Granny Trudy vs the wedding cake

The morning found Hungerford skipping through the streets towards the inn. What a night … While Rosy hadn’t quite recovered from the shock about his age, she’d let him walk her to her rented room in the halfling quarter. And then … she’d given him a kiss right there on his right cheek, and he’d never wash his face again. Not even if Trudy and Mole held him down with force.

His nose picked up the sweet scent of sugar and vanilla; some bakery must have just opened, which meant the other shops would be opening too. He couldn’t wait to get a hold of paper and ink. Was it too soon to write to her? Maybe. He’d wait until they were on the road. Was that too soon? He wouldn’t have anything interesting to write her, well, except that three elders had wriggled eyebrows at him in a most annoying way. Was it too forward to tell her that he missed her already, and was it too early to pick a honeymoon destination and names for the children?

Hungerford was so lost in a pastel world of youthful romance, he never noticed the two men carrying the large tray until he ran into it headfirst.

Something large and sweet-smelling splatted on the ground and Munck found himself immediately at the receiving end of murderous stares.

His collar was grabbed with force and two pairs of nostrils came closer as their owners yelled: “You ruined the wedding cake!”

Hungerford stuttered apologies.

“Don’t you know how long this took to make, and Mr Havinsneer having gone out of town this morning …”

“Mr what?” the wizard was trying to get a hold of his situation, but so far, his current destiny seemed firmly in the Not Great category.

“Havinsneer the baker! Now who’s going to make a new cake? The boss’ll have our heads!” An enormous fist was raised.

Hungerford hung in his robes and the only sensible solutions seemed to slip out of them, but the man tightened his grip on the collar. “Please, I can’t use magic against unarmed civilians, and I have no measurable upper body strength!”

At that moment, someone tapped the man on the shoulder and when he turned, he was faced with three stern elderly faces. “And what, I should like to know,” the thin old woman was saying while pulling a rolling pin out of her apron, “are you doing with my Ford?”

Trudy had appeared, and behind her the other two squinted angrily. They must have come out to look for Hungerford when he hadn’t returned by morning. Dolly began to roll up her sleeves.

“Your grandson ruined the wedding cake for the boss’s daughter! Look at this!”

“Was an accident!”

Trudy craned around and took in the mess, the artistic smear of buttercream on cobblestone, the splattered sugar roses; at the edges of the crime scene, the remnants of the cake layers were attracting pigeons. “Ford, really now, look how beautiful it was … any chance for a repair spell?”

“For a cake?”

“No, for a four-axle hay cart. Of course for the cake!”

“That doesn’t work!”

“Only one way to settle thi…”

The man found his fist wrapped up in Mole’s. The bearded adventurer smiled down on him and squeezed just enough to make the man’s voice go up an octave.

“Mole, quit it,” Trudy ordered. “I heard you yell that the baker is out of town?”

“Yes, he left to visit his mother not an hour ago and won’t be back before …”

“If I bake it anew, will you let the boy off the hook?”

“The wedding’s in an hour!”

“Then we had better get started, hadn’t we?”

The former cake carriers considered their options, which consisted mostly of looking Mole up and down. “Fine.”

Hungerford, still dragged by the robes, and the three elders were led through a nearby gate into the court of a mansion; leave it to Hungerford to ruin the cake of an important local family. A man pointed to a door.

“Kitchen’s down there.”

“What was the flavour?”

“Was a two-tier, vanilla for the bride, chocolate for the groom.”

“Ey, don’t forget the strawberries on top,” the second man said. “The half chocolate-covered ones, they’s the most intimate sweet.”

Trudy nodded. “Kindly release the boy now. Mole, keep an eye on him.”

“Can you bake a cake in one hour?” Hungerford asked unsurely.

“Ha! In one hour, I can bake a cake, get a pedicure, make love, and knit you a sweater. And all without getting up from the kitchen table. Now get out of my kitchen, the maestro’s approaching the podium!”

Trudy slammed the door on them. She turned slowly to take in the splendour. Those old houses had hosted generations of family members and their guests; they always had everything. Big fireplace with enough room to roast a pig; gigantic modern range that had been added recently; an oven big enough to rid yourself of a peckish witch. Trudy danced through the cavernous kitchen in a delighted trance as she inspected cabinets and baskets. Flour enough to explode a whole granary, sugar by the pound and already finely sieved, strawberries by the bushel, chocolate slabs bigger than an infant. These folks knew how to live.

