Page 30 of The Spy

Karl followed her directions, but his hands moved automatically as he poured some oil in the pan and tilted it to get the oil to spread and cover every surface.If Mama Poma was a Yarokian spy like he suspected, then why wait a week to spring this trap?They must have needed the time to prepare and get assets in place.Drugging Karl would mean nothing if they didn’t have a means to then move him to a secured location.A week was also enough time to set up a pattern—a damned routine, which was exactly what he had been thinking about just that morning.Ama and all of Karl’s guards had been on alert every time Karl headed to the bakery, but after a week they wouldn’t be worried about him until he didn’t return to the house at his usual time.That gave Mama Poma a secure window to act within.

They also knew about Ama, Karl realized with dawning horror.When Karl had been out and about during the botched attack on the palace, Ama was the one who had responded.If their real goal was to get Ama, they didn’t even need to move Karl.They just had to keep him drugged and out of commission so he couldn’t help, and Ama would blithely walk into their trap in his search for Karl.Ama might be incredibly strong, but one man against however many assets Mama Poma had brought into the city didn’t stand a chance.

Karl was the one who had to save himself, and thereby, also save Ama.

Decided, Karl wiped out the excess oil and poured the batter into the pan.He smoothed the top with the spatula, and then scooped a spoonful of sugar and carefully dusted the top.Once the pan was ready, Karl slid it into the oven.

“How long does it bake for?”he asked.

“Hmm?”Mama Poma looked up from where she was organizing sheet trays and saw he was standing next to the oven.“Oh, forty minutes.It’s only one loaf, but it’s a wet batter.”

Karl nodded and returned to his station.So he had forty minutes to come up with a plan.He moved all the dirtied dishes to the sink and wiped down the countertop, before pulling the flour close.He always thought better while kneading, and Mama Poma had told him to get started on some rolls after the apple bread.

The easiest plan was to incapacitate Mama Poma and make a run for it.He had the element of surprise, and if he started yelling the second he went out the front door the guards hidden in the street outside would respond.They might capture Mama Poma, but the rest of the Yarokai in the city would escape and be able to come up with a new plot.Running was a short-term solution, but a longer-term mess.Karl wanted to end the actual threat, not prolong it.

His other option was to pretend to be knocked out by the potion.He would wait for Ama to arrive, and then it would be two against however many, and he and Ama could both die together.

Karl grimaced, looking at his hands, manipulating what was slowly becoming a sticky glop of dough as the ingredients melded.He added more flour and dug his fingers back in.Pretending to be afflicted by the potion was still the better option, since he could always get up and try running if the situation changed.He didn’t have an ideal plan, but it was better than nothing.

Karl set his dough aside to rest and went to wash his hands.He spent some time tackling the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, scrubbing away all the cooking residue and lining all the dishes up on a drying rack.By the time the sink was empty again, the bakery sang with the warm scents of cinnamon and nutmeg perfuming the air.The apple bread was done.Karl found cloth to protect his hands and pulled the loaf pan from the oven.The tin went onto a cooling rack, the bread still too hot to remove, but it smelled divine.The bread had risen all the way to the top of the tin and cinnamon and nutmeg-scented steam drifted lazily upward from the crispy browned top.If Karl didn’t know the apples were subpar, he would have thought it a perfect loaf of bread and been looking forward to trying it.

He started work on a batch of cookies while the bread cooled, creaming together butter and sugar before adding the vanilla and eggs.He was beginning to measure out flour for the dry ingredients when Mama Poma came over, the apple bread out of the tin and resting centered on the cutting board in her hands.

“I think it’s cool enough to try now,” she said, carefully setting the board down on the counter next to him.She went to the other counter to retrieve a serrated bread knife, then returned a moment later, handing it to him hilt first.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Karl lied, but he obeyed her silent command and put the knife to the bread.He cut the heel off and then sliced twice more.The inside was moist and fluffy, a really good crumb without being mushy.Fresh apples would have added to the moisture, but he wasn’t upset with how the texture had turned out.Karl handed Mama Poma a slice and picked up the second one for himself.

“Go on,” Mama Poma said, urging him along with a smile, her slice of bread seemingly forgotten in her hand.“I want to know what you think!”

There was no turning back once he put the bread in his mouth.Karl steeled his nerve and his resolve, brought the slice to his mouth, and took a bite.

