The sound of an unrelentingly busy lunch period filled the Bread & Berry Cafe as customers threatened litigation over who was actually in or out of the queue for the super limited edition quadruple fluffytime deluxe pistachio bread.

To only Lize's surprise, her newest invention was proving such a resounding hit that a few of the customers jostling for a place in the growing line had jackets and coats hastily thrown over bakery uniforms. As expected, where there was success, there was also industrial espionage.

“Next please!” said Lize, bravely solo manning the counter so I could serve the tables. “Oi! Moustache man! No queue saving also means no queue jumping! Back of the line!”

Then again, I wasn't sure if I could call it bravery when it seemed like the courage came from those trying to reach her.

“Excuse me, waitress, may I place my order?”

“Oh, yes, of course. What would you like?”

I whipped out my notepad and waited for the delivery witch to complete her order.

“Hmm ...” Marissa tilted her head slightly, her eyes darting across the menu in her hands as she started second guessing her taste buds. “I suppose it'd be a bit cheeky to ask for the pistachio bread that everyone's fighting over, isn't it?”

“Regrettably, the super limited edition quadruple fluffytime deluxe pistachio bread is only available for collection at the counter.”

“I see. Are spells allowed within the premises? I know 19 non-harmful incantations which I could employ to reach the front of the queue.”

“I believe that my co-worker would view the use of magic to queue jump very poorly. The pistachio bread is reserved exclusively for customers willing to brave the many elbows to the waist required to be deemed worthy of collecting it.”

Marissa's expression took on a sombre look as she considered the cost-benefit of being elbowed for limited edition bread.

I decided to stop her before she joined the queue.

“If you'd like, I can give you a slice of the failed test prototype we have in the kitchen. It's almost the same thing.”

She perked up at once.

“Really? That sounds wonderful. And what's different about the prototype?”

“It was originally designed as a cake, not bread.”

“Oh, I see. Is it considerably worse, then?”

“The opposite, actually. It's the best thing we ever made. Velvety and smooth and overflowing with flavour. It's made with full fat buttercream, triple sweetened condensed milk and several pounds of salted pistachios per kilogram of finished product. We’re worried about injuries so toned down the final product. Interested?”

The cover model for Cosmos Magazine froze in the middle of her nod.

Then, she slowly directed her gaze at where her waistline would expand upon the mere sight of the 3 A.M. concoction we had waiting at the back.

Eventually, she pointed at the menu.

“The marmalade scone and milky tea set, please.”

“Understood. I'll be right on it.”

I pocketed my notepad again, nodded dutifully, then made my way into the kitchen at the back of the cafe. While passing the queue, I used my hip to bump a chair being used as crowd control back into place. The person who was trying to redefine what single-file meant looked sheepishly away.

To anyone outside Witschblume, it'd be difficult to imagine that just a few scant hours ago, a dragon was unsuccessfully trying to write his own downfall not far above where I currently stood.

It was a powerful testimony to the people's indomitable weirdness that few thoughts were spared towards close encounters. Those that did were left behind. Literally so. The pistachio bread would run out before the queue did.

In the kitchen, I quickly set myself to work on fulfilling all the orders I'd taken. Between juggling tea cups and the best things flour and margarine could make, I soon had several platters of joy balancing on my arms like a circus performer out to impress.

However, moments after I stopped to consider the professionalism of carrying everything out in one go, I perked my head up at a most unusual sound.

Namely, that of silence.

Carrying everything in my arms, I tiptoed to the kitchen doorway and peeked back into the cafe.

To my surprise, the queue for the counter had lessened considerably.

Why, there was only one person there.

Or more specifically, one clockwork doll.

“Hmm.”

Duchess Cadence had arrived at the cafe.

Standing in front of the counter, she was aggressively moving her jaws as she chewed on an entire loaf of the pistachio bread. She ignored the smaller slices that Lize must have deployed on a nearby plate for her.

She was no longer in her pyjamas, but wore a regal gown which matched her considerably less. I suppose that when her appearance was permanently that of a rebellious teenage girl, nothing was truer to form than what she wore to bed.

I looked around the cafe. All evidence of life had been erased. The exception was the young girl who cautiously pushed the front door ajar, only to pick up a plushie she'd evidently dropped during the rapid stampede out.

