched. The mage looked angry, his thick gray brows drawn together in a V shape.

  “Truth,” she admitted in a small voice. “It had truth in it.”

  Master Nicon stared at her. Then his face relaxed, and he smiled, his nose and chin nearly meeting. “A singular talent indeed,” he said. “So you are part mage, girl. I did not see that.”

  “I am—what?” Bee was stunned.

  “Only mages and hedge wizards have magic, and baking truth into a bun is magic, without a doubt. Did you not know?”

  Bee shook her head, speechless.

  “But my father!” Anika cried. “Divulge, please, how do you know he is alive? Where is he?”

  Master Nicon thought for a long moment. His expression changed, and changed, and changed again, as if eons were passing over it, and Bee thought he must be recalling all the years he had lived in order to find the memory. But nothing seemed to register. Finally he shrugged. “I do not know how I know. Or I do not remember. And I do not know where he is. Only that he lives.” A chorus of voices rose up behind him as the other mages passed what had been said down the table.

  “Then we must find him,” Anika said. “Oh, to see my father again!”

  “He could be anywhere,” Wil said. “How can we know where even to start looking?”

  “I don’t know,” Anika replied. “But we will locate him. We will!”

  “I wish you luck, little Princess,” Master Nicon said. “I am sorry we cannot help you.”

  Anika took his trembling hands in hers. “But you have helped. If my father lives, I shall not have to marry. If he lives, we can compel Master Joris to depart! Thank you—oh, thank you, Masters!”

  Up and down the table, Bee heard, “Look, she holds his hands!”, “She is thanking us!”, “Why is she saying thank you?”, “What has happened?”, and, from one of the mages, “Are there more cookies?”

  They took their leave then, to a chorus of quavering farewells and good lucks. Back in their gloomy rooms, they collected their haversacks and waited for Bartholomew to lead them back down the endless winding steps to the long pier where the pirates would meet them. A fog had rolled in; they couldn’t see more than a few dozen feet in front of them. The damp air was chilly, and Bee shivered. Would the pirates be able to find the island in this gloom?

  Even in the cool dampness, Anika’s cheeks were flushed with heat, her eyes bright with excitement. “I can hardly believe it,” she said. “Do you think it is true, Bee? Do you think he is alive in actuality?”

  “I don’t know,” Bee said honestly. “I’m sure Master Nicon isn’t lying … but he is very old. He could misremember.” There was something about Anika’s elation that pricked at her in a very uncomfortable way. Of course it would be the most wonderful thing in the world if her father were alive. Of course it would! But … it was what they had in common. They were both orphans. If Anika’s father, the king, came back to her, she would truly be the princess of Aradyn. How could they remain friends?

  Bee felt as if the fog were inside her brain. She shook her head hard, then said, “Do you think it’s almost time for the Egg-Hen to come?”

  Wil squinted at the sky. “There’s no way to tell. I’m sure it’s afternoon, but it could be one o’clock or five o’clock. This fog …”

  “It’s a little after three,” Bartholomew said. His tone was so sure that no one questioned him.

  “They should be here momentarily then,” Anika said. “Oh, I do hope Captain Zay will assist us!”

  “Assist us?” Bee repeated.

  “To find Papa. Perhaps she’s heard something about him. She journeys far and wide, doesn’t she? I never thought to inquire—I never thought he might still be alive!”

  “Surely she will help,” Wil said. “It seems like the sort of adventure she’d enjoy.”

  This was true enough. Something a little dangerous, a little suspicious—it sounded just like the captain to Bee. And now their quest had changed. They were no longer in search of a way to stop the mage of Aradyn and save Anika from an unwanted marriage. Now they were in search of a long-lost king who might or might not be alive. Bee sighed, thinking of her kitchen in Zeewal, the dough rising and the tarts unbaked. It might be a very long time indeed before she plunged her hands into fresh flour and butter again. She missed Master Bouts, Kaatje, the sweet smell of sugared pastry, her own soft bed.

  “Look!” Wil called, peering into the fog. “I think I see something—are those sails?”

  The others strained to see. Yes, there in the distance—it was definitely a ship.

