4 – A Little Bit of a Problem

“Hello. The weather is lovely. I would like one loaf of round bread,” Ari murmured to herself as she stepped off the stilted wooden pathway onto the narrow stone road leading toward the outer marsh. “Hello. The weather is lovely. I would like one loaf of round bread.”

She was practicing for the new baker who had moved to Willow Road. As clever as Ari was at almost anything else, the art of conversation always eluded her. She sometimes said too much, or not enough, or the wrong thing, and she couldn’t always tell until it was too late.

Now, she’d crafted the perfect exchange that would hopefully evade further talking, which could complicate things. She kept it simple.

A greeting. A mundane comment. A statement of intent.

According to Celie, the new baker was a Greenfinger, who enjoyed fusing spiritmoss and dreamroot into his pastries. Everyone in their family had quickly gotten addicted to his soft, herby bread, and his bakery was soon the most popular spot in Willow Walk, especially after the previous Mossborne baker moved away with her thief of a son.

Ari recalled the previous baker liked to talk about the weather, so she figured her rehearsed greeting would be adequate for the new baker as well. She prayed it went smoothly. It was a busy day today, and she needed to get bread and fish back in time for dinner.

Her sister had an important mission this evening, and her brother had gone to hunt a boar.

Ari’s only job was to get the required ingredients in the required time frame.

She’d already failed her Moat trials. She couldn’t fail at this, too.

Of course, her family tried to convince her that she hadn’t failed. It wasn’t a fair test, as everyone had been distracted by the attack. A few parents were petitioning the council for a redo, but for Ari, that might be the worst outcome.

She couldn’t believe that she had to do all that again.

But she couldn’t think about that right now. Better to focus on the task at hand, rather than her own disappointment.

She rehearsed the words again, going through the steps. “Step one: greeting. Smile, but no teeth. Too many teeth are aggressive. Step two: bread request. Exact number. Exact type. Step three: money. Do not drop coins.”

The boardwalk came into view before her eyes, colorful stalls boasting of fresh ware, meat, fish, and vegetables of every type. The boardwalk split near a crooked lantern post wrapped in climbing ivy. To the left, the planks headed toward the fishing docks, where narrow boats drifted against poles driven into the mud. But the bakery lay to the right, where the path became a slightly raised causeway of packed earth and flat stones.

A buttery, sweet scent beckoned her closer. Small lanterns hung from the trees, glowing amber even during the day to push back the thick swamp fog that often rolled in without warning.

The bakery was a round brick building with a steep, mossy roof and a crooked chimney that constantly exhaled thin curls of smoke. Its windows glowed golden, fogged slightly from the heat inside.

A painted wooden paddle hung beside the door.

On it were the words: MARIN’S SWAMP OVEN

Outside the bakery, a few rough benches sat on a wooden deck that overlooked a slow pool of dark water where lily pads drifted lazily. Sometimes herons stood there, waiting patiently for fish while townsfolk ate sweet rolls and watched the mist slide through the cypress trees.

With a murmured greeting, Ari walked up to the stall.

The baker had been chatting cheerfully with one of the seated men enjoying a honey bun, but quickly glanced at Ari when he saw her.

She cleared her throat. “Hello. The weather is lovely. I would like—” Pause. She remembered that, in Greenfinger culture, it was customary to curtsy when meeting new people.

Ari executed what she thought was a perfect curtsy.

When she straightened, the baker beamed. “Well now, that’s the politest good morning I’ve had all day. You practicing for royalty, or just me?”

Unexpected question. That was not in the script.

“Just you,” Ari said.

“Oh, I feel honored. Should I bow?”

“No. That would make it worse.”

He frowned. “Worse how?”

Ari twisted her lips. Do not explain. Explaining leads to more questions.

Yet she felt the instinctive need to explain herself anyway. Honesty was always simpler.

“I practiced this conversation six times on the walk here, and none of them included bowing,” she admitted.

The baker seemed surprised for a second, then whistled. “Six times, hm? And here I was thinking we were improvising.”

“We are.”

“Ah. That explains the look.”

What look?

Never mind. Time to fulfil the purpose of this trip.

“I would like one loaf of round bread, please.”

Instead of moving to retrieve the bread, he peered at her. “You know they’ve told me about you, Arielle Blacksoil. How clever you are and how quickly you complete arithmetic in your head. Also, how you remember every fact you’ve ever learned, and every sentence ever spoken to you in exact detail. I’m honored to make your acquaintance.”

Ari blinked. He’s honored to meet me. That’s odd. Why would he say that? Sarcasm or real?

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

No matter. Focus on the bread.

“I would like one loaf of bread. The one with the crack on top. Not the long one. The round one.”

The baker nodded. “The round one with the crack. Not the long one. Got it.” He reached for a bread that was longer than her forearm, and Arielle frowned.

“That is the long one.”

“Is it?”

He is doing this on purpose, she thought. This is teasing. I don’t have time for teasing.

“Yes,” Arielle said

“Are you sure?”

“I am extremely sure.”

“Extremely sure is my favorite kind of sure.” He switched to the rounder loaf. “This one?”

“Yes.” She breathed a sigh of relief that the conversation was nearly over.

“Excellent. Anything else? Honey buns? Sweet rolls? More awkward small talk?”

No. Do not engage in more conversation. Bread already secured.

“No,” she said.

“Pity. That’ll be three coppers.”

Step three. Money.

She tried to pull it out of her pocket, but he waved a hand and said, “Don’t worry. Consider this one a freebie.”

She frowned at him. “Why?”

“Because it’s the first time you’re buying from me, and that eye looks like it really hurt.”

Ari reached up to touch the spot where she’d been hit yesterday, right before she’d had her token stolen. Her mother had put some herbs on it, but it still stung.

“You don’t have to compensate for my eye,” she told him. “You didn’t punch me.”

“I know, but I want to. Compensate, that is, not punch you.” He followed it up with a wink as he pushed the wrapped bread to her. “Have a good day.”

Arielle processed the scenario quickly and said, “…Thank you.”