The Baker, the Mole, and the Cake

“May I have a vanilla cream bar with extra cherries?”

Telés smiled, placing her order perfectly, without a trace of fear in her voice. He would have genuinely believed the little girl was ordering a pastry and not asking for their special documents to escape from Vashor.

“I haven't put any in the case yet, just a moment,” Telés responded with the confirming code. Both mother and daughter exchanged looks of relief as he stepped away from the display cases, turned and headed through an archway, then ducked to the right into his office. It was a small room but large enough for him to conduct his business and forge counterfeit IDs and documents of varying types.

He picked up two paper sacks of documents sitting in a box beneath his desk, then stepped out and turned right, entering his kitchen. Everything was in it's proper place; a wood burning stove took up most of the right corner leaving room for a pile of wood between the wall and stove, and on the other side, a narrow shelf with a high window above that. There was a back door on the far wall along with the trash pails and washing sink. On the right wall stood more shelves.

Telés stepped up to the large table in the center of the room. At that moment a tray of vanilla cream bars sat atop it. He grabbed two strips of cut paper which sat at the corner of the table, then as delicately as a mother handling a newborn, Telés scooped one pale treat at a time.

The red gleaming cherries pressing into the tops of the sweets filled Telés heart with hope. Cherries, like other fruits in Vashor, all had legends or fanciful tales spun about them, making them a symbol of a certain emotion or event. In this case cherries resembled the much-anticipated hope of a future worth living for. He placed them on the scrap of brown paper then nestled them into the paper sacks making sure the treats didn't touch the important documents underneath.

When everything was in order, he made his way back to the front of the shop where the pair stood patiently. When he appeared, their faces lit up.

“Thank you very much, sir.” the older woman gently remarked as she took the sacks.

“Oh, that's alright ma'am, just doing my job,” Telés smiled, taking the amount of coins the young girl offered. He watched them walk out, the bell attached above chiming softly as the door closed behind them. The sun was barely above the roof tops, the street quickly filling with people going about their day.

Pahalla was a port city nestled comfortably between the mountainous regions to the south and the humid jungles to the north. The salty ocean breeze helped keep the humid air at bay most days, keeping Telés stay cool while working in the kitchen. It was a quaint shop in the historic district, the exterior painted with warm rich colors adorned with designs of the stunning flowers and birds of the jungles. The same art covered the other plastered walls of the surrounding buildings along the street. His shop sat on the corner, giving him a view of a square with tables and chairs shaded by gently swaying flowering trees. All the beauty and life of Pahalla, though, was stifled by the presence of the empire: Chawong flags snapping in the breeze, Chawong-style buildings with curving roof corners and dark wood being erected outside the historic district, and posters littering every wall listing rules, curfews, and execution dates.

A group of Chawong soldiers in their crisp dark green uniforms marched past his shop, like ravenous boys hunting for treats.

Telés frowned.

“Good morning, Telés!” Juanesilla called out from the back.

Telés turned, then left the front counter, stepped through the archway and strolled up to the table. Juanesilla stood by the back door, a pale green shawl draped across one arm while her free hand tossed her long silvery braid over her shoulder. She was a woman who apparently didn't have an easy life; her richly tanned skin bore spots and wrinkles with additional scars, contrasting pale and raised along her bare arms. There flared such determination and life in her eyes that it would have been easy to believe she was a young woman rather than someone in her latter years. Telés knew he probably didn't look much different from her with his dark-reddish brown skin, his arms laced with pale burn scars from working the stove. His cropped hair was black with flecks of silvery gray throughout.

A sad smile settled on Juanesilla's face as she looked around. “I see that Thip, Bizbel, and Gumess aren't here.” She placed one hand on her hip and the other on the table. “Do they know something about the raid?”

Telés slowly shook his head. “No, but they believe it will happen any day, and they didn't want to risk coming in.”

She pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows.

“ Juanesilla, it's going to be a slow day. We'll push through and probably leave the city with the remaining rebels tonight,” Telés reassured her.

“If you say so. Gruffuls have too much sense if you ask me.”

Telés let a mirthless chuckle escape his lips as he crossed his arms over his slightly bulging belly. Juanesilla was like a bull; not willing to back down, even if it meant to the death.

After she settled in, she started working on making rolls.

“Many people will appreciate this,”

Juanesilla said while putting the ingredients in a large bowl. “I don't think I can leave,” she paused, spoon in hand. Telés leaned against the table. He felt his throat tighten. He didn't think he could either. For four years the rebels fought and died in Pahalla port, determined to take back their beloved Swelsa; city of relief. Now they were like rats fleeing the city as it crumbled under the tightening grip of the Chawong empire.

Telés sat in the office working over documents. He wanted to finish as many as possible before he left that evening. Vashorian's freedom to move about the country was limited compared to Chawong citizens, and those without any Kradashma abilities were restricted from leaving the country unless they had special documents that gave them permission. That was Telés' specialty, besides making pastries and bread.

The soft chime of bells hitting the door sounded from the front. He stretched.

