Chapter 16

Mistress Thistleberry’s Everyday Bread

In your dough bowl, put in a cup of warm water, a soup spoon of your starter yeast (see recipe four if you don’t have any, but you should plan your starter well in advance of your first baking), and slow handful by slow handful, add your flour. Beat at least twenty strokes between handfuls for the best effect. About halfway through, the dough will start to get too stiff to beat with a spoon. Turn out on a kneading tray, sprinkle with one teaspoon of salt and bit by bit, knead in the rest of your flour. Keep kneading until the dough is smooth. If it feels dry, poke a little well in the center of the dough ball, and add a small amount of water, and knead that in. The end product should be slightly sticky, but not sticky enough to cling to your hands. When you think you have kneaded it enough, grease a large rising pan, put the dough in the pan, flip it over so the top has a coating of grease, cover the bowl, and let rise until double.

Roll into a ball after punching it down and slice the top. The best way to bake it is in a covered iron pan in a very hot oven; a half an hour or a little more will usually be sufficient. The bread should be golden brown and when you tap on its bottom, it will sound hollow. Let it cool, then enjoy!

Recipes from the Kitchens of Comrie , edited by Mella Cowrie. Recipe by Gan Thistleberry

In Pixie Hollow, a small figure, not much larger than a thumb, got up from her aspen leaf bed, stretched, and shook her head. She had golden hair, and was dressed in a gown that looked like it was made from flower petals. As she shook, her gold curls danced around her head, and a small sprinkle of dust danced with it.

“I was wondering if you were going to sleep forever, Moxie,” a small, but definitely masculine voice said. “It’s almost noon!”

Moxie looked up. She had been sleeping in a weedy garden in front of an old neglected house. It was partially dug into a hill, and not very far from a quiet stream, surrounded by trees and shrubs. One of the front shutters was hanging loose, but the windows were intact. The garden itself was filled with young shoots of wild lettuce and lamb’s quarters and daisies and pepperweed, which made it perfect as far as the pixies were concerned. Moxie tore a bit of lamb’s quarter leaf off and floated up to the pixie who was talking to her, sitting on the windowsill.

“You know I need my beauty sleep, Arne. Otherwise, you wouldn’t like me nearly so well,” she said, leaning her head on his shoulder.

He sighed.

She jerked up and gave him a shove. “What’s that sigh supposed to mean? You’re thinking of running off with that Acorn down at Redrock again?”

Before he could answer, another pixie looked down from the roof, another male. He had made a bright blue cap out of a scrap of fabric he had found somewhere, and wore fine snakeskin breeches and a doublet of goosedown.

“You’re in a mood today, aren’t you?” he said, leaning so far over he tumbled down, but being a pixie, he caught himself in mid-air, gossamer wings holding him up.

“Something’s in the air,” Arne said. “Can’t you smell it?”

“I can smell you,” Moxie said. “You need to go to the stream and take a bath. Phew!” She gave him another, smaller shove, still irritated, and floated down to the ground.

“I don’t smell anything weird,” the other male pixie said. “Leaf mold, rabbit pellets, the last of that skunk who went through here last month, wildflowers, and willow.”

“There’s something else, Seamus,” he said.

“It doesn’t smell like breakfast, does it?” another pixie asked, landing near Moxie. “I wish we had some bread. If that stupid Tree Shepherd didn’t scare off everybody in the forest!,” the newcomer said. “I remember when they were lots of travelers. They were always dropping bread.”

“He’s been here longer than you, Bu,” Moxie said. “Last time we got any bread is because he scared a whole group of bigs at breakfast.”

“They sure ran fast,” Bu said, nodding. “That mud he throws. Thom Green got caught in it once. He stank forever.”

“Is that why he went to Red Rock? I hear the spring there is very good.” Yet another three pixies joined the group.

“He didn’t go to Red Rock, Dahlia,” Moxie said.

“I saw him there,” said Rufus Redcap, standing next to Dahlia. “Big as life.”

“How?” asked Seamus. “You haven’t been away from the old house since forever!”

“Then it was before forever,” Rufus said, standing up to Seamus. “I went there just last week, and found this feather in my cap.”

“That sparrow-down?” Gillie asked. She petted his cap. “I thought I saw that down by the stream. Yesterday, in fact.”

“You liar!” Rufus said. He pulled Gillie’s hair, and hard.

“Yieee!” she screamed. Suddenly Seamus, Moxie, Dahlia and a few other pixies surrounded Rufus. “You big meanie!” Gillie said, pointing at him. “What should we do with a meanie?”

“I know where there’s a cat,” Seamus said.

Arne jumped down between them all. “Hush! Listen!”

“What’s that sound?” Moxie asked. It rumbled, rattled, grumbled, moving closer and closer to the house. “Is it thunder?”

“Not a cloud in the sky,” Rufus said, looking up. Their argument and near fight dissolved the the novelty. Someone was singing.

“ As we go around the bend,” sang the voice, a woman’s voice,

“Let us while and wend,

the day to discover.

“As we go around the bend,

a house to fix and mend,

let’s put bread on the table.”