Brilliant spices bloomed across his tongue, the cinnamon and nutmeg he’d smelled earlier melding seamlessly with the apple.The crumb of the bread was as soft as it looked, a perfect conveyance for the spice.However, the apples themselves… If Karl’s magic hadn’t already told him something was wrong, tasting Mama Poma’s alleged signature dish with these apples would have alerted him.The apples were chewy and gummy.They imparted apple flavor, but the texture did not match with the crumb of the bread at all.Fresh apples were clearly the only viable option for this recipe.

“Well?”Mama Poma asked, looking at him expectantly.Yet, the tilt to her head as she studied him said she was expectant for more than just his opinion on the bread.It was time for his acting skills to be put to work.

“Delicious,” Karl said.“I need—” He frowned and dropped the rest of the bread onto the cutting board as he staggered and used that hand to brace himself.“—the recipe.”He forced the words out as if his thoughts were merely slowed and he didn’t realize he was speaking in short gasps.His hand slid off the counter as he sank to his knees.“Wha…?”he slurred, blinking up at Mama Poma.

She stood over him, a slight smile lifting her lips.“Don’t worry, little princeling.You’ll only sleep for a bit.Your real punishment won’t start until you wake back in Yaroi.Have a good nap.”She turned away, heading to the back door, which she threw open.A moment later, two men Karl didn’t recognize walked into the room, heading for where Karl lay on the floor, slumped against the cabinets.The bright, gleeful and spiteful light in their eyes said they weren’t thinking about him surviving all the way back to Yaroi.In fact, they probably weren’t interested in his live body leaving this bakery at all.

Chapter Nineteen

THE KNIVES HIDDENup Karl’s sleeves slid into his hands with practiced ease.He squinted up at the two men through eyelids opened just enough for him to see.When one leaned close, Karl slashed.Skin and muscle parted like a hot knife through butter as Karl slit his throat.The other was only close enough for a stab in the leg, but Karl aimed for the femoral artery.He didn’t know if he hit it, but the man screamed in pain and fell to the ground clutching his leg all the same.Karl sprang to his feet just in time for six more men to dash into the room.One on six wasn’t great odds, especially now the element of surprise was gone, but Karl wasn’t ready to show all his tricks just yet by adding his magic to the mix.He stuck to the corner, even though the two bodies got in the way of his footing—the rest of the attackers couldn’t get to his back that way—and brandished his knives.

“This all you got?”Karl called, goading them.

The closest attacker, a woman in dark leather, snarled and dashed forward with her sword at the ready, one of the men was a step to her right, his own short sword already slashing.Karl caught the blade of the man’s sword where blade met guard on his knife, turning it aside, and simultaneously kicked out at the woman.She dodged back and Karl pushed with his knife, turning the man into her path.They tangled for a brief moment, just long enough for Karl’s knife to kiss the wrist of the man.Blood gushed, fountaining in pulsing jets over all three of them, but as the man fell, another took his place.

Five on one, but the remaining five were more cautious now.They spread out so they wouldn’t hamper one another.This time, when two lunged forward they were on opposite sides.Karl slashed to his left, trying to slow that one down while lunging out of the way of the man on his right.Metal clanged again and Karl gritted his teeth as the painful shot from the jar of the knife in his right hand flashed up his arm.He focused to his right for a brief second, freeing his blade from entanglement with the attacker’s short sword, then stepped into a slash that had the man scrambling back, but that left his left side unguarded.

Piercing pain radiated up his left arm, locking his shoulder, then moved down, making his fingers go limp.His knife clattered to the floor and Karl pressed his back against the wall, not sure if he dared to look at the damage and chance giving his attackers another opening.Blood dripped at his feet in a softplop, plop, steady droplets.He wasn’t spurting blood like an artery had been hit, but the constant drip said blood loss was still a real concern for him.

His attackers must have come to the same conclusion because they stepped back, apparently content to wait for him to weaken so they could grab him and continue on with their original plan.

Karl glanced down and gulped.His arm wasn’t gone, at least, but the missing chunk of muscle in his outer arm, just below his elbow, was going to make holding anything with his left hand difficult.Karl concentrated, focusing on getting the elbow to bend, but it only made his fingers shake and the pain to start throbbing in time with his fast-thudding heartbeats.

He was down to one arm—one knife—with five attackers and only minutes before he passed out—presuming the stabbing pain making him pant and wheeze didn’t get him before the blood loss did.The time for playing was long over.

Karl called on his magic, letting the red light shine down his good arm and coat the knife.Moving was out of the question, so he couldn’t stab them with the knife to use his magic like most users of red magic did, but he was Karl Musen, bakerandspy.He wasn’t most magic users.Karl slashed the knife horizontally through the air and a red ribbon erupted in the blade’s wake before flying at the attackers with deadly aim.

---