“I'll be with you in a moment!”

Telés called out, then quickly tucked the papers into a hidden drawer, rose and made his way into the shop.

A Chawong soldier in a major's uniform stood behind the counter. Telés let his dark gray eyes casually sweep across the small space, his heart pounding against his ribs. No other soldiers stood inside or outside. That was a good sign. He let his eyes settle on the customer. The soldier's light brown eyes were set in a cold stare that sent a chill down Telés spin. He learned from the rebellion work that you must stay calm and be friendly. Any suspicious behavior was like a bad scent to them.

“What can I get you, sir?”

Telés smiled smoothing out his apron with trembling hands. He let them drop to his sides. The door opened again, and someone slipped in and padded to the corner.

“I heard this bakery is the best one on Hinhilka street.”

He paused, then withdrew a slip of paper from his breast pocket saying, “I need you to make Misuwátkiso for me.”

Telés silently took the folded-up paper, opened, and inspected it. It was written in Chawong script.

The baker licked his lips. He only knew enough to get by, not to read a recipe!

“Ah, sir, I'm not sure if we will be able to fulfill this task. . .”

“Why not?” The soldier's expression didn't change but his hand ever so slightly slipped to a sword that dangled from his belt strap. He rested his fingers on the pommel. Telés forced his smile to remain on his face. Stay calm, he instructed himself. This wasn't a time to get killed over food.

“But for you, it won't be a problem,” Telés exclaimed, smoothing the paper out on the wooden surface.

Telés wrote down the man's name- Im Soozo- which tickled the back of his memory. Why was his name familiar? He also wrote down when he was to deliver the dessert and where. He paused.

“You want it this evening?”

“Yes. I am hosting special dinner tonight. People of high rank will be there. This event will probably be the event that will advance my career, if you know what I mean.”

Im's eyes went from a cold stare to a fierce focus, as if whatever he saw in his mind's eye was before him, waiting to be grasped. His fingers resting on the pommel, slipped down and gripped the handle firmly until the knuckles shown white. Telés openly stared at him, eyes wide, mouth open. Sweat began to prickle his skin. Someone shouted outside. A loud bang like a rolling pin being smacked against the table came from the back. Chawong's didn't host parties often, but when they did most of them had some cunning motive behind it. Or they were celebrating a victory.

It suddenly struck him like hot oil to the face: Major Im Soozo was a recent arrival to Vashor from Chawong; he was brought to wipe out the rebellion. Telés quickly gathered his thoughts then cleared his throat.

“At Telés' bread and pastry shop, we do our best to satisfy our costumers and in this case we would not want to dissatisfy you Major Im. It shall be ready by seven this evening.”

The Major stared at Telés a moment longer then, without a word, placed the amount of money on the counter, turned and marched out. His boots clicking against the stone floor.

When the door slammed behind him Telés watched a moment longer until the soldier disappeared around the corner then inhaled deeply and let the breath out slowly, wiping sweat from his forehead. He looked towards the corner were the second costumer resided.

Yochen, a scrawny man, slumped against the wall. His face was etched with worry. He looked at Telés as he stepped forward, eyes fixed on him.

“Is he gone?” Yochen whispered.

“Yes. What's the news?” Telés gently responded. Yochen was a runner. Spending most of his time roaming the streets or loitering in doorways snatching any helpful information he could find then reporting it to the proper chain of command. Yochen closed the distance towards the counter, shoving both his hands deep into his trouser pockets.

“Telés,” Yochen swallowed. The kid looked spooked. That probably wasn't a good sign.

“I shouldn't be telling you this, but I couldn't wait to go back to command.”

He paused glancing around as if checking to make sure no one was listening, then settled his eyes back on Telés, continuing.

“I overhead Major Soozo sharing with a soldier that Baomali is going to be exposed at a party tonight. A promotion party.” He paused, “the one your making the dessert for.”

“Merciful Renla-Zalzo!” Telés said, alarmed.

Baomali was a Chawong man who many years ago joined the rebellion. Serving in the Chawong army gave him plenty of information and supplies to smuggle to the underground. He was one of their best moles.

“Soozo won't go light on him. He plans to execute him tomorrow. I don't know how command will respond to this news.”

Yochen's eyes were welling up with fear and desperation as he continued to talk, his voice barreling faster and faster like a runaway steam engine.

“There's also news floating around that Soozo is planning a raid in most of the old district. He plans to do it in the next few hours!”

Yochen's voice dropped to a deathly whisper, voice trembling. Telés blinked a few times, his mouth gone dry as an oven. They prepared for this day but he never thought it would come. No one really believed it would happen after four years. When he finally worked enough moisture into his mouth he simply said, “Thank you, Yochen.”

The young runner turned and looked outside. The sun still shone but a few dark clouds began to gather. Telés motioned for the young man to follow him into the back, taking a slab of a sweet confection from the case and handing it to Yochen who took it gratefully and began to quietly munch on it.

Juanesilla stood before the open oven door, taking out a sheet of rolls then setting it on the table. She closed the door, then faced Telés and Yochen.

