Hepfin’s Cradle was full the next evening. Or as full as the inn allowed. All the seats were taken. Quentin even saw some new faces coming and going. He ran around the inn, carrying bowls, spoons, jugs of ale, milk, and mugs. He tended to the fireplace. He made sure no one was thirsty. He took coins and passed clean towels and wash basins. He handed out cookies. From the corner of his eye, he saw Theo by the passage entrance, arms crossed, looking at the scene.

The apothecary apprentice, Finn, was talking with a pretty maiden in the table nearest the fireplace. Her hands touched his arms more than once. He looked shy, but the maiden was patient enough.

Theo approached Quentin at the bar. “Give me a mug of ale and some hot water.” Quentin did so and he watched the lad sprinkle a powder of something dark green into the hot water. Then he added ale. “Beer,” Theo said to him, letting Quentin smell it.

“It smells kind of like bread,” Quentin said.

“It emboldens the spirit temporarily. But too much could be a vice. I should know. I’ve seen people replace this with food. But a mug of beer would do the trick for that fella righ there. Besides, I think this is my way of apologizing.”

He looked at Quentin for permission. Quentin nodded. Theo brought the mug of beer to Finn’s table. He knew that this was new to the thief. He was used to hiding and sneaking. Now he was choosing to be under the candlelights and the quick gazes of those seated. He brought it to Finn and the lass with a warm smile.

Finn looked at it and whipped around for Quentin. “Cheers, friend,”

Theo returned to Quentin’s side and wordlessly picked up a knife and started dicing the parsnips. He helped Quentin clean; stepping around the guests and placing the wooden bowls under running water. He had stared at the faucet and shrugged. He grabbed the ladle hanging at a hook on the wall and stirred the pot in the fireplace. He grabbed their coins and placed them at the counter for Quentin to count. Ophelia came to the fireplace, trying to get used to teleportation of the inn, and focused instead on its liveliness. She smiled at the sight of the guests.

The villagers were showing off their purchases and wares. An exchange of shiny copper coins led Quentin to believe that there was a transaction of goods happening across one table. Quentin thanked him as they took turns feeding his guests. Theo watched the cookies bake.

When all had gone, Ophelia helped Theo and Quentin wipe the surfaces of the tables and arrange the chairs. Finn did not stay inside the inn, preferring the company of the lass he was talking to. Quentin briefly thought if there was a room for couples here. He shrugged and led Ophelia to the children with Theo. The latter came back and placed several packets at the bar. He opened them. Quentin saw a myriad of colors that were either bright or dull. There were also light-brown grains that Theo showed in one pouch.

“Yes, I stole these. Not from the red soldiers. From… someone else. I know it isn’t ideal that I’m doing this, but this is the way I know how to repay you. By stealing from those screwing all of us over. I’m just a thief from the lowest alleys of Brikkenbale. This is the only way I know how to fight back.”

Theo poured the light-brown grains onto the palm of his hand. “Seeing as how people aren’t drinking beer here, I guess you don’t know what this is.” He shook them again in his hand. “It’s malt. You mix it with ale and a little bit of yeast to make beer.” he smiled slyly. “I find this effective when drawing out information from someone.”

Quentin eyed the barley and malt and considered it. He didn’t want Hepfin’s Cradle to be a palace of excess vice, but he supposed one to five beers was all right per night. As Theo returned upstairs, Quentin’s kitchen keys glowed and led a trail to another side of the cupboards. He opened it to see a large brass cauldron. He laid it out on the floor, poured water on it, and set it on top of the fireplace after replacing the pot with the stew. He sprinkled a bit of yeast and dropped the malted grains when the water began to boil. Theo returned and smiled as he smelled the air.

“You know,” he said, walking towards Quentin near the fireplace. “I also missed the taste of mead. Got a sweet tooth, you see. Most of my travels in the upper tier is to snatch up some muffins with currants and go with my favorite… my favorite…”

Quentin turned his attention from brewing the beer to look at Theo. The thief’s lips were moving, looking stumped. His brows knit together. “Has it been that long since I’ve tasted it…? I can’t remember the name.”

Quentin knew where this was going. It was just like with Ophelia. “Describe it for me.”

Theo still looked as if he was trying to find the name on his tongue. “It’s… like a soft fluffy circle, and you cut it with a knife. It has raspberries and… lemon. I remember collecting them in the wild bushes when we were allowed to roam free outside the kingdom walls.” He tapped his chin, concentrating. “It’s made with buttercream, I think. It’s slathered with this white, fluffy thing. It’s an expensive cake, I tell ya. But the dandies upstairs have it every day with their fancy teas…” He looked at the ceiling, annoyed. “What is it called?” Theo shook his head in disbelief. He made a sound of frustration.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Ophelia came downstairs, already grabbing a cookie off the counter. She looked at the bubbling mixture. “Huh. If we had honey, we could make mead.” To Theo, she said, “Your friends are fine. They’d like to see you.”

Quentin waited for the brew to cool before he opened the top of an empty barrel and poured the beer, one tankard at a time.