Oh, and there was also Marissa still.

“Is all that for me? Gosh, I'm afraid I'm not much of an eater, but I can certainly try to make a dent.”

I smiled in lieu of knowing what other expression to make, then set every plate on Marissa's table.

Not being a resident of Witschblume, this delivery witch was spared the on-the-spot taxes that could and were regularly levied against anyone who looked like they could afford it. If it were Duchess Cadence flying around the sky last night and not a fire breathing dragon, I had no doubt that the complete evacuation of the town's populace would have taken less than 45 seconds.

After a moment of consideration, I pulled out a chair and sat down to join Marissa.

It was going to be a slow lunch period.

“What do you think?” said Lize cheerfully, knowing she was exempt from taxes for at least a year as she came out with another loaf of pistachio bread. “It's a trial product. We basically made it up on the spot this morning. Look, see that little sad face baked into the bread? That was Elise after I told her the 5th time's the charm.”

The sound of Duchess Cadence chewing like a hungry squirrel reverberated around the freshly emptied cafe. I didn't know what to be more impressed by. The fact that clockwork dolls could eat, or how fast they could do it.

She gave an exaggerated swallow, then slapped on the type of grimace that sent fathers pining for the days when their daughter didn't think they were lame.

“The definition of mediocrity,” she declared. “Uninspired. Like toothpaste melded to a plank of wood. The flavour profile is only robust in its utter lack of inspiration. As a result, I will only demand 100,000 loaves.”

I assumed she would be paying for those loaves.

And if not, well ... we knew where the castle was.

“I'm very sorry,” replied Lize, still as cheerful as the sun itself. “But we lack the industrial capacity to bake 100,000 loaves. Plus it's only one per customer.”

The duchess frowned as she considered which legal power she would abuse to raise that limit.

However, rather than earn the ire of one of the few people in Witschblume to not view her in terror, she took the offered loaf, turned on her heel, then proceeded to march over and join Marissa and I at the only occupied table.

She scowled at the nearest empty chair.

“Do they not move on their own?” she asked.

I shook my head. We didn't have the budget for enchanted self-seating chairs.

“No. Why? Do the castle's chairs move?”

“No. I was hoping the outside world was less disappointing.”

“Sorry. It's like this everywhere.”

“Ugh.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

With a roll of her eyes, Duchess Cadence pulled out the chair. The grating sound she made as she scraped the wooden legs out shouldn't have been possible with this floor.

“Me too! Me too! I want to join in!”

Not wishing to be left behind, Lize immediately scooted out from behind the counter and took the last remaining seat at the table.

However, she hadn't even settled into her chair before I saw a deck of cards being whipped out of the same pocket where she kept her notepad.

I wondered about her sometimes.

Here was a duchess, a witch and a heroine. And yet I had a feeling that the ordinary waitress was the biggest oddball here.

***

I pushed a breakfast muffin into the centre of the table. As I did so, I took the opportunity to closely spy the expressions of those around me as well as the back of their cards. I wasn't sure if that was meant to help, but it's what the duchess did. And I was inclined to mimic her.

“Raise,” said the undefeated champion among us, shoving what remained of her pistachio cake to join the pile of betted food. “Come, witch. I dare you. There is a 50% chance I'll be unable to detect your magic should you choose to employ it.”

Marissa glanced up from her hand. She took in the duchess's taunting face, then at her cards.

“I would never cheat. Call.”

Duchess Cadence smiled triumphantly.

“And I believe you.”

Down came her cards. Straight flush. Ace high.

Everyone groaned. I sat back, unused to being so thoroughly defeated.

Sadly, unless the world was riding on it, destiny wasn't going to let me have a free ride in a casino.

“I believe that'll be all,” said Duchess Cadence as she scooped all her food up, leftovers and all. “It's been a pleasure, commoners. Should you wish to lodge a dispute against my overwhelming victory, you may do so at my castle.”

I held out my hand, stalling her with an apologetic smile.

“Excuse me, Duchess, but it's quite rare for you to venture outside. By any chance, did you only come for the pistachio bread? Or did you forget something you possibly had to do?”

She stopped, suddenly becoming very still.

I could hear the cogs in her head spinning. Literally.