“Was that Major Im Soozo?” She asked in a halting voice. Telés nodding. The older woman squeezed her eyes shut and leaned against the counter, her lips moving but no words came out.

Telés walked over then laid the paper onto the table. Yochen was close at his heels. Juanesilla opened then narrowed her eyes at the young runner.

“Shouldn't you be scampering off somewhere?”

Yochen swallowed his mouthful then said while gesturing to the paper,“Yes, but we have some serious matters at hand.”

She sniffed, then peered down at the paper. Her eyebrows shot up towards the ceiling as she tilted her head up, glaring at Telés.

“I can't read a streak of Chawongisen. You know that!”

“It's a recipe.” Telés snapped, ignoring her statement. She straightened, furrowing her brow.

“A recipe? What are we now, a house kitchen?” She huffed turning to Telés then glancing at Yochen who was licking his fingers, a frown on his face. Telés wasn't sure if it was because he ate his last bite or due to the distressing situation. Telés explained what Yochen shared with him. The woman's face fell, it seemed old age had suddenly caught her.

“Do you know what this means?” Juanesilla's voice kept lowering until it was barely a whisper. Telés rubbed his face. Yochen swallowed loudly.

“Yes. We will be left behind if we make this dessert,” Telés remarked. He lowered his hand from his face and placed it on the table, next to the recipe.

“ We need to make this. It's our only way of saving Baomali. Yochen, you understand Chawongisen, can you transcribe this?”

“Yes sir, I'll try.”

“Don't try. Just do it.”

It took the young runner some time, but he was able to write the recipe out in Vashorian. Juanesilla, Telés, and Yochen stood over the fresh slip of paper, all eyes on the black lettering.

“We have all the ingredients for the actual cake. This is quite a simple recipe.”

Telés scratched his head. It seemed like a normal Vashorian cake made with flour, eggs, salt, milk, and other ingredients that were common to find. Even the fruit syrup and honey glaze were simple enough to make. It didn't sit well with Telés. How was he to warn Baomali with a simple cake? When using codes through his cakes and other deserts he could apply colors, fruits, or sugar-coated nuts. With this, he had nothing.

“This is going to make things more difficult with warning Baomali, but there's always a way. Yochen, I know you need to head back to command so hop to it. Juanesilla, I need you to run to the market and purchase some fruits.”

“Those cursed Chawongs. Why must they make our lives miserable!” Juanesilla snarled marching towards the door and picking up a basket.

“Don't be too feisty. We want to get good fruit.” Telés smiled, though inside his stomach pulled itself into knots.

Yochen dashed out the front door while Juanesilla ducked out the back, muttering all the while. Telés gathered all the bowls, ingredients, and utensils he needed then began the Misuwátkiso. It didn't take him long. He'd had made hundreds, possibly thousands, of cake batters in his life.

He transferred the thick batter into one large circular pan as the recipe explained then opened the oven door. The heat washed over him, making his eyes water as he slid the pan in, then closed the metal door. He glanced up at the clock above the archway to the main shop. A few years before the invasion, when Vashor was neck and neck with Datha in the area of inventions, they came up with the time piece. Now, only certain shops and nobles were allowed to keep the valuable machine. The massive clock tower in the old square was allowed to stay up so commoners had a way to tell time.

He made a mental note of the time. Nine thirty-two when the shop door jingled. He wiped his hands on his apron as he walked toward the shop. Rudis Manom stood in the door-way. He was a rotund man with cropped hair and muscled arms which at that moment looked ready to strangle someone. His usual calm features were pulled into a frown. He gave a nod of acknowledgment when Telés strolled up to the counter.

“Rudis.”

Telés.”

Rudis was one of the leaders in the underground and the person who helped Telés join the rebellion. At the beginning, when people were desperate to prove their loyalty to Vashor, even under the oppressive tyranny, they joined the rebellion in droves. Telés lost a nephew and younger brother in the war. He wanted a chance to fight back, to prove that their lives weren't lost in vain. It was rare for Rudis to enter his shop in the early hours of the day. He must have caught wind of Yochen's news.

“The boy told me what's going on.”

Yep, he did get the news. Rudis grimaced as he continued to speak, beefy hands on his hips, “I just walked past the Chawong soldier's headquarters. There are about a dozen wagons outside and three times as many soldiers. It's happening.”

Telés' eyes widened. Rudis smacked his lips like he had a foul taste in his mouth.

“You can bet that many won't go down without a fight.” Telés pointed out.

“Well, yes, but the plan is to get out of the city. Live another day to fight.”

“Of course, but to move over three hundred people in a few hours!” Telés breathed, raising his eyebrows and gesturing with his hands.

He felt a weight press on his chest. Their plan was to move people out in a span of weeks, maybe days at most. But hours?