___

They all slept in one room, Theo and his friends. When Quentin woke at around early sunset, there was a note on top of his counter. He picked the scrap of parchment and noticed how neat Theo’s handwriting was before he read the message. It simply told him that he’d be back later. Quentin checked the children upstairs and heard the giggles and squeals before he entered. He knocked and allowed them a few moments to prepare before he pushed the door open. The siblings were looking at him with wide eyes, trying to cover the mess they made on the bed. He tried not to laugh when some of the feathers from the pillows were still falling, one landing on the little girl’s hair. They were undoubtedly pillow fighting and jumping on the bed. He nodded at them, checked to see that Theo fed them their porridge, and closed the door behind him, muttering, “Carry on.”

Theo came not long after, immediately walking up towards the counter behind the bar and producing the items he stole from his many pockets. His fingers were red and sticky and Quentin thought for a moment that he was injured or injured someone. But he realized that they were faded and smelled sweet. Quentin observed all the things that were laid out: they were the same ingredients he mentioned last night.

“I couldn’t get it out of my head. I know what it’s supposed to look like, but it bothers me why I couldn’t remember the name. It’s so stupid, but… could I possibly make a mess here?” Theo indicated Quentin’s counter.

Quentin was already thinking of how Ophelia baked the cake. He took the scrolls of recipes from the tiny pull-out shelf on the pantry and was already consulting it when the town crier announced that the night market festival had been extended for another three nights. The richer folks outside were looking at each other and gripping each other’s arms excitedly.

Theo scoffed at them. “You know there’s a nice plaza and up in Brewlithe? And that they have their own night market festival once a month. They dress up with masks and silly long dresses and raise these little cards when they’re interested in buying an artifact or treasure. I thought that it was unfair that the dandies upstairs could spend all their wealth here while we couldn’t even go up to check the wealthier grounds. Then again, we have no money to spend on anything, anyway, thieves and beggars that we are. We’re just eyesores to them.”

Quentin did not say anything, save for, “My counter is yours.”

“I wasn’t able to get sugar. And I didn’t want to steal from the dairymaid.”

“I still have plenty.” Quentin ducked down and grabbed the remaining sticks of butter and the half-empty jar of sugar from the shelves.

“Hand me a sharp knife. Mine still has dried specks of blood sticking on it.” Theo said. He skinned the lemon and chopped it finely on the counter. It almost looked like coarse dust.

As he did that, Quentin smeared butter and sprinkled a little flour on a large wooden bowl. Then, Theo helped him cream the butter, sugar, and lemon zest together until the mixture was light and fluffy, scraping the sides of the bowl when necessary. Quentin kept hovering his finger on the next procedure written on the brown paper. But this was a different kind of food, not sold in any of the bakeries in all the realm. Now that Quentin thought of it, even Ophelia’s cookies were not made anywhere, so she said. Even though it was almost in every bakeshop before. They had to rely on Theo’s memory and some imagination.

“I’m not sure, but I think we’re supposed to add eggs now, like how bakers make their bread.”

Quentin nodded and remembered how Ophelia and him beat in the egg yolks, one at a time. Theo was precise enough to separate the whites when he cracked the eggshells, pouring them out into another bowl. Then Quentin brought out the small bottle of vanilla and dropped a few on the yolks. Theo closes his eyes at the sweet scent.

Theo described the fluffy white sweet cloud that was slathered outside the thing they were baking. Quentin guessed what to do next. He pointed to the egg whites. “Beat that with a spoon and see what happens.”

Theo did, frustrated at Quentin when he told him to keep stirring even though his arms were getting tired. And then he marveled at the soft peaks that formed when he did so. “I now see why this is expensive,” Theo said as he stopped to punch lightly his tired arm.

“Give me that. Mix the flour and salt. Then add the dry ingredients to the butter mixture until well combined.”

Quentin whisked the egg whites until the blob of transparent liquid turned into this fluffy white cloud.

“That’s it!” Theo said. “That’s what I remember!”

Theo folded the whipped egg whites and worked it gently into the batter that was waiting on a metal bowl. He then added the berries, careful to not crush them. Then he placed the large metal bowl in the fireplace. As that baked, Theo and Quentin made the frosting next.

Theo had asked one baker from the fair how. “It’s not like a trade secret,” he said. “They creamed the butter with sugar, and then you squeeze the lemon on it. Quentin watched the pastry in the oven, ready to take it out at the first scent of burnt bread. Unlike the cookies, he had no way of checking if it was done, but he only waited moments longer from the time cookies were usually done baking. Quentin checked the cake and flopped it down gently on the counter to cool. He hadn’t seen this pastry before, but it looked and smelled great. When it was done, they slathered the cake with the creamy liquid that Theo made. Quentin saw that Theo was having fun.

“I think… I think this was it. And we have more ingredients left to make more!”

Quentin chuckled and went to grab a small wooden plate and form for Theo. The thief took a small piece and put it in his mouth. He closed his eyes and smiled. For the first time since Quentin met him, Theo looked like a young lad. Like a young child.

Theo opened his eyes. “Rimlur cake! That’s what it was. People used to grab berries from the river Rimlur and bake these into pies, then cake. This fed countless people.”