“Bread,” Moxie said fondly.

The rumbling grew louder, as did the singing. There was something that caught the pixies’ attention.

“As we go around the bend,

What else shall I send?

I have some pie.”

“Pie?” said Arne.

The words were more than just words being sung. There was magic in them. They could almost see what was being sung, a table piled high with good things to eat, almost taste them.

“Who is it? Who is it?” Seamus asked. “Who’s singing?”

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Gilly shot up into the air, and landed on a tree branch. “Something big,” she said. “Two huge dragons are pulling something. Every time they step sparks fly from their hooves.

“Dragons don’t have hooves,” Moxie said. “They have toes, and claws. Haven’t you ever been to Goblin Market? There’s dragons at the station there.” She drifted up to join the little pixie on the branch. “I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“Like what?” Arne asked.

“Two big animals. They are pulling something. Something green.”

Arne joined them on the branch.

The voice began singing once more.

“Around the bend

my days to mend,

welcome to pixies, too.”

“That’s...that’s a wagon, you silly twit.” Arne said. “Why are all of you acting so empty-headed? You’ve seen them on the highway. Whenever the magistrates come and guide them to Waterford. Or to Allynswood.”

“A wagon?” Moxie said. She flew up to join them. “What’s a wagon doing here? Nobody but Cullin ever comes here.”

“Ever since the old hermit left. Even he couldn’t stand that guy,” Arne said, nodding.

“I thought you said it was you,” Seamus said.

“Do I stink like mud?” Arne said.

“Don’t ask,” Gilly said.

A shadow flew across the sky. Seamus looked up. “There’s that nosy bird.”

“What’s he doing here? Moxie said, perturbed. “This is our excitement, not his.”

“He’s always got to stick his beak in,” Seamus said in agreement.

Morvran landed on a different branch.

“So, someone’s coming to the old hollow,” the bird cawed. “I just wanted to see the fun.”

“What fun?” Arne said.

“When she gets here, and finds out that its infested with pixies.”

“But...but...but….” Gillie said.

“She promised us bread,” Moxie said.

“And pie,” Arne added.

“And that’s enough to let her stay?” Morvran said.

“Yes!” they all said in unison.

“She welcomed us!” Moxie said. “She said ‘Pixies welcome!’ She knows we’re here!”

“This I have to tell the Tree Shepherd.” Morvran let out a loud, raucous caw and flew off.

“I don’t think he believed you,” Mistress Gan said, watching the raven fly off after pulling her wagon into the clearing. Somehow, a talking raven didn’t surprise her at all.

Moxie flew up to the woman before she could start to get out. “Do you like pixies?”

“Do you like pie?” Gan asked, smiling warmly at the little sprite dancing in front of her nose.

“Yes,” The pixies sitting on the branch answered in unison. They lifted up as a group and circled Gan’s head. “You really have pie?”

“We love food,” Seamus said.

“And bread,” Moxie mentioned.

“Then,” she said. “I’ll think we’ll get along fine. Today, I have plenty of bread and pie.”

And with that, among cheers from her new neighbors, she got out of the cart, walked over to the door of the old house, and let herself in.

The door squeaked open as she entered, but at least it opened.

“Nobody’s lived here since the Old Hermit ran off,” Moxie said. “He didn’t like pixies very much.”

“I see,” said Gan. She took her hat off and took a little mirror out of it. Quickly, she breathed on it, and it began to glow with arcane symbols. “Nobody lived here except for a busy family of mice, a sparrow or three, six generations of squirrels, and at least a dozen pixies,” she said.

“Twenty three,” Arne said proudly. “It’s not everybody that can keep that many pixies together.”

“Oh,” Gan said, lifting an eyebrow. She was impressed. “So you’re the leader?”

“He thinks he is,” Moxie said, crossing her arms. “But he’s just the biggest.”

“Biggest bully,” Seamus added.

Arne gave Seamus a quick shove as if to prove his point.

“Hmm.” But the old mistress of practical magic filed that fact away. “Anybody that could keep two dozen or so pixies in one place had some management skills. Noteworthy! Well if we want pie, first, I have to find a place for the cows and goats.”

“There’s a barn,” Rosebud said. “I sleep there sometimes.”

“Good, good,” Gan said.

“There’s a field next to it, too,” Arne said. “I don’t go there too often. Foxes and hawks, you know.”

The big woman nodded. “I’ll just leave the the door open while I take care of that. It could use an airing out.”

“The old hermit, he didn’t wash too often,” Moxie said.

The cows and goats attended to, Gan walked back into the house, and looked around. The back of the house was built into the hill. Furthest back was a room set up to be a storeroom. It got a little light from a tiny window that looked out into the pasture, almost blocked by weeds growing outside but was basically cool and dark. Off to one side was a bedroom that had a lovely window, a ragged looking bed with the remains of an old mattress, a peg row for clothes and a wobbly chair.

“This is my favorite room” one of the pixies said.

The bulk of the rest of the house was one room, the largest in the house. On one side was a huge fireplace, on the other side some built in cupboards. A scarred table and one chair were in the middle of the room.