They knew they couldn't house the headquarters and most of the rebel forces in the city any longer. They planned to move into the mountains, making it more difficult to stage attacks but giving them more freedom to move about. Chawongs tended to stay clear of the deep jungles. Vashorian women who cleaned Chawong soldiers and civilian's homes shared plenty of stories of foul beasts that craved for man's flesh and tribal people who still lived in the old ways of headhunting. Most of it was made up, to frighten their enemies. Now it was playing to their advantage. It was decided that most of the women and children could live in Or Furres since jungle living was still dangerous even in the modern age. Or Furres was a port city on the other side of the mountains and further south. The Chawong's grip was the lightest there. It was safer for those who needed protection.

“Is the original plan still being used?” Telés asked. He lowered his voice. It wasn't the smartest of things to discuss such delicate matters in a public shop, but they didn't have a choice.

Rudis looked down, then up again. His voice dropped a few pitches. “Yes,” the main fighting force and the healthy were to travel through the sewers and out of the city, while the women, children, elderly, sick, and more delicate of supplies was to travel around the tip of Vashor on fishing boats to Or Furres. In the next few months the rebels would hike there and gather what they needed.

“What about Baomali? He's going to be exposed at Major Soozo's dinner party.”

Rudis turned from the counter. He stood there a moment, facing one of the large windows. The sky outside was growing darker. It looked like it would storm at any moment.

“Telés,” Rudis sighed. His voice sounded weary and strained.

“We can't save him. What you need to do, is get out! You are valuable to the rebellion.”

Rudis turned back to Telés. Telés once again was speechless. They couldn't leave Baomali behind. He'd put himself out on the line over and over for them. It was now their turn to do the same.

“No Rudis. I can't leave him. He's just as valuable as I am, maybe even more! You follow through with the plan, I'm going to stay behind and get Baomali.”

Rudis leaned back and clenched his hands into a tight fist. His eyes burned intensely as he seemed at a loss for words. Before the invasion, Rudis was a loyal costumer and friend, and remained so to that day. After a few moments he pointed to the case and in a gruff voice barked, “grab me one of those sweet rolls damn it!”

Telés did as he told him. After packaging it they exchanged pastry for coins, then in a softer voice the rotund man said, “take care of yourself.” He turned and left the shop. Telés stood there a moment watching as rain began to drip from the sky in large drops than patter against the windows and door. The sky seemed to weep for what was about to happen.

Juanesilla returned just as Telés was taking the cake out of the oven. The top was perfectly golden and slightly domed, the subtle scent wafting through the room. Juanesilla set the dripping basket onto the table causing a pool of water to quickly form. Juanesilla was just as soaked, her dress and blouse lay limp against her stocky frame.

“Everyone's going mad! Dashing about, soldiers grabbing people. I barely escaped.”

Juanesilla huffed, grabbing a stool from the corner and setting it down beside the table. She lowered herself upon it then let out a sigh as she settled in. Telés pressed his lips together until they formed a thin line. He didn't want to put her at risk. She had children and grand children to worry about while he had no one. All his siblings left the city years ago, moving further north. He explained what Rudis told him. Juanesilla listened intently, eyes downcast as water dripped from her hair and clothes, forming a puddle on the floor. They both ignored it.

“I'm staying.” Juanesilla firmly said, crossing her arms. “My boys will take care of their families. They know the place we planned to meet outside the city.” Her voice faltered a moment then went silent.

She slowly looked at the baker as she found her voice again which slightly cracked as she spoke, “I lived a long life, I want my grand babies to see a free Vashor.” Telés approached and laid a hand on her sodden shoulder.

As the cake cooled, a few customers trickled in; some from the upper class who were oblivious to what was going on or probably didn't care since they were immune, and a mixture of the lower-class citizens looking for something sweet to eat after lunch. They were tense, constantly glancing over their shoulders.

During that time, Telés busied himself in his office, cleaning out important documents that could be burned, stashing important forging tools he couldn't part with. He wrapped them in cloth and stuck them in the bottom of the garbage pails by the back door. The last document he needed to work on was Baomali's. Being Chawong gave him special privilege, but after tonight, he would be a fugitive. He began with forging an identification card then went down the list of important documents that also needed forging: access papers to cross county lines, documents that allowed crossing of international borders. He gently blew on the last sheet, fanning it to let the ink dry when Juanesilla burst in, the door slamming against the wall, her breath coming in great gasps.

Telés sprang from his chair and whorled around, knocking it over with a loud crash. Panic was apparent in Juanesilla's wide brown eyes, chest heaving as she pointed towards the shop saying,

“Soldiers are coming this way!”

Telés nodded his head briskly as he turned towards his desk, pulse pounding against his temples and his breath was catching in his throat. “Go,” Telés motioned towards Juanesilla, “distract them as long as possible.” He heard her dash out.

He only had seconds.

With trembling fingers, he folded the papers up for Baomali, lifted his trouser pant leg and stuck them in his sock cuff then arranged the fabric around it. He then grabbed the pile of papers on the side of his desk, the documents that would expose him as a rebel, and sprinted towards the oven.

The chime rang.

