UL1 Book 10 - Chapter 8

Sog was right. It’s hard to believe it’s been a month.

Talking with Bob, Max watched the six craftsmen and women who were working the forges he had set up.  Each was carrying out the instruction he had given, sweat beading down their body as they worked near the hot fires.

“Slow down some, Victoria. You’re not beating that like a rug. Smooth and steady strokes. Watch how the metal stretches and lengthens.”

A single nod was all the woman he had coached gave, her rhythm returning one that wasn’t rushed.

It’s interesting watching you do this. Even more so, you’ve got the others working on skills and lessons as well.

Jazzjak is right. We’re facing a sprint and a marathon at the same time.  Each of us must ensure that our people grow as quickly as possible. Every one of my people or Fowl’s dwarves, or even Rakonath’s dragons that make something adds DP to the planet’s income. The faster it comes in the sooner the others can start to make some real growth.

Once again, it feels like you’re carrying the weight of this world on your shoulders. Are you going to take Jazzjak’s advice and visit one of your other worlds?

Eventually… none have reported any problems if a god shares the world and if I go it’s time away from here. Right now I need to finish these few things.

Still, with the new ability, Celestial Gate, and the improved System Travel upgrade, you can be back in a moment. Besides you still have those rings Quilazmore gave you back on Igarra’s world.

He nodded, though no one watching would know if Max was approving of what he was watching or for another reason.

All he could do was smile as he watched these six work, looking forward to what would come next.

***

“Father, Max… these are… godly.”

Laughter came from everyone in the bakery as Max just shrugged.

“I’m not sure you need to butter me up that much,” he replied with a wink, earning a few groans and chuckles from the gathered bakers. “Still, what I’ve shared with you is what can be made. Remember you all have skills that are equal or greater than my own. The only difference is experience and ingredients. That is why I’m sharing with you all what I have.”

Clapping his hands, Max motioned to the counter. “Alright, let’s do another one.”

The twenty-four bakers all moved to the large square counter he had created in the Big Buns Academy.  Part of him couldn’t help but smile every second he was in here, wishing Baker Wright and Aimee could see the place he had made in their honor.

He pulled out the apron Tanila had surprised him with, laughing as he pulled it over his head and tied it off.

“Knead you?” Baker Eddie chuckled. 

“A gift from my wife,” Max replied. “Now then!”

He put his hands into the flour before him and clapped them once, sending up a small shower of white that drifted downward onto the stone counter, catching the afternoon light streaming through the overhead windows.

Max knew his broad shoulder frame looked comical in simple clothes and the apron, but he didn’t care. Right now was the place he felt centered.

Tapping the wooden spoon on a bowl, he saw everyone was looking in his direction and smiled.

“Alright,” Max said. “Blueberry muffins. Simple in theory, yet so easy to destroy when making. We’re aiming for tall crowns, tender crumbs and berries that burst like magic. Burst inside our mouths when we bite, not across the floor or walls.”

A few more chuckles came as a younger girl, with red hair and freckles, raised her hand.

“Yes Lia?” he asked.

“I keep getting gummy textures… I… I know I’ve only been doing this for a few weeks, but I can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong.”

“Two usual culprits,” Max replied, pointing at the bowl of flour before her.  “Over-mixing and the wrong fat-to-liquid ratio can cause that. Don’t forget that blueberries add moisture, especially when they are ripe as these are. Don’t worry, today we’ll fix your problem and anyone else who was too afraid to ask.”

Without waiting, he motioned to the different ingredients set before him like soldiers waiting for inspection.  Flour, sugar, brown eggs, lemon zest, butter, milk, blueberries and more all waited to be combined into a wonderful concoction of flavor.

Scooping out flour into his mixing bowl, Max spoke as he worked.

“Everyone get three cups, leveled but don’t pack it. It might surprise you that Baking and alchemy is similar. Every gram counts.” He added sugar, baking powder, and some special salt he had acquired in the tower bazaar and started whisking. “Notice how I aerate as I whisk. I’m trying to get a certain texture before the oven ever sees the batter.”

A cloud of flour filled the air as Jerome, one of the other younger bakers, dropped his measuring cup into the flour bowl.

“Sorry,” he said, taking off his glasses and cleaning off the film that had covered them.

“Better those than the dough,” Max replied with a wink.

After ensuring everyone was done with that step, he grabbed a second bowl and cracked two eggs, both with yolks as yellow as the sun.  He added buttermilk and started whisking the mixture until ribbons formed, slowly adding melted butter.  

“Brown butter adds depth,” Max said. “Just shy of burnt, it holds back the flavor like a good warrior, unleashing what lies behind to tickle your taste buds.”

Still talking he folded in lemon zest and a little vanilla, the small specs swirling like constellations in the mixture.

Everyone repeated the process as he watched them work, smiling as they mimicked his lesson so far.

“Alright, now for the most important part. Muffins either become things of legend or horrible creatures depending on what you do next.”

He began adding the liquid to the dry.