  “It’s moving fast,” Bee observed.

  “Dear me. It’s being followed,” Bartholomew said. And all at once they could see that was true. Behind the ship came another, and another. In a few minutes they could see the flags on them. The one in front was the Egg-Hen, with her bright pink skull and crossbones. The two behind her flew the gold and red tulip flags of Aradyn.

  “They’re chasing the pirates,” Wil said. “The Egg-Hen is being pursued—they won’t be able to stop for us!”

  “They can’t leave us here,” Bee cried. “We have to get on that ship, or we’ll be stranded!”

  “Follow me,” Bartholomew commanded. “There’s a spot on the far side of the island where the rocks jut out. We can jump.”

  “Jump?” Bee repeated blankly.

  “How will the pirates know what we’re doing?” Wil asked, a hint of desperation in his voice.

  “They’re getting close,” Bartholomew said. “Can you see any of them? Are they looking at us?”

  Wisps of fog veiled the ships, and Bee couldn’t make out any figures on the decks at all. Then, suddenly, a strong breeze blew across her face. It gusted, then steadied, and quickly it began to blow away the fog. There! The ship was clearly visible now, and on the deck she could see the tall figure that was Haleem. He stood, his legs spread out, the spyglass in his hand.

  “It’s Haleem! He’s looking right at us!”

  “Signal him that we’re going up and around to the left. If we’re lucky, they’ll follow.”

  Wil signaled to Haleem, waving wildly to point up, then leftward. With a shifting of sails, the ship stopped its forward thrust and swerved abruptly.

  “Run!” Bartholomew urged, and they sprinted up the stone steps again, crushing the gray and brown flowers beneath their feet. Almost immediately they were gasping for breath, their legs trembling, but they kept going as fast as they could. About a quarter of the way up, Bartholomew plunged off the steps and into an outlandish landscape of twisted plants and thick mosses that seemed to grab at their feet as they ran.

  “This is Master Kajetan’s Garden of Errors,” Bartholomew puffed. “Where he puts his mistakes.” Then he had no more breath to spare.

  They ran around the mountain, slipping on the steep slope and brushing away moths that flapped like herons and huge flies with multifaceted emerald eyes that stared and blinked at them as they passed. The breeze turned into a wind, and they could see dark clouds rolling across the water. Finally Bartholomew halted. There, as he had said, a finger of roc
k jutted out over the sea. Wil walked cautiously out, testing it. He looked down, the wind lifting his blond hair on end.

  “It’s not so very far,” he said weakly.

  “Is the ship there?” Bee asked.

  “I can see it,” Wil replied. “It’s coming closer. It looks like the others have lost a little speed.”

  Then Bee remembered.

  “But Anika can’t swim! We can’t jump, she’ll drown!”

  “I can float for a few minutes, I am certain,” Anika said. But she didn’t sound certain.

  “And what about Pepin?”

  Anika pulled the hedgehog out of her pocket. He unrolled partway in her hand. A dragonfly with wings striped in pink and purple flew by, and Pepin lunged upward and snapped his jaws closed over it, swallowing it in a quick gulp.

  “If that doesn’t kill him, nothing will,” Wil said. Anika glared at him, and he looked apologetic.

  “He will be fine,” Anika insisted. “I’ll hold him above the water.”

  Bartholomew ran back into the garden and uprooted a thick plant. He brought it to Anika. “This should keep you afloat,” he said. “Hold on to it tightly.”

  Bee reached out to touch the plant. It was porous and springy, unlike any shrub or bush she’d ever seen. It reminded her of the sponges that sometimes washed up on the beach near her old home. Perhaps, she thought, it was a cross between a plant and a sponge. That seemed like something that would grow in Master Kajetan’s Garden of Errors.

  Bee joined Wil at the edge of the rock. It was a very long way down. There didn’t seem to be any rocks below, though. Maybe they could survive if they jumped.

  “We have to try to land near the ship, so they have time to pick us up,” Wil said. Bee could tell he was trying very hard to sound calm and reasonable. “And we’ll have to leave our packs. They’ll drag us down.” He shrugged off his haversack, and Bee did the same.