Telés yanked open the opposite door to the oven where the smacking and sputtering flames were then tossed the papers in. The intense heat seemed to make his actions slower, sapping his energy as he grabbed a poker and shoved the papers to the flames. Sweat began to pour from his flushed skin, stinging his eyes as he continued to force the flaming papers to settle in the back.

A shout rang out in the shop. Telés shut the door then wiped his sweaty hands on his apron. Everything that needed to be hidden was taken care of. Just breathe. He entered the shop. A half dozen soldiers filled the space, swords on hips and rifles held in steady hands. The leader of them stood between the counters, trying to enter but Juanesilla blocked his way. Hands on ample hips. The windows were blurry as rain continued to pour.

Telés had seen the new weapons used a few times; they were loud and messy. He twitched a smile onto his face.

“What's going on?” he demanded though his voice sounded weak and hesitant to him. The captain leveled his gaze in Telés' direction.

“Move this woman from our path, before I shoot her! We are here to inspect your shop. Stand over there.” He had a heavy Chawong accent as he motioned with the barrel of his rifle to where they were to stand.

Telés obeyed, gently moving Juanesilla aside. She resisted a moment then let the baker push her to the corner. The soldiers flooded past them.

Quickly the dreadful sound of things being destroyed followed: loud bangs and crashes, the soft whoosh of flour being dumped, and the clatter of wood being tossed. Telés stood absolutely still beside Juanesilla who seemed to be struggling with staying still, a scowl on her face. Would they see the documents in the fire or his tools in the garbage pail? It was agony standing there.

“Baker!”

The bark of the captain caused Telés to start. He pulled himself away from Juanesilla. His office and kitchen were a mess, mainly the kitchen. Flour, and sugar dusted the floor along with the scattering of produce. He let his eyes scan the area then settle on the garbage pail by the door.

One of the soldiers was poking through it, a disgusted grimace on his face. Telés felt a spike of fear bolt through his chest. How was he to distract them?

“Captain?”

Juanesilla called out. Telés turned and saw her peeking around the corner. “You men can take anything from the case. Alright?” Telés turned towards the soldier poking through the pail. He stopped, straightened and stepped back, clearly he didn't want to inspect the smelly contents any longer. Thank Renla-Zalzo. He was going to have to thank Juanesilla for her quick thinking. Relief flooded his body until he noticed what the captain was holding. Major Im's cake.

Telés took a step forward raising his hand as he opened his mouth. One of the soldiers beside the captain leveled his rifle at Telés. Telés shut his mouth and stopped. The captain inspected the round dessert, as if trying to find a message.

“In my country,” the captain said, “I have heard of bakers, putting codes, in cakes.” He stole a side long glance at Telés. The baker didn't move, eyes wide watching the man study the cake a little longer.

“There is one way to test that.” He snapped. With the least amount of care he tore the cake in half then tossed one section to a soldier across the room who continued to rip chunks of it off throwing it to the floor. Telés felt his blood boil. That was his only way of saving Baomali! For a moment he forgot who stood in the room.

“That was for Major Im Soozo!” he yelled, chest heaving. The captain's smile dropped from his face. He glanced at his men who exchanged looks. They clearly knew him. The captain tossed his crumbled bits of cake at Telés' feet. The soldier with the rifle trained at Telés lowered it.

“You better hurry up and make another one.”

With a flick of his wrist he ordered his men out of the kitchen. After raiding the cases the chimes indicated their vacating the shop. A moment later Juanesilla stumbled into view. She gasped covering her mouth. Telés slowly turned to look at the time. Three fifty-six. That left him three hours.

“All the flour was dumped, Telés. We have no more flour!”

Juanesilla threw her hand into the air, the other one held a broom. Frustration and worry creased her face as she stood in the partly swept up kitchen.

Telés ran his hand through his hair. By the end of the day, he wouldn't be surprised if he lost most of it.

“Go to the market, it should still be open but be careful. I'll start closing up shop.”

Juanesilla gave a sharp nod. The raiding parties most likely would take anyone from the street who looked suspicious. Hopefully, an elderly woman didn't look threatening.

As soon as she left, Telés went to the front and locked the door and flicked off the lights. Most of the items in the cases were gone, just a few sweets and half a dozen loaves of bread. He quickly took those in the back and wrapped them up along with the dozen rolls Juanesilla baked earlier. Telés was planning to bring those with him. He was finishing wrapping up the items when Juanesilla burst through the back door. Once again she was soaked, clutching the basket to her chest. She set it on the counter as she exclaimed in a thundering voice,

“that fool Nifcore told me this was all he had!”

She yanked the clothe covering aside. A medium-size sack sat nestled inside. Telés picked it up and opened it. Wheat kernels. Telés stared at it a moment. Wheat kernels! You couldn't make a cake with wheat kernels. He leaned against the counter, thinking. His father once owned a hand mill. It was before factories came into existences. Telés told her about the handmill. She stood near the open oven, letting the heat dry her hair and clothing.

“Where is it?” She asked wringing out part of her dress.

“I don't know.”

Juanesilla threw her hands up in the air, mumbling some unpleasant words that drew a scowl from Telés.