“Um,” said someone behind her.

Trudy spun around. The someone was rather small and mousy, wrapped in an apron too big for her and a cap that kept sliding over her eyes.

“Who are you?” Trudy asked suspiciously.

The suspicious glare was returned immediately over folded arms. “I’m Sophia, I work here. You don’t.”

Trudy liked her kitchen aides to have some gumption. Overall, they were more fun to boss. “I do now, and you can call me Miss Trudy. The wedding cake got ruined and we’re going to make a new one. Are you any good at baking?”

“Ish. I’m just supposed to clean up now …”

“Are you any good at taking directions?”

“It’s why they pay me the big coin. Or medium coin, actually.”

“Then I’ll need you to measure out some very exact ingredients.”

Sofia, who wasn’t being paid enough to question random grandmothers showing up to bake big cakes, grabbed a wooden scoop and gave a mock salute.

Trudy rubbed her hands together. Oh, finally.

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“If you drop this one, I will bury you in this very well-kept garden,” Trudy said matter-of-factly when the two cake carriers arrived the promised hour later. “Now, where will you be taking it?”

“They’s set up over at the temple,” said the first man, mesmerised by the white frosting designs over three tiers. The smell from the kitchen alone had made him salivate for the past hour, and the finished result looked good enough to break a contract over, kneecaps be damned.

“Ey, we need another guy to get this thing over. It’s bigger’n the old one,” said the second, eying the strawberries and the chocolate swirls stuck in delicate peaks of whipped cream. How big was the chance that the old biddy noticed one of them going missing? He looked at Trudy sideways and decided it was too big a risk.

“Ey, what’s the hold-up?” A third man had appeared. He looked the elders up and down, then his colleagues. “You fellas invite your grandparents? Is cute. Now where’s the damned cake? They started serving more douves ‘n stuff, they want the cake soon.”

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“Who are you?” Trudy asked, protectively stepping in front of her precious cake.

“Name’s Vinny. The boss sends me. You the baker’s mommy?”

“No, I’m the baker. Now, Mr Vinny, you’ll kindly help these gentlemen carry the cake over without an accident. And if even one chocolate-covered strawberry goes missing, I’ll show you how to take a man’s temperature with a rolling pin.”

“Damn, she one of the boss’s old crew or somethin’?” Vinny stage-whispered to his colleagues.

All three wilted under the baker’s stare. “I better come with to see nothing happens. Sofia, with me. Bring the emergency frosting!”

“Yes, chef!” Sofia, who was having the time of her life seeing the boss’s goons being bossed for once, grabbed a basket and hastily filled it with supplies for accident- or snack-related incidents.

“And bring the samples, we can use them as party favours. Well, lads, lead on. Carefully. Slowly. No, slower. And if I so much as see the notion of smashing someone’s face in this cake …”

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Between Trudy’s instructions and less than subtle threats, the cake arrived safely at the table. Or at least Trudy hoped so, because they had barely arrived, when Vinny was approached by another individual of the goonish persuasion and received a whispered message, after which he complemented the five of them into a dark room towards the back of the festivity hall.

“I don’t like this,” Sofia mumbled.

The room, shadowed by the drawn blinds, contained long-suffering potted plants as well as a big desk and someone behind it who smoked profusely.

“So,” he was saying, “you come here …”

“Can someone turn on a light in here?” Trudy interrupted. “Can hardly see my hand in front of my face.”

In the confused silence that followed, someone lit the petroleum lamp on the desk to reveal a middle-aged gentleman. Between well-oiled hair and an impeccable suit hung a face whose features appeared to be dragged down by a constant private force of gravity. It looked at them displeased through a cloud of cigar smoke. “You come to me on the day that my daughter is to be married … and you ruin her cake.”

Munck exchanged uneasy looks with Sofia. He heard Mole’s knuckles crack subtly.

“Which is why I made a bigger and better one,” Trudy near hissed at him. “Sofia, don’t stand there like a statue on a pillar, give the man one of the samples!”

Sofia approached, her basket rattling in her trembling hands.

Observantly, like someone postponing the delivery of a judgement that had already been made, the boss took a bite from the tiny square cake.