“What? Of course I didn't forget. That's impossible, as you should know.”

“My apologies, Duchess.”

“Accepted. But do not make that mistake again.”

Duchess Cadence straightened her posture. All 5 feet and 2 inches of her imposing figure looked down at us as she hugged her bundle of pastry and bread winnings to her chest.

“I'm here to seek an explanation for why half the artifacts kept in the castle's vaults are now keeping me from my midday nap. They are warning incessantly about the sudden appearance of the Next Great Evil. As Lady Uxna has now gone on immediate stress related leave, it falls on me to see out my personal responsibilities. Also, I could smell the pistachio bread from my window.”

I nodded in understanding.

Lize's golden touch had that effect on pretty much everything she baked. When her golden touch was combined with something as wonderful as pistachios, it was a given that the duchess would be able to inhale the aroma from even her boarded up windows.

“Oh, the artifacts going off is probably my fault. I officially announced Tutu as the Next Great Evil.”

Duchess Cadence slightly creased her brow.

“Who is Tutu?”

“A cat with limited flight capabilities. He lives in this cafe.”

“I see. And why would you announce a cat as the Next Great Evil?”

“It was to prevent the dragon from becoming the Next Great Evil, which I perceived to be the larger danger.”

“Dragon? What dragon?”

“The dragon that was shooting fireballs at the walls of your castle last night.”

Duchess Cadence creased her brows by a few extra degrees, then looked thoughtfully towards the corner of the room.

“Oh. I thought that was merely a peasant revolt. A dragon, you say?”

“Yes, Duchess. Did your guards not inform you?”

“Of course not. They have strict instructions not to tell me anything. I do not pay my guards to inform me of problems. I pay them to handle it.”

The duchess peered closely at me. I could see her gaze drawn towards the shadows beneath my eyes.

“... Did they handle it?” she asked, her voice suspicious.

I thought about the guards, their families, and their need to provide an income to said families.

“They were very gallant. Many died fighting the dragon's flames.”

“Oh? Well, that's only to be expected. I'll be sure to mark their passing by naming a few infrastructure projects after them. May as well maximise the economics of their deaths.”

“Very wise, Duchess.”

“Indeed, I am wise. And yet even in my infinite wisdom I do not see why you would name your house cat as the Next Great Evil. You are aware that this is not inconsequential, I take it?”

I raised an eyebrow.

True, he was officially the Next Great Evil, certificate and all, but there was only so much that the spine of a story could turn on itself to raise him into anything more foreboding than a destroyer of curtains.

“Tutu is more whiskers than claws. Even if he were inclined to cover the world in an eternal darkness, his wings don't seem to show any signs of development. I'm afraid that the only way Tutu could spread his shadow is if he became tubbier.”

For some reason, Lize chose this time to nod enthusiastically. She held up her fist in resolution.

“I'll help with that! We gave him a lot of treats last night, so he's already on the right path. If we give him an extra fillet of sardines a day, he'll definitely become big enough to stop being bullied by the other cats.”

“No, wait, we don't actually want him to become bigger.”

“Why not? If he's the Next Great Evil, shouldn't we do all we can to support him? It's great he's doing something now. I thought he was going to nap in our mixing bowls all his life.”

I parted my lips, ready to explain all the reasons why encouraging the growth of evil wasn't good life advice. But then, Lize had a point. Tutu was a bit too docile. A bit of direction in his life wouldn't be a bad thing. He might even secure a lady friend.

An unthinkable prospect even a day ago. But what was the point of being evil, if getting to be mysteriously interesting wasn’t part of the deal?

“Well, as long as Tutu doesn't have a wildly accelerated growth spurt or starts clawing at the wooden furniture, it's my belief that having him as the Next Great Evil is actually the safest thing to do. As long as he fills the role, then that will prevent another from taking up the position.”

Duchess Cadence looked quietly at me.

A rare thing. She didn't even notice the triple cheese twist slowly falling from the bakery pile in her arms.

I patiently waited for her opinion. It was important that I heard it. Despite her appearance, she was the oldest figure I knew. And although the sword I carried imbued glimpses of memories and the wisdom of those before me, it was nothing to the actual memories and wisdom that a girl with a clockwork memory held.

Instead, she did something I didn't expect.

She laughed.