“We have to find it. Time is slipping away.” Telés turned and began to look through his office. The room was a mess, but it didn't matter. He was leaving it in a few hours so there was no point in trying to clean it up. Of course, he didn't find it in the office.

He went to the kitchen and found Juanesilla crouched, digging through the bottom shelf beside the wood burning oven. The window above it was covered in spattering rain drops that continued to pelt the pane. He went to the shelf on the opposite wall and began shoving things aside. Moments stretched on and tension began to build in Telés chest. Where was it?

“I got it!” Juanesilla yelled. Telés wiped his forehead and rushed to her side. The hand mill was a bulky slab of stone with a funnel like top. An arm extended out from the top of the funnel which was connected to a smaller stone inside the funnel. They lifted it on to the table. Juanesilla dashed to the shelf with clean clothes and quickly dusted it off. Once finished Telés poured some kernels into the funnel then began cranking the arm.

Juanesilla gathered all the ingredients for the cake. By the time she had everything out Telés ground enough flour for the cake. With his hand, he swept the powdery substance into a measuring bowl. By the time the batter was placed in the oven the time piece struck five. Juanesilla and Telés sat at the table a moment, all the leftover food packaged and ready to go. He looked over at Juanesilla who kept fiercely wiping her eyes then scowling at her wet hands. A lump formed in his throat. He didn't know what would happen. Would he see her or anyone else in the rebellion again? He divided the breads and pastries in half then gently pushed one section over to Juanesilla. She looked up, eyes puffy.

“What's this?”

“Go. I can do the rest. Go be with your family.” Telés said softly. She stared at the food a moment, then Telés. Finally, she climbed to her feet saying,

“Bah! I'll leave, you old goat. But don't think you've gotten rid of me.” She wagged her finger. Telés chuckled. She was older than him of course but her touch of humor helped lighten the mood. She was planning on staying in Or Furres. Telés was contemplating on opening a bakery in Or Furres where he could continue his trade of baked goods and forged documents.

He helped her gather her things placing them in the basket. This time, she wasn't coming back. He made sure to place the sack of grain at the bottom. She and her family was going to need it in the next few months, also he took her wages for the month and a little more from the cash box, slipped it into an envelope and tucked it into her basket as well. She earned it.

She settled her shawl across her shoulders then took the basket from Telés. He extended his hand. She sniffled then took it. Her grip was strong. After a moment they separated with a final farewell, Juanesilla slipped out the back.

While the cake was baking Telés prepared the fruit sauce and honey glaze over the stove.

Stirring the sauce, he realized with a start the most important thing that slipped his mind; How was he going to warn Baomali? In all the hectic matters of the day he forgot to formulate a code. He couldn't use colors. It would be obvious on such a plain cake and besides, what would he color since there was no frosting? He removed the pots from the stove and set them on the table to cool. What could he use?

A shattering crash came from the shop. Telés jerked with shock at the noise. He rushed to the front then stood by the archway peering out. One of the windows panes was gone, glass shards lay glimmering on the floor allowing the muggy evening breeze to freely invade the shop. It smelled of rain and death.

He grimaced. People were running and screaming, a sharp crack of a rifle sounded, smoke drifted through the air like ghosts. The bodies of men lay in the street. Was he wrong in sending Juanesilla out? She survived the initial invasion and many other things prior to that. She would be alright. He slipped back into the kitchen. There was nothing he could do to save those people, but he could save one.

He checked the cake. It was perfect. He removed it from the oven and set it on the table then turning back to the oven, he closed the damper. After that he went to his box of produce. The soldiers pierced most of the fruits, their juices pooling at the bottom. Telés dug around. Most of them were simple fruits like acai, bacaba, or janbas. They had no meaning behind them, or not what he was searching for. He continued looking, then stopped. At the bottom of the pile sat an oval pale-yellow fruit. Its smooth skin was free of any marks or holes. Telés reached down and picked it up. In Vashor, the Rapũsa fruit had a striking myth behind it. Legends stated that long ago in one small village during that harvesting season of the Rapũsa, a band of thieves was approaching. The fruit, when ripe, it falls off the tree at the slightest disturbance.

While the villagers were working, the pounding of the distant hooves caused almost all the fruit to fall from the trees. This alerted the people, letting them prepare in time for the attackers. Since then, Vashorians in the countryside plant a Rapũsa near the main roads to villages as a symbol that danger could be nearby and you must be ready for it.

Telés thanked Renla-Zalzo in a silent prayer then went to work. He cleaned the fruit then grabbed a knife and began slicing the fruit in thin oval rounds. The flesh inside was a delicate pink with pale yellow seeds dotting the center. He quickly found his fancy serving platter and turned the cake out onto it. It was still warm. He glanced at the clock. Six - fifteen. He still needed to carry the dessert to the location. His stomach dropped at the thought. People were being rounded up or killed. How was he to navigate through that?