Mole downed another mug and exhaled with a pronounced aaaah. “How very nice of Mr Piano to invite us to the party,” he said.

“The name is Pavone, Mole,” Hungerford sighed. “As I’ve repeated eight times now. I’m only glad he didn’t have me drawn and quartered.”

Trudy waved that away. “He wouldn’t have done that, Ford, he’s a very sensible man.”

“Made you sleep with the fishes, maybe,” Dolly added. “What? It’s what the Pavones used to be famous for.”

“Why?” Mole asked.

“Because they ran the local aquarium, Mole,” Dolly sighed and went to get another cup of strong spirits.

The wedding party was a rousing success. Sofia seemed to be enjoying herself particularly, and according to Vinny was due for a raise.

Trudy sipped at her wine glass, overlooking the scene. After the day’s baking, her punching hand was hurting a little again. At least none of her children were here to lecture her. “It’s a nicely planned wedding, this. My Joakim, may he rest in peace until I get there, always enjoyed weddings. Weddings and funerals, that was it for him in the good time department.”

“Sounds … nice?” Hungerford tried, then cleared his throat. “Miss Trudy, uh … I want to thank you for saving my neck again.”

“Finally. Took you long enough. Letting an old woman work herself to the bone …”

“I’m sorry …”

“Eh, it’s fine. I’ve missed baking these last few weeks anyway. And I made us enough pudding tarts for the rest of our way.”

“How do you do all that in an hour? Is that one of your mystic sky powers?”

“I had a bit of help.”

Dolly returned to the table, swaying like a ship and spilling half the drinks on the tray she was carrying. “Some party. By the way, Hungry Disaster Boy, how was your date?”

Hungerford’s face immediately took the colour of the contents of Trudy’s glass. “Nice, yes, very nice, oh, look at the time …”

Mole leaned forward and grabbed the mug the wizard was trying to hide behind. “Come now, boy, spill!”

“Well… we met at the hill …”

“Yes?”

“And we looked at the stars…”

“Yes?”

“And she was feeling cold, so I gave her my robes …”

“I always used that trick when I was young,” Trudy whispered appreciatively.

“And then?”

“And …” He decided not to mention the awkward age conversation, in the end, everything had come up Hungerford. “And we had a splendid evening finding constellations and talking.”

“And?”

“And then I walked her home and …”

“Yes?”

Munck gestured for them to come closer and lowered his voice. “She gave me a kiss on the cheek!”

The smiles stayed on the elderly faces but the rest spoke disappointment. “Oh …”

“What?”

“No, that’s good,” Trudy said with an unusual kindly high pitch in her voice.

“Sounds like a great evening,” Mole nodded.

“Romantic and such,” Dolly added, then drowned out her snort by drinking deeply from her beer mug.

Hungerford’s shoulders sagged. “You all sound disappointed.”

“No, no …”

“It can be good to take things slow. I think.”

Munck stalked off towards the buffet table and didn’t speak with them for the rest of the day.

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“Are you still not packed up?” The next morning, the council of elders had finally consented to moving on. Hungerford tapped his foot at them as breakfast was coming to an end.

“I was too exhausted yesterday, warden,” Trudy snapped. She’d had to elbow Dolly’s snoring out of her several times last night. Count to that the struggles of the previous day, and she was feeling like a two-day nap. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a spring chicken, and I had to bake an entire cake!”

“You said you enjoyed that!”

“Oh, of course, I’m over seventy years old, I had plenty of opportunities to sit down and rest in my lifetime, not like I need any more…”

“Alright, alright!” Hungerford took a deep breath. Despite being educated by a wizard a hundred years his senior, he had never become immune to elderly guilt tricks. “Well, I’m going to say goodbye to Rosy, and I expect all of you to be ready when I come back!”

“Touchy,” Trudy commented as Munck stormed off muttering to himself about time management and not being a childminder.

“Not much, by the description of his date,” Dolly grinned.

They were on the wagon waiting when Munck returned an hour later. Dolly took one look at him and giggled as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Are you all packed up? Forgot nothing? Mole, did you check under the bed?”

“Sure did,” Mole said, trying to hide a grin under his beard.

“Did one of you think to bring food and water?”

“Got all we need. Seems so did you,” Dolly bit her sleeve.

“Good.” Hungerford fanned himself. “Boy, it’s hot today.”

