It was such a friendly smile that Charmain decided she could trust Sophie anyway. She hoped. “I got some things,” she said, pulling papers out of her pockets.
Sophie took them even more eagerly and gratefully than the King had taken his good copy. “Marvelous!” she said. “These should at least give us a clue. We’re really in the dark at the moment. Howl—I mean, Twinkle—says divining spells just don’t seem to work here. And that’s odd, because I don’t think either the King or the Princess do magic, do you? Enough to block a divining spell, I mean.”
“No,” Charmain said. “But a lot of their ancestors did. And there’s more to the King than meets your eye.”
“You’re right,” said Sophie. “Are you able to stay and go through these notes with us?”
“Ask me things on Monday,” Charmain told her. “I have to go and see my father before his bakery closes.”
Chapter Eleven
IN WHICH CHARMAIN KNEELS ON A CAKE
The shop was closed when Charmain reached it, but she could see, dimly through the glass, someone moving about inside, cleaning up. Charmain rapped on the door and, when that did no good, put her face to the glass and shouted, “Let me in!”
The person inside at length shuffled over and opened the door enough to put his face round it. He proved to be an apprentice about
Peter’s age whom Charmain had never met. “We’re closed,” he said. His eyes went to Waif in Charmain’s arms. The open door had let out a gust of recent doughnut smells, and Waif had her nose into it, sniffing rapturously. “And we don’t allow dogs,” he said.
“I need to see my father,” Charmain said.
“You can’t see anyone,” the apprentice said. “The bake house is still busy.”
“My father is Mr. Baker,” Charmain told him, “and I know he’ll see me. Let me in.”
“How do I know that’s the truth?” the apprentice said suspiciously. “It’s as much as my job’s worth—”
Charmain knew this was the sort of time when she needed to be polite and tactful, but she ran out of patience, just as she had with the kobolds. “Oh, you silly boy!” she interrupted him. “If my father knew you weren’t letting me in, he’d sack you on the spot! Go and fetch him if you don’t believe me!”
“Hoity-toity!” said the apprentice. But he backed away from the door, saying, “Come in, then, but you leave the dog outside, understand?”
“No, I don’t,” Charmain said. “She might be stolen. She’s a highly valuable magical dog, I’ll have you know, and even the King lets her in. If he can, so can you.”
The apprentice looked scornful. “Tell that to the lubbock on the hills,” he said.
Things might have become very difficult then, if Belle, one of the ladies who served in the shop, had not come in through the bake house door just then. She was tying on her headscarf and saying, “I’m leaving now, Timmy. Mind you wash down all the—” when she saw Charmain. “Oh, hallo, Charmain! Want to see your dad, do you?”
“Hallo, Belle. Yes, I do,” Charmain said. “But he won’t let me bring Waif in.”
Belle looked at Waif. Her face melted into a smile. “What a sweet little creature! But you know what your dad thinks of dogs coming in here. Better leave her in the shop for Timmy to look after. You’ll take care of her, won’t you, Timmy?”
The apprentice made a grudging noise and glowered at Charmain.
“But I warn you, Charmain,” Belle continued in her usual chatty way, “they’re very busy through there. There’s an order on for a special cake. So you won’t stay long, will you? Put your little dog down here and she’ll be quite safe. And, Timmy, I want those shelves cleaned down properly this time, or I’ll have words to say to you tomorrow. Ta-ra, night-night!”
Belle swept out of the shop and Charmain swept past her into it. Charmain did have thoughts of sweeping onward into the bake house with Waif, but she knew Waif’s record with food was not good. So she deposited Waif beside the counter, gave Timmy a cold nod—And he’ll hate me for the rest of his life, she thought—and stalked on alone past the empty glass cases and the cool marble shelves and the clusters of white tables and chairs, where the citizens of High Norland were accustomed to sit for coffee and rich cakes. Waif gave a desperate whine as Charmain pushed open the bake house door, but Charmain hardened her heart and pushed the door shut behind herself.
It was busy as a hive in there, and tropically hot, and full of scents that would certainly have driven Waif mad with greed. There was the smell of new dough and dough cooking, the sweet scent of buns and tarts and waffles, overlaid with savory smells from pasties and quiches, which were all overlaid in turn by strong odors of cream and flavored icing from the large, many-layered cake that several people were decorating on the table nearest the door. Rosewater! Charmain thought, inhaling those scents. Lemon, strawberry, almonds from south Ingary, cherries, and peaches!
Mr. Baker was striding from worker to worker, instructing, encouraging, and inspecting as he went. “Jake, you have to put your back into kneading that dough,” Charmain heard him saying as she came in. And a moment later, “A light hand with that pastry, Nancy. Don’t hammer it, or it’ll be like a rock.” A moment after that, he was off down to the baking ovens at the other end, telling the young man there which oven to use. And wherever he went, he got instant attention and obedience.
Her father, Charmain knew, was a King in his bake house—more of a King than the real King in the Royal Mansion, she thought. His white hat sat on his head like a crown. It suited him too, Charmain thought. He was thin-faced and ginger-haired like she was herself, though much more freckly.
She ran him down by the stoves, where he was tasting a savory meat filling and telling the girl making it that there was too much spice in it.
“It tastes good, though!” the girl protested.
“Maybe,” said Mr. Baker, “but there’s a world of difference between a good taste and a perfect one, Lorna. You cut along and help them with the cake, or they’ll be at it all night, and I’ll have a go rescuing this filling.” He took the saucepan off the flames as Lorna hurried off, looking mightily relieved. He turned round with it and saw Charmain. “Hallo, sweetheart! I wasn’t expecting you!” A slight doubt came over him. “Did your mother send you?”