“Do you like it?” Moxie asked.

“Isn’t it gorgeous?” Dahlia said. “So good against the wind!”

Gan ran her fingers over the dust on the table. “Ellie told me it would need work,” she muttered, but then, looking up at the pixies, who were circling her with hopeful anticipation, “Yes, yes, I like it fine. It’ll do quite well after we get it cleaned up. But first,” she said, pulling a clean hankie out of her pocket, “Let’s dust off the table and have some bread and pie.”

The room broke out in cascades of cheers and pixie dust.

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Grimsbeard stood on his balcony, looking out over the city below him. It was much quieter than during festival times. Most major companies did maintain an important, sometimes home office here; all the division heads kept their main offices and records in the town, as well as the adjudication offices, major and minor courts, and other government agencies. There were shops, some aimed at the people working, like eateries, supply stores, bookshops; others were important storefronts for the big merchant concerns. Clerks and shoppers and even a few tourists walked its streets as he watched. It hummed with the well-oiled feel of a good machine, not the bright chaos of the winter solstice festival. For some reason, that made him a little sad, and he sighed.

There was a polite cough behind him, and he turned around.

“You called for me, President?” The Master Investigator stepped onto the balcony as Grimsbeard gestured for him to come closer.

“Lovely day, is it not, Master Investigator? The weather’s warming up, the sky is beautiful, and people are out and about.”

“It is a pleasant day, sir,” he said, waiting patiently for Grimsbeard to get to his point.

“I keep thinking about seeing Gandaran moving like that, and what it might mean if he awakens, and he comes after everything we’ve built since he went into his deep rest.” He sighed again. “There would be no lovely days left in Willowick, nothing left but ruins. But why...why are we not finding out who or what is causing his unrest?”

“We can see it. Someone is planting clues against the transportation sector,” Master Investigator said. “Or else someone there has gone mad.”

“You’re referring to the missing no space researchers?” Grimsbeard leaned against the railing, and swished his tail against the floor. Few dragonkin grew tails any more, and his was longer than most, which gave the president extra status as being one of the most dragonlike of his people, but it didn’t make him close to a true dragon like Gandaran, and he knew it. It kicked up a line of dust as it moved.

Master Investigator kept nimbly out of its’ reach.

“You don’t think Briarwood is involved?” Grimsbeard said. “I know I’d been wishing we’d trip him up at something, but...”

“I can’t prove it one way or the other, but it would be massively stupid of him to do something like that.” Master Investigator shrugged. “Everybody would think of him first and foremost, and he is still smart enough to know that much at least.” The smaller dragonkin scratched under his chin. “But there’s definitely something going on across the Boundary Lands...a lot more smuggler activity than usual. Are they bypassing Jared Redbeard? I hear he’s turned in more than one group to the King’s Guard. Does it involve a new push from the Shadowlands?”

“There’s always smuggling,” Grimsbeard said, shrugging. “Ynys Afel turns a blind eye, we make a little profit, the Shadowlands lies a little more quiet because of it, whatever they do. And Redbeard just gets fatter.”

“Not at this level. And it’s affecting the price of dreamdust. Too much of it out and about and you know the Daoine are going to get involved. And what are the Shadowlanders getting in exchange?”

“Something they must want badly, no doubt. Dreamdust costs them a lot to make.” Grimsbeard frowned, and his tail swooshed again.

“And that would mean someone up high knows about it. Maybe pushing it.”

The president studied his claws. “And no doubt cutting us totally out of the profit loop, not that we’d let them get that much across the boundary. The trading people will not like that. ” He looked up as an idea struck him. “Do you think someone might be trying to pit division against division? Transportation against trade for a start?”

“That is something I want to look into,” Master Investigator said. “Something else came up. There was a wildcat black opal mine in the Gray Lands that was attacked by a rogue dragonkin who used Blazendraught on one of the miners. The mine was under negotiation to be bought out by a little Exploration division company called Sinter Acquisitions. I’ve had one of my best working on it, but we don’t have any real leads. But it could be another attempt to cause bad blood with another one of the Divisions. I don’t have enough information. And you know how hard it is for us to get solid intelligence there. That would be three divisions under attack.”

“Damn it. An attack on the pact itself?” Grimsbeard took a deep breath. “No wonder Gandaran moved. I’ll need to post a watch to see if he moves more.” He turned to Master Investigator. “I can watch Gandaran, but what can I do to help you learn more?”

A tiny glint touched the investigator’s eyes. “I would like to talk to the Oldest. She has information sources I cannot reach. Perhaps we could even set up a liaision between the White Isle and Sunderland until this is over.”

The president nodded. “Carefully, though. If Ynys Afel had to publicly deal with some of what we do in less noticed corners…”

“I’ll need something to offer her, though. “ ‘Help me because I don’t have enough information’ won’t be enough to get her to agree.”

Grimsbeard turned away from the balcony and went to his desk, followed by the investigator. He sat down and fingered a touchstone that would call his assistant Bluestone, then gave the other Dragonkin a truly frightening grin. “I think I have just the right thing.”