“Are you sure that’s the weather?” Trudy asked innocently and Mole and Dolly lost it. Hungerford wheeled on them. “What’s so funny?”

“Hold still, Ford.” Trudy took out her handkerchief and spit on it. “You got lip rouge all over your neck.”

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“Finally on the outskirts,” Hungerford announced as they waited in the long line at the gate to Burgwall. Security measures had picked up in these parts; every wagon was being searched by the guards on duty. “One more day and we’ll be at the capital. How about we just keep driv…”

“No,” the chorus behind him decided.

“We should have more food for the way,” said Mole, who ate like a horse. Actually, compared to the old mare pulling their cart, more than a horse. “Let’s see what the market has to offer. If we ever get through that gate. Ha, that reminds me of how we got stuck at customs in the realm of the Light Elves, real sticklers they are, make you declare everything, by the time our rogue had all his weapons on the table it was getting on lunchtime, and Pinky the flamingo had to be seen by a vet first …”

Hungerford quickly lost the trio at the marketplace and hoped they wouldn’t spend all their last coin on nonsensical things, or they’d have to look for town board jobs again. Now that they were so close to the capital, he’d hate for something to go wrong. To think, in just a day they could be at the castle, the three of them would … do whatever it was, the prophecy wasn’t exceedingly clear on the ritual part, but surely some sort of instinct would kick in with the three chosen ones. Hungerford had been puzzling for a while how the new Golden Age would pan out, the prophecy wasn’t detailing that either. Maybe there’d be no more winters. Perhaps the economy would stabilise without collapsing every five years. It was entirely possibly that it just meant a few decades of good harvests and overall peace, which was nothing to sneeze at. Come to think of it, how long did Golden Ages last, in general?

While he was pondering, someone ran into him. Two someones, both of a masked and hooded persuasion. Something was pressed into Hungerford’s hands.

“Hold this for us, son.”

“What? Who are you? What is this?”

But before he could examine the rough jute sack that had been thrust on him, someone else shouted, “Hold the thief!”

Several city watchmen descended on him at once and Hungerford got a chance to find out just how clean the cobblestones were as his face was pressed on them.

“That’s all the money that was missing,” he heard someone say, and then the gravelly voice of Mole boomed, “Hold up!”

“Stand back, citizen!”

“Ford, what did you do now?” he heard Trudy.

“I don’t know! Someone just handed me a bag and …”

“Not even your granny would believe that,” a watchman said.

“You’ve got the wrong guy!” Trudy insisted.

Hungerford was lifted into the vertical world by means of a very tight and unforgiving grip.

“I’ll say. Our Munck’s a wizard, not a thief,” Mole followed as Hungerford’s thin frame was tossed into the watchmen’s coach.

“Splendid, he can summon himself a lawyer,” the watchman quipped and let the door slam behind Munck.

“Well, when is his court date?” Trudy demanded.

“Next assizes are in August, come back then.”

“That’s a bit long,” Mole said as the coach drove off.

“Do you believe this?” Trudy said to no one in particular as Dolly arrived.

“Did I miss something?” she asked. She had with her a basket and for some reason a guitar.

“Someone framed Munck,” Mole explained. “They arrested him!”

“That’s not ideal. But look, I got a lightly used guitar.”

“Munck is being imprisoned and you go out to buy a musical instrument?”

“Might cheer him up. That boy does attract trouble.”

Trudy waved them along impatiently. “Let’s just find out where he is.”

Understandably unsatisfied with the local justice system, this left the elders to take the law into their own liver-spotted hands.

“Obviously we’ll have to break him out of prison somehow,” Trudy shrugged. “Let’s see … Mole, are you any good at breaking through a solid wall?”

“Not as such, no.”

“We could dress you up as a prison guard if we find a uniform big enough. Dolly can distract the other guards.”

“I could just pick the lock,” Dolly said. “But I can’t do that and distract the guards.” She eyed Trudy. “If you let your hair down and unlace your dress a little …”

“I’ll look like a witch, and they’ll put me away.”

“Well, that only leaves Mole.”

Mole considered this. “I don’t look too shabby in an off-the-shoulder dress, if I do say so myself …”

Trudy snapped her fingers and Mole out of his vision. “Oh! Wait. They do have lady wardens these days. I may have an idea.”