Chapter 2: They want a Baker?

Three figures emerged from the dust cloud that used to be the door. The one up front, big, wide and bald, pinned him with a mousy gaze in seconds. The other two, a tall wrinkly old man, and a young woman with a dangerous-looking sword looked around, wearing matching looks of disgust.

“What a hovel,” drawled the woman as she pushed some tools and a stray pot scattered on the floor with her boot. “Ugh..”

She sidestepped the puddle mess and claimed the corner of the wall for herself, settling there with her arms crossed, dark brows furrowed and heavy gaze zeroed on Zeth.

Wrinkle Man grunted, placed his hands behind his back and he, too, turned to stare down at our hero. Poor boy.

“Who are you and what do you want!” demanded Zeth from his makeshift bath, still hugging Fergus close to his heart. “If..if you want bread, come back tomorrow. We’re closed today!”

Wide and Bald swiped a round, steamy bun from a plate that had miraculously survived, and stuffed it in his mouth.

“H-hey! You can’t just eat that! Pay for it first!” Zeth scrambled to his feet, ignoring the aches and pains all over. Gearing up, he even waved poor Fergus in their direction. I mean, sure, Kid, whatever intimidation works for you, I suppose. At least Fergus had some spikes.

The trio, however, seemed entirely unbothered by the tiny child and his unfortunate weapon of choice. Old and Wrinkly was the only one who gave any reaction at all. And it was the rise of a single, unimpressed white eyebrow.

“Not bad,” Wide and Big licked his fingers clean, the slurping sound audible enough to make even the strongest stomach’s churn. “You’re the baker then? Kind of small, are you. I thought you’d be a bit bigger with all the talk about you and your family, now. Heh, this is actually a good thing.”

“Wh..what? Who’s been talking about us to you?”

“Everyone who sees coin,” the old man said with a creepy smile. “And those who don’t, always talk when they see a pointy sword.” This was emphasised with the woman brandishing her sword, stroking it from hilt to tip with a finger, then nicking it for good measure.

Zeth stared at the speck of blood with growing horror. The intruders moved closer, caging him. So close, in fact, that half a step forward was enough for him to be nose to nose with Big and Ugly.

I need to be more like Father. Kavalier men don’t get scared! With that courageous thought our young hero puffed his chest and heaved himself up on his tip-toes, eyes all narrow and fiery under thick orange eyebrows.

“Who are you,” he started, trying to sound as deep and intimidating as his father. “And what. Do. You. Want.”

“You.”

“What?” Zeth cocked his head to the side in clear confusion. “Me? What the riff! Why?”

Can’t really blame him. It’s not every day that strange people barge in your home, break things, eat things and say they want you. It sounded almost like those fairy tales his mother told him to bed years ago. They almost always ended up with the main characters being eaten for dinner. Or worse, chopped up for breakfast.

“You don’t need to know that just yet. All your questions will be answered by our dear, magnificent Lord Fravoli himself. You just need to know that you're comin’ with us.”

“I’m not going anywhere!” the tiny baker spat. Who did they think they were? And who in the Devil's name was this Lord Fravoli? “Just you wait ‘til my father arrives! He’ll whip all your hides so bad that you’ll be crawling on all fours to your precious ‘Lordy Ravioli’.”

That, apparently, was the wrong thing to say, because the next thing he knew, there was a sharp, pointy sword directly at his neck, courtesy of Sword Lady. While it was mere millimeters away from his jugular, Zeth knew if he dared to even gulp, it would nick his skin. Wind rushed to his ears, panic rising. He clutched Fergus closer, a spiky, protective barrier between them, and held his breath.

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“Do. Not. Mock. Our. Lord,” glowered the woman, while Big and Bald shoved his face next to hers, leering at him.

“He won’t like it,” added Old and Wrinkly from the side. “Never patient with anything, that man. You’d better watch your tongue, as well as your step on the way. Else you won’t be returning to your parents’ in one piece, child.”

“We know your folks are out of town. Won’t be back for a few more hours, eh? We want you. Not your ma or pa. You.” Big and Bald placed his meaty hand on the back of the blade to lower it down. This earned him a glare from Sword Lady.

