by J. B. Garner
I grunted as I took a deep breath to steady myself. “None taken.” Feeling safe to stand with no support, I turned to face Bunny head on and spread my arms wide. “I guess baby mode is the best we’re going to get here.”
If the look on her bunny face was a smile of strange satisfaction or a wicked smirk, I couldn’t tell. With everything else going on, it was a bit too much for me to catch. Either way, she picked me up like I was nothing (which is not true at all), first under the arms before gently transitioning into something more like a bridal carry than holding a baby.
“Which way?” She even sounded awfully pleased with herself. Why that was, I had no idea.
Oh well, it wasn’t important, not with the crunch of tires on asphalt and the creep of lights down the alleys by the nearest road. It wasn’t my imagination or my still-cloudy senses. It was most definitely the human police. I couldn’t blame them; they had a real head scratcher on their hands.
Without another word, I pointed down the adjacent alley. Bunny started off in that fast, half-hop half-sprint of hers, just as the side lamp of a police cruiser cut the space where we had been. Shouts of alarm echoed behind us as she hit the end of the alley and I pointed off in a new direction, as much on instinct as actual knowledge of where we were.
See, here’s the thing: they don’t call cities concrete jungles for nothing. Being in the depths of a city was a lot like being in a cave for me. The brick, mortar, and asphalt were as willing to whisper their secrets as the tunnels below the streets. Sure, I knew where we were going, but now we had to hit the back alleys to get there. I’d have been lost if not for the city talking to me.
Between my rapid-fire directions and Bunny’s speed, we left the police well behind. Besides, they had enough to deal with at our hiding spot and the bloodstains we had to have left behind. Hopefully, they wouldn’t pry too deep or, ancestors forbid, I might have to ask Mr. Sinclair for help to clear things up as much as Bunny did.
Considering where we were going, this could be almost as awkward.
Speaking of that, after a minute or two of sprint-hopping, Bunny thought it was safe enough to slow down into a steady lope. “Are we almost there?”
Closing my eyes for a moment, I listened out for the whispers and smiled. “Yes,” I answered as I opened my eyes. “Straight ahead and then immediately right once we’re on the road.”
She nodded and did as I directed. As she hit the street and turned, she stopped for a split-second and glancing at the storefront we found ourselves in front of. “B and B Bakery?” she read aloud. “That sounds awfully familiar.”
It was a modest establishment, one of those old-school buildings that traditionally had apartments above the business. Though the front of the bakery was darkened, lights from the kitchen in the back could be seen through the plate-glass windows. The name of the bakery was written in flowery, golden script and there was a small, neatly printed sign with hours of operation plainly stated. Slated for the morning crowd no doubt, the place looked to open at 5 a.m. sharp every morning.
“Just knock and don’t stop until they open up,” I grunted. “Trust me, they’ll help when they see you.”
I’m sure she wanted to question me more about this, but she knew as well as I did that there was no more time for questions. With a chuff, she adjusted her grip on me to free up a paw as she stepped up to the door and began to knock.
It took a good minute of constant pounding before we got a response. The light from the back was obscured for a moment as a silhouetted figure made its way through the store proper. The person was short by human standards, which still but it quite a bit taller than yours truly, but between the light from behind and the reflection of the moon on the glass, we couldn’t get a clear picture of who was greeting us until the door opened abruptly.
“Can’t yose folks see that we’re closed?” the beak-nosed little man in a white t-shirt, comfortable slacks, a big white apron, and a poufy baker’s hat groused, his voice instantly recognizable from its deep tone and grating accent.
“Hello there, Mr. Beaks,” I waved weakly from Bunny’s arms. “I know you’re closed, but we could use some help here.”
9
Beaks’s brow screwed up tight, and his beady eyes blazed as he looked from me up to Bunny’s fuzzy snout and back. For a moment, I was sure he was going to slam the door right into our faces. I wouldn’t have blamed him, not really. Now, I didn’t feel a single drop of guilt (okay, maybe a couple of drops) over what we did to protect ourselves against Mr. Sinclair’s former toadies. Stil, I know I wouldn’t be all that kind to the folks that had not only put a hurt on me but also likely led to my early retirement from the henchman business.