“Use the fold, and cut through the center. Sweep around and then quarter-turn the bowl. Twelve passes, maybe thirteen.  Your batter should look shaggy, perhaps streaky. If you were a mason, it would remind you of half-finished mortar. This isn’t some silk cake batter we’re creating.”

He could hear the quiet counting of some bakers as their wooden spoons scraped the bowls in the arc each of them could sense and know to do.  

Max was moving around the square, watching his youngest baker.

Tapping her shoulder, he stopped her at ten strokes, pointing at a pocket of flour.

“That clump will hydrate on its own while the rest relaxes.  Just because I say ten, twelve, or twenty-two doesn’t mean it’s always that number. You’ll have to learn when it’s ready.”

Having ensured everyone had this part ready, he moved back to his spot and dusted the blueberries with a tablespoon of flour.

“This helps prevent them from sinking to the bottom.  Nothing worse than getting a blueberry muffin only to find its all muffin until the very bottom.  Then what they have is a tiny, sad cake.”

He tipped half into the batter, reserving the rest.  With a few gentle folds, they disappeared.

Without wasting time, he summoned his pregreased tin and set it down by his bowl.

“Fill each cup to the brim and I do mean the brim. The high walls produce the crowns we want.”

Using an ice-cream scoop he might have borrowed from Baker Wright, Max plopped the batter into each one. The others copied his movements, a few splattering the rim.  He then showed them all how to wipe edges clean so the crowns rose without hindrance.

Finally Max pressed three blueberries atop each of the mounds. 

“Visual cues,” he said. “Eat with your eyes first. Plus, those burst marks on top lets steam escape.”

A wall of ovens, each one created with love and rune magic gave off the warmth of a mother's hug, waiting to embrace the batter.

They slid them in, shutting the doors and Max handed Jerome a small hourglass.

“Five minutes at four-hundred to shock the tops, then drop the temp to three-fifty for fifteen minutes.  While I know most of you won’t ever step foot into a dungeon, the initial heat is like a battle roar. It forces the batter skyward before the crust hardens.”

As sand slid down the hourglass, Max moved to where perfectly brewed warm tea waited, motioning for the others to join him.

While they waited for the baking to be done, he shared stories about himself and Tanila, the battles they had fought and his love of baking.  Most laughed, shaking their heads when he informed them how he traded muffins for the greatest treasures an imp possessed.

Finally the last of the sand was about to fall and Max summoned the bakers to the ovens.  Swinging the doors down, ooohs and awws came from the gathered bakers as trays of muffins, all with proud, crested caps, each one bronzed and bleeding violet eruptions, waited for them.

They pulled the trays out and set them on cooling racks as steam rose from the golden and purple treats.

Sighing, he waited until the moment came and took one of Lia’s.

“The moment of truth.”

He split in half. The crumb tore clean, tender and not wet. Blueberries dotted each bite in his hands.

“No gummy!”

“Victory,” Max said, raising his muffin like a cup. Now everyone try one.”

The sound of enjoyment and the smell of fresh muffins filled the air as bakers got to enjoy the best part of baking. Sampling the freshly cooked treats first.

“Now remember. Measure the ingredients, mix them gently, and heat them smart. Those are principles that will apply to many things.  Strategy, precision, and restraint. But, now for the worst part.”

“Cleaning?” Jerome asked.

“Cleaning. Don’t worry. Get good enough and make enough money and you can hire others to do that.”

He stood back, watching the bakers as they cleaned up their stations, each knowing another lesson was about to start a few minutes after they did.

Lia finished quickly and came near him, giving a slightly bow.

“Remember, no doing that in here,” Max said.

She nodded, green eyes staring at him like a child filled with wonder.

“Can… can I ask a question I’ve been wondering for some time?”

He nodded and could sense the entire room quieting, all seemingly listening in on what was about to be asked.

“You…  you’re a god. We know… I know in my head that the tower in the center of town is where true warriors go to fight and get stronger. You’ve even said that if one wants to become like you and the other gods, we have to fight in the tower and defeat it.”

“That’s right,” Max said, smiling as she hesitated. “Just ask. Don’t worry, I’m not going to be offended.”

She nodded and sighed.

“You bake… really well. And… you’re kind. You and Mother Tanila are so kind. But I’ve heard from the others who train with you on how to fight that you’re also a fighter. How? I mean… how does a baker become someone that can defeat the tower?”

He chuckled and sighed, summoning a chair from his storage and sitting on it. “Alright… you want to know?”

Lia and the others all nodded and Max took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

You’re going to tell them, aren’t you?

I won’t mention your name. But I will be honest. I don’t want to be some god or person who lies about something like this. You know me.  

Well, you lie depending on who you’re facing. We’ve both know that.

Ahh… yes well those were more of moments in battle… but I’d rather not do that to these ones.

Share away. Part of me will be like Sog and Fowl, wondering just how much you embellish the story to make yourself look grand.

Max chuckled and opened his eyes.

“Well, to be honest, Lia. I always wanted to be a baker. But… the gods…. Somewhere out there is a god who made me something else.”