Zeth cringed away from the really unpleasant odour coming off the man. The woman turned to hiss something under her breath at the other man, who nodded, three chins flopping like jelly.

Zeth counted to ‘three’ in his mind and ducked to the left, fully intent on running to what used to be the door, and away into the woods. Rather interesting plan, I’d say, especially for a kid so sheltered. Would have probably worked, too, if it wasn’t for the meaty hand that latched like a claw to his shoulder and stopped him in his tracks.

“Nah, ah, aah, there won’t be any runnin’ away~” sang the man as he roughly grabbed the head baker’s – his father’s– hat and yanked it clean off his head, leaving puffy orange curls to bounce all over his head and fall in a curtain. Zeth screamed bloody murder and shoved Fergus headfirst into the squishy face. The man howled in pain and backed away. Zeth turned to run, again, slipped on the mushy mess, again, and nearly crashed on the floor for the third time in a row. He was quickly and efficiently snagged by Sword Lady though, who grabbed him mid-fall, twisted his arms around in a deathgrip and produced a knife from Devil knows where to point at his neck. You know what they say, third time’s the charm, eh. Fergus, lucky bastard that he was, was once again rescued from death, but this time by Old and Wrinkly. The man’s timing was perfect, and Fergus was now reverently held in the arms of the enemy.

“Feisty, aren’t you. I like you,” Sword Lady purred in his ear. “You’re coming with us. We need an, uh..” – she looked at her companions for a few, suspiciously long moments – “...bakers! For the Quest. And you are a Baker. That’s all you need to know.”

The boy squirmed in her grip. “I’m not going anywhere with you. You can’t take me!”

“Oh but we can.” Big and Ugly, hand still covering his bruised face, smirked something dark at him and produced a small scroll from the back pocket of his trousers. It was ebony, lined with a thick red coating with golden ornaments. It looked very well made. Expensive. Like it belonged to royalty. I mean, it definitely did. Sucks for Zeth not to recognize his own monarch's colours though. Kid needed to get out more. Ah, what would I give to live a life of an ignorant simpleton.

“You see, little country bumpkin, this here” – he waved the thing in Zeth’s face – “is a royal decree signed by the Emperor himself more than two decades ago. This little beauty here enables us, as Treasure Hunters, to recruit anyone we want for our cause. And we want you.”

Zeth eyed the little scroll in disbelief.

“Here, baker-brat, look! You do know of the royal seal, right? Know your letters?” he popped the scroll open and let it unfold in front of Zeth’s eyes. “Read for yourself then. And if you can’t,” – he snickered rudely with his companions – “just look at the seal. Even gong farmers know how that works.”

Mother, Father, what is happening? I am scared, Zeth thought, as he scanned the contents of the scroll. It was just three lines.

***

I, Emperor Gressil Amon the Seventh of the House of Be’el, hereby decree that those licensed to a treasure hunt by the Royal Guild can recruit any and all from my subjects to complete the Quest.

Failure to comply will resort in banishment of not only that individual, but of their immediate blood relatives as well as those who conspired with them.

Happy hunting.

***

The seal at the end glistened thrice in liquid purple wisps, when he rubbed a trembling finger against it. The one and only sure way to check if it was the real deal. Zeth slumped bonelessly in Sword Lady's hold. She hissed at him in disgust.

“And this” – Big and Ugly brandished a small sphere that sat snugly in his palm: just as red and gold as the scroll, with the sigil etched onto it– “is for your parents to know that you’re been taken as an addon to a Treasure Hunt. Wouldn't they be proud? Their only son, going for fame and fortune!”

Zeth’s heart sank. There was no getting out of this one, was there? He remembered the reassuring, firm hand of his father on his shoulder from just a few hours ago, and the warm hug of goodbye from his mother. The wide smiles they both had for him. They would be back in just a few hours, cart loaded with fresh ingredients, raw materials, fresh fruit and a few barrels worth of stories to tell. All to an empty, broken house, with only the Token of the Emperor to greet them.