“And why should I?” he scoffed in that too-deep-for-his-little-frame voice. “We ain’t gots nothin’ to do with whatever’s going on with yose guys. We don’t work for the boss no more.”
Fortunately, I had a bit of a secret weapon to soften his heart towards us, something I produced before Bunny decided to throw her law enforcement weight around. Even though Beaks was a human, he was in deep in the Figment world, and a Huntress still had considerable jurisdiction over him.
“Well, I would appeal to your heart of gold,” I began and knowing that wouldn’t work, “and I would love to see the bakery with which I have an extensive order for hot, fresh pastries every week.”
No lies there. Look, I took my intention to be a sterling member of the community and small-business supporter to heart. When I heard that my two favorite chuckleheads realized their dream to own a place like this, I was going to support them. It wasn’t anything I brought attention to, and I wasn’t surprised that Beaks didn’t make the connection. The first batch was so good I felt no need to stop. I mean, who would have thought Beaks and Blythe were such great bakers?
Bunny’s paw was starting to tap rapidly on the sidewalk. “Mary, we need to get off the streets now!”
“Hold on,” I said, painfully looking Beaks in the eye. “I’m not lying. Ask …”
“Blythe!” the little man shouted over his shoulder. The power of Beaks’s lungs was as impressive as always and not a second past before the glow of the doorway to the back was eclipsed by the remarkable girth of Mr. Blythe.
Like Beaks, he was much as I remembered him, tall and round, more like a barrel than a beach ball. He too had a large white apron tied around him, but underneath it, he wore a similar business suit as he had when in the employ of our favorite Drake. Somehow, there was not a speck of flour or crumb on his suit, all the kitchen mess focused on his apron save for a single smudge on one of his thick jowls.
“Now what is the trouble, Mr. Beaks?” he said in his perfectly measured enunciation, striding across the bakery floor to the door. “Surely any potential customers can see the ‘Closed’ sign?”
Beaks didn’t answer with words. He just stepped aside and melodramatically swung his arms in our direction. Blythe took in the scene for a moment, from bedraggled wererabbit to bloody Dwarf, glanced at Beaks, then finally focused back on me in specific.
“So, Ms. Stone, did you come by to discuss your order or is it more to do with your obvious distress?” Utter professionalism was the only thing I caught in his tone, though there was a bit of annoyance as he looked back at Beaks. “Either way, you really should have let them in.”
“But, Blythe, what about …” the little baker protested.
“No buts,” Blythe countered. “Not only is Ms. Stone here a customer but we aren’t savages, my good man. We’re beyond that, right? We agreed on that.”
Beaks blew out a sigh through his prodigious proboscis. “Ugh, fine, sure!” Chastised, he turned back towards us and frowned a bit. “Sorry, ladies. Please come on in but don’t yose drip any blood on anything! I just finished mopping the floor!”
Blythe gave his friend a vaguely reproachful look before smiling at us, also stepping out of the doorway. “I apologize as well and don’t mind Mr. Beaks so much. He’s learning to live and le
t live, but of the two of us, he has further to go down that path.”
Neither Bunny or I needed an engraved invitation. She loped through the door, ducking a hair to keep her ears from brushing the top of the door frame, while Beaks closed and locked the door behind us, grumbling under his breath.
“Now, Officer Kincaid, if you could bring Ms. Stone into the back, I will fetch the first aid kit.” Blythe started towards the back, glancing back at us and more specifically his partner. “Mr. Beaks, could you keep an eye on the croissants? It would be a shame if they burned.”
Beaks only replied with an annoyed, incoherent grumbling as Blythe led the way into the back. Though I felt steady enough to walk, there was no need to point it out right at that moment. I’d take the extra few minutes of rest. After all, I didn’t heal nearly as fast as Bunny did.