He poured the fruit sauce over the cake then gently poured the gooey honey glaze. The excess content pooled on the platter. He left the cake to set a moment while he gathered a wooden box and cloth. Then, to finish the Misuwátkiso cake, Telés carefully layered the fruit slices over the top of the glistening dessert. He took a step back. It still looked simple, but the touch of color on top added to the simple beauty of it. Hopefully, Baomali would see it in time and understand the meaning. He also hoped Im Soozo wouldn't run him through for adding the fruit.

He picked up the platter and slid it into the box then draped the cloth over the side of the opening. He grabbed his coat. He took a shaky breath, picked up the box then stepped out the back door.

A skirmish appeared to have broken out. Men lay dead or dying on the rain slicked roads. The rain had stopped and glimpses of a purple stained sky shown through the quickly fading light.

Dying with strength left reached their cold fingers toward Telés, eyes pleading, voices barely a cracked whisper. One face he knew. Yochen lay staring with unblinking eyes at the sky, a circular wound in his neck. Telés felt his heart drop. He almost let the box slip from his fingers as a strangled cry slipped from his mouth. He couldn't save everyone. He could save one.

He kept to the shadows as best he could as soldiers crossed his path occasionally, their faces strained with tension. Any wrong move and he could find himself like those poor souls stretched out on the paved stone streets. He tried to keep the box steady as he dashed down empty alleyways and scrambled across open streets and court yards, his shirt soon soaked in sweat. The humid air seemed to press in on him, any hint of relief from an ocean breeze seemed unlikely. He pressed on.

The Historic district of vibrant colors melded into the newer districts where the Chawongs lived. The buildings were pressed together and made of stone and wood, with shingled roofs curved up at the corner, like curious hats on dark, stern heads.

At one moment he froze. A young soldier stepped from the shadows of a doorway, a bottle in hand. His eyes were glazed over. He stumbled towards Telés, barking in a voice that was tainted by strong drink. The smell of wine filled Telés' flaring nostrils.

“What's in the box?”

Telés cleared his throat, hoping his voice wouldn't fail him.

“Its Misuwátkiso, for Major Im Soozo.” His voice trembled slightly but held. The soldier took a few more stumbling steps towards Telés until the box was pressed against his chest.

“Let me see.” He slurred. He lifted the corner of the cloth, eyes blinking slowly. He reached a finger in and slid it along the glaze covered plate. He brought it to his mouth and sucked on his index finger a moment. Telés gritted his teeth and grimaced.

The soldier smiled, “Good and sweet. I want a slice.” He raised a wicked looking dagger towards the box, as if to cut the cake with the large blade. Telés took a step back his grip tightening. He felt the wood digging into his palms and fingers. His arms ached from holding it up. Telés explained again who it was for. The soldier only laughed. He was clearly too drunk to understand. Telés glanced around, they stood in a courtyard, his only escape was to his right. The streetlight above flickered. The soldier was missing his rifle. If Telés could out run him he would be able to escape.

He began to slowly walk in that direction, trying to keep an eye on the soldier as well as his path ahead. The soldier stumbled after him, demanding a slice.

He was mere feet from the road which was shrouded in darkness when something grazed the back of his head. He stumbled forward, box pressed to his chest. He regained his footing, heart pounding against his ribs. He fully turned to face the drunk. The soldier's hand that held the bottle was dropping to his side, a frown on his face.

“Haven't you heard, a word I said!” The soldier snarled coming towards him, dagger raised. Telés felt his body go cold. He ran. The narrow road was almost like an alleyway, the uneven cobbled stones seemed to loom up, taunting him to trip, to let the box slip from his fingers. He pressed on nearing the open street ahead. The building across the way was where Im Soozo was hosting his dinner.

The echoing slaps of his boots bounced off the buildings as he ran through puddles, cold water splashing onto his pant legs, soaking the fabric. A hand grabbed his jacket and yanked. Telés slipped from the sudden jolt. He lost his balance, stumbling to the side, trying desperately to regain it but it was gone. He extended his arms out, trying to keep the cake level as he landed on his side, cracking his knee and elbow painfully on the hard stones in the process. Before he realized what happened the soldier was on top of him pressing his knife into the soft flesh under Telés' chin. His eyes went wide, body tense. Was this the end?

He had failed Baomali.

The man stayed there a moment, knee digging into Telés' side, his breath coming in and out in gasping, wheezing breathes. The scent of the soldier's wine-breath caused bile to rise to Telés' mouth.

Finally, he rose, lifting the dagger from Telés' throat. He knelt beside the box and lifted the cloth.Telés pushed himself up. His dread turned into rage as he watched the man reach into the box. With a cry of defiance he dove at the soldier. It took the kneeling man by surprise.

The sound of his dagger clattering to the ground fueled Telés as he pummeled the man senseless. It didn't take long. The wine in his system did most of the work. He quickly picked up the box then inspected the cake.