“How very novel … to name a cat the Next Great Evil,” she said through a rapturous smile. “Truly, you do find ways to amuse me, Elise. Far more than the dull farm boys that usually take up that woeful sword. Indeed, how will the thread spin, with you so thoroughly disregarding the approved narrative. Surely, a direct touch is required to balance the scales?”

The duchess beamed, less like an amused aristocrat and more like an intrigued child.

If those words weren't enough to warn me of dangers ahead, then the dramatic return of the blue petals was all the signalling I required.

Pretty, mysterious, and still better not to inhale. They drifted lazily past the windows and covered the street outside, melting once again like errant snowflakes.

“Oh my,” said Marissa, immediately noticing anything that spelled peril in the sky. “Our unusual phenomenon returns.”

“Any magic, still?” I queried.

“Not a whiff, or I would have noticed it before it was on your doorstep. As would you, I think.”

I nodded, then proceeded to do exactly the same thing I'd done the last time the sky started raining blue stuff.

Assume the best, until the worst.

“Hm?” The duchess lazily tilted her head towards the windows, then immediately returned to eyeing those with far less accumulated knowledge than her. “Ah, I see. So this is what the incessant commotion was about.”

“Do you know what these petals are, duchess?” I asked.

“I do, and it's sadly nothing that can melt the faces of trolls who hound me for my riches. This is precisely why I board up my windows. As if the cries of destituteness from the poor wasn't enough, I'm also burdened by the hapless screams of my own guards and servants who insist I witness the latest overblown calamity. No, I will not look outside my window. Because then I must explain that the walls are warded against dragonfire, that the heroine will solve any genuine emergency and that what you refer to as an unusual phenomenon is the lacrimal fluid excreted from the nasolacrimal ducts of any creature hailing from the genus Draconis Hyreavaneus.”

Both Lize and I looked at Marissa to be our response representative. She went to witch school. And as everyone knows, that meant learning weird words.

Seeing that Duchess Cadence was evidently not leaving, Marissa played for time by clicking her fingers. All the cards splayed on the table gathered in one pile, before shuffling themselves into a neatly aligned stack.

Duchess Cadence took the bait. An opportunity to one-up a witch was always much more fun than any book she could read.

“... Dragon tears?” said Marissa after a moment’s thought.

“Dragon tears,” replied the duchess, nodding with an appreciation that was missing when she turned her attention on me. “Despite being a dragonslayer, I see you don't know everything there is to know about dragons, do you?”

“I never claimed that was the case, Duchess. I wasn't aware that dragons had tear ducts. Or that they could function with the heat generated by their natural state.”

“Clearly, otherwise you'd have stilled the hysteria I was subjected to from my retainers. Because of that, I had to waste precious seconds reinforcing the muffling spell on my door before I soundly went to sleep.”

Lize looked between us with a puzzled expression.

“Sooo … a dragon is crying? Why?”

Duchess Cadence shrugged. The triple cheese twist that was hanging on for dear life finally left and found a new home in her lap.

“Why does anyone not as infallible as me cry? That is for everyone else to answer, not me.”

I peered outside the window, judging the beauty of the petals that were drifting in greater intensity than before.

I never knew that dragons could cry. But I suppose it made sense. For all their long lives, they were still mortal. And that meant they were also human, if not in the tiny, squishy, bodily sense, then certainly as far as sentiments were concerned.

Whether it was rage or grief, they wore their emotions on their scaled sleeves like the rest of us.

And that also included joy. And relief.

Yesterday, a dragon was due to be killed.

Today, a dragon was spared, sent to the skies by the heavily interpreted orders of a flying cat.

That was definitely worth a few tears.

“I always knew Ralgoz was a softy,” I said, smiling as I pictured his terrifying form doing a lap of gratitude above us. “Duchess, would you like to play another game? We'll bake double if you win.”

Duchess Cadence only spent two seconds pretending to think about it. She leaned forwards and dumped all her spoils of victory back to be used as bets.

“Very well, heroine. Are you prepared for the consequences of your defeat?”

I nodded and said nothing.

After all, there was only one way to guarantee victory–and that was by letting everyone else have the last gloating word.

My job today was complete.

Now I had to wait for tomorrow.

And then, I could do everything again.