I have to say that I was suitably impressed with what I saw in the bakery’s front room and kitchens. The two former thugs looked to be doing a good job establishing honest lives for themselves. The little café section was cozy, with clean, white walls, varnished wood tables and chairs, and polished brass fixtures. Behind the swinging double doors, the entire kitchen area was a well-organized chaos. Not immaculate, no, but that was the nature of the beast. A spotless kitchen is an unused one, but for the amount of work that had to go into what B & B Bakery produced, the place was in great shape.
Let’s not talk about the smells. Ancestors above, the smell of rising bread and baking pastries made me realize just how hungry I was. Mouth-watering would have been an understatement.
Bunny sat me down on the edge of a table as directed by Blythe while a still-grumbling Beaks rolled a footstool over to one of the sets of ovens to get back to what was no doubt the partners’ daily routine to prep for opening.
“Thank you again, Mr. Blythe,” I said through a brief hiss of pain as my bruised bones settled, “and thanks for the lift, Bunny.”
Bunny snorted as she stepped back from the table, shifting back into her human form. “Don’t thank me yet. I still drew you into what’s turning into a gigantic mess.” She sighed as she scooped the still-unconscious Mr. Grey out of her jacket pocket. “If you’ve got this, Blythe, I’m going to call the Governor and then see about having a chat with our rat friend.”
“I’ve had my fair share of experience in patching people up from my days in the enforcement business, officer,” the big man nodded as he rummaged in a nearby storage closet.
“Besides,” I added, trying not to let out a wince, “I’m not exactly a wilting flower here. I’ve had worse scrapes before.”
Frowning vaguely, Bunny nodded. “Yeah but … well, let’s say that I take my responsibilities to my deputies seriously.” She turned, digging her cell phone out of her magic pocket, waving vaguely with the rat in her hand. “I’ll be back. If you get a chance, take a look at what we got from Mother.”
“Right,” I nodded as I put my work bag off to one side of the table. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out.”
She gave a final grunt of assent as she stepped through a door deeper into the back of the bakery. While our little exchange was finishing, Blythe had produced what was more akin to an EMT’s medical bag, a large, multi-pocketed duffel. Dropping the thing with a heavy thunk on the table, he cast a glance at the departing Huntress.
“There’s a reason she’s the best of the best,” he grunted. “Probably wound a bit too tightly as well. That’s why my esteemed associate and I dropped out of the business, aside from the numerous cuts, bruises, and burns our last encounter with you and yours garnered.” Blythe’s thick lips turned into a grin. “Too much stress. Not good for the heart, especially a man of my size or Mr. Beaks’s unique temperament.”
“Good for you.” My smile was genuine, even if the simple act hurt a little. “Don’t take this a wrong way, but you guys bake better than you ever, uh, thugged? Is that the right word? Or is it henching?”
Blythe started opening pockets of the bag, pulling out a box of blue surgical gloves and a box that was more like the typical idea of a first aid kit. “I can’t say that I know if there’s a proper word for it, Ms. Stone, but let’s focus on the task at hand. What happened exactly so I know what to check on you aside from that gash on your forehead?”
I wound a braid of my beard in one finger as I answered. “Uh, well, there was a lightning bolt inside of a car, and then it crashed.” Best to stick to the most immediate concerns instead of telling him the whole tale. “I had my seatbelt on, thankfully, and the whole electricity thing was mostly confined to the driver and passenger, but we did a couple of rolls, I’m pretty sure.”
Even though Blythe was in on the whole Figment thing, the reality of magic, and all that entails, he still stared at me for a moment, processing my explanation as he daintily snapped on a pair of gloves. “Well, I suppose you should be lucky to be in such good shape, then. I won’t ask for details. I think it’s best if we know the bare minimum.”
“Probably,” I huffed as he produced a penlight. “I only hope we don’t wind up bringing any trouble to your door, especially with you guys being reformed or retired or whatever you want to call it.”
Blythe clucked his tongue. “I wouldn’t worry about that. Considering we now own a business in these rather urban environs, we haven’t been exactly lax in ensuring our safety here, have we, Mr. Beaks?”
“Yeah, we’re loaded to bear if some punks make trouble,” Beaks growled, the happiest he had been since seeing us, as he pulled a tray of fragrant, buttery, golden-brown croissants from the oven. “If whatever yose guys chasin’ yose tries to mess with our bakery, we’ll blow ‘em to the Pearly Gates.”