The side was slightly broken, crumbs littered the glaze covered plate below it. Telés hung his head. It could have been worse, but he still had to be prepared for Im Soozo's disapproval. He let the cloth drop back into place. He took a step forward. A growl like a beast emanated from behind him then a flash of white-hot pain slashed across his calf. He grunted, lurching forward, then turned his head. The soldier still lay on the road, his face a mask of fury and blood, the dagger-stained red held in his white knuckled grasp. Telés bolted. When he made it to the building His injured leg began to throb. His running turned into a limp. The mixture of water and blood wetting his leg made it difficult to know how serious the wound was. He didn't want to look at it.

He approached the door then knocked. The sound of music and laughter filtered down from the closed windows. The light was warm compared to the suppressing darkness outside. In moments, the door was opened by a house servant. Telés quickly explained who he was and why he was there. The distant clock tower rang in the distance.

The house servant retreated back inside, leaving Telés trembling from his previous encounter. His nerves were on the verge of shattering. Moments later, Im Soozo appeared along with two soldiers. He took Telés in in one glance. The corners of his mouth turned down slightly. Without a word he took the box and looked inside. He stared at it until Telés began to shift but then his leg with a jolt reminded him of the wound.

“Why should I take this?” Im coolly asked, his voice deathly calm.

“ Rapũsa is a delicate fruit that would meld well with the cake. I thought you would want something bright to help celebrate this occasion.” Telés said.

The fruit was used on special occasions in Vashorian dishes, so it wasn't far from the truth. Im stared at him. His lips pressed into a hard line.

“The side is falling.” Im remarked, his voice sharp and biting. He set the box on the wide railing then placed his hand on his sword.

Telés motioned towards the alleyway quickly saying, “The soldier in the alley attacked me sir. That's why the cake is in that condition.”

Im's eyes flitted over Telés' head then back to the baker. Telés knew it was bold putting fault on a Chawong soldier. Usually, Vashorians would be severely punished for such an act. He had to risk it. With a flick of Im's wrist, he ordered the two soldiers to inspect while he handed the cake off to a servant who stood nearby. The pain in Telés' calf continued to hit him in waves. He leaned against the railing. The soldiers quickly returned with the drunk between them. Im gave the man one look then in a flash drew his sword and plunged it between the man's ribs.

Telés gripped the railing even harder, the metal cool against his clammy flesh. Im wiped his blade on the dead man's clothing then ordered for him to be taken care of. He finally turned towards the baker who continued to grip the railing for support.

“We can't have a drunk roaming the city, disgracing Chawong pride, can we?” He then slapped Telés in the face with a stinging blow.

A flash of white danced across his vision as he was thrown into the railing, head dangling to the side as fresh agony laced across his cheek and mouth. He slowly straightened as Im remarked “What I order is what I want. Understand? Now leave, before I take your miserable life too,” Im causally ordered before retreating into the building, shutting the door behind him and plunging Telés into darkness.

Telés crumpled onto the steps, grimacing as pain spiked again in his leg, his knee and elbow throbbed along with his face. He inspected the wound. Blood smeared his dark tan skin and soaked into his sock but the slice was shallow. He would be fine. The papers still in his sock barely poked out. Telés decided to leave them there.

He made it back to the bakery. Telés stopped in front of the shop. It soon would be a memory. He took it all in. He saved countless people through the bakery: forging faux documents, smuggling food to the underground, even hiding an occasional rebel personnel who needed a safe place for a few hours.

He stepped over the window ledge, entering the shop through the gaping mow next to the door. Glass crunched under foot. He leaned down and pulled the papers from his sock. A corner of it was soaked in blood. A fitting reminder of what they had to give for the rebellion.

He limped to the kitchen.

There was no point in turning the lights on, it was past curfew and at that moment Telés felt safer in the dark stuffy shop than out on the uneasy streets steeped in shadows and eerie flickering lights. He sank onto a chair and set the papers alongside the baked goods. Exhaustion seemed to rush upon him, like a smothering heat, pressing down until his head lay against his chest. He sat like that for what seemed like hours, listening to the ticking of his time piece and feeling a refreshing breeze blow through the absent glass pane. Did he do enough to save Baomali? Did Im Soozo leave the fruit slices on the cake? Did he even understand the meaning of the fruit if he did see it, and would he make his way to the bakery?

Telés finally abandoned the thoughts and stood. He limped to the oven. He swung open the metal door to the fire, the strong scent of wood and smoke drifted towards him. Embers pulsed softly as the darkening coals barely clung to life. The fire soon would die.

Crunching glass sounded from the front. Telés pivoted towards the sound.

The silhouette of a tall thin man appeared in the archway. He stood there a moment as if unsure what to do, then he seemed to slip towards him, feet barely making a sound. He stopped mere inches from Telés. The red glow of the embers illuminating his slender face.

Baomali smiled slightly as he said, “May I have a vanilla cream bar with extra cherries?”

A grin split the bakers face as he responded the confirming code.

“ I haven't put any in the case yet.”

Telés, a rebel baker is determined to flee with the rest of the rebels out of the city before the advancing Chawong army completes their raid when he realizes one of their own is about to be exposed at a dinner party and Teles is making the cake for the event. Can he warn the spy and elude being captured?

This story recieved Honorable Mention in the third quarther in Writers of the Future in 2021.