Well, you can take the man out of the henchman, but you can’t take the henchman out of the man. Though it was obvious Beaks had a talent for baking, the shine in his eyes at the thought of a little round of ultraviolence told me the little thug I knew from before was still in there. At least his ire wasn’t directed at Bunny or me anymore.
“While I no longer entirely share my good partner’s gusto in some matters, his assessment is entirely correct,” Blythe nodded. “Now, let’s see if you have a concussion first, then I’ll take a look at your more obvious injuries.”
I blinked and realized he was right. It’s not like I had scraped my knee here and no matter how thick and stone-like my skull seemed to be, my brains were the same spongy gray matter of anyone else’s. Well, I thought so. Honestly, I didn’t know. It’s not like I’d ever had someone open my skull to see if my brain was like a human’s or was it something entirely different.
Deciding to table the possible existential crisis such thinking could bring on, I grinned and nodded slowly to Blythe. “Okay, Mr. Blythe, I’m all yours. Just tell me what you need me to do.”
The former-thug-turned-baker nodded with a smile, and he began his thorough examination, my thoughts kept drifting to my bag, praying that my cellphone’s runeword had activated correctly. As I had told the lady rat before, phones weren’t cheap so, like any forward-thinking and magically-inclined lady, I had invoked a word that meant home, belonging, a toolset properly on its peg, a concept that was surprisingly easy to formulate in the ancient Dwarven language. If it worked as intended, my phone would be in my bag the moment I opened it up.
I hoped so. I had a call of my own to make as soon as I could. Aelfread had to be worried sick by now.
10
Blythe’s examination didn’t take long. Fortunately, my earlier assessment that I hadn’t broken any bones was correct. Unfortunately, that meant my injuries consisted of a variety of sprains and contusions alongside a mild case of whiplash, all things that really couldn’t be treated aside from the common-sense advice of taking it easy and trying not to aggravate the injury. It was one of the few times I was going to leave common sense by the wayside I feared, as Blythe tossed his gloves into a waste bin.
“That is all the aid I believe I can render, Ms. Stone,” he said as he zipped up his bag. “I changed the
dressing on that gash on your head, but it isn’t so severe as to require stitches or staples, assuming you don’t bash your skull again before it heals.”
“Thank you, Blythe,” I smiled, still aching like I had been in a car crash. Considering I had, that would have to be the new normal for a bit. “Remind me to up my pastry order with you guys.”
Beaks grumbled from where he was now icing eclairs. “Yeah, dat’s the least yose could do. We didn’t even get in a scrape ‘cause of dis. I coulda used a good fight!”
“Don’t jinx us quite yet, Mr. Beaks,” Blythe nodded as he moved over to help his partner with the workload. “As for the order, despite what my associate says, you should feel no such obligation. In fact, your early adoption of our business has served as something of a mark of approval for the rest of the Figment community. It could be argued that our reputation needed a boost after our time working with the boss.”
Keeping my perch on the table for the moment, I tried not to turn the color of my beard as I pulled my work bag onto my lap. “I’m glad to hear that. I’m certainly no stranger to having to do shady things because your employer tells you to, so who am I to hold a grudge? You both deserved a chance to make an honest life for yourselves.”
“Honest?” Beaks laughed. “Ain’t got nothin’ to do with honest. We just like bakin’ more than roughing up folks for the boss. Doesn’t mean I didn’t like workin’ for him.”
Blythe chuckled at his friend. “Indeed, Mr. Beaks.” He glanced over at me. “How do you think we could afford such a fine establishment to even fill that first order of yours? Mr. Sinclair happily funded our retirement from his employ as a way to repay our service and, well, future loyalty.”
I had already pulled out both the envelope of evidence, now sitting on the bag on my lap, and to my joy and good fortune, my phone magically returned to me. I’d have to recharge the runeword later. Still, Blythe’s statement made me pause, suspicion filling my eyes. “So, I’m going to wager that, based on what you just said, that Sinclair would know all about this, even if Bunny wasn’t dialing him up?”
