The Master of Budding-Bright Hall Shorts: The Oldest Profession

The Bakery Inn was the oldest business in in Westby, once its own village and later the west wall area of Old Town in what would end up being the old government center of the Town, only to become a backwater again when the Greater City was proposed and Brenhaven Town became Old Town, falling more and more to its seedy modern appearance and reputation. So, what do you do if you are the fifth-generation proprietor of the unique bakery and hostel in run down Westby, surrounded by shoddy neighborhoods and seedy elements? You keep baking by day and renting rooms by the hour through the night. It being early morning now, Jonas Breen came down the outside stair and rounded the side f the building to get up front to the bakery shop, there being no passageway between the upstairs and shop. He passed under his shingle swinging and groaning on rusty chains in the steady morning sea breeze. He was proud of his sign, came up with the whole thing, drew it himself and it led to his old business being known for these many years as the Old Loaf and Cot. He wasn’t fond of that; he was a baker at heart.

The sign read The Bakery Inn on both sides and showed a steaming loaf of bread in the upper corner and a well-made bed in the lower corner with the words “Tasty Up Front and Snug Round the Back” below on the one side and “Best Buns in Town” on the other side”. Jonas had painted that sign when he was a boy and was still proud of it all these years later. Around front now, he lifted shutters to form the awning and expose the windows and stalls of the shop. The doors were swung back, and curtains opened. It was the daily ritual of the bakery, and one Jonas knew from boy to man. In his youth he'd hear his father perform the same tasks while he was up the side alley hauling wood and reading the fires. It meant back then that his day was almost over, because once the ovens were lit a boy could have hours off before needing to feed them again. Not so, the bakers who would prepare dough and shape loaves while the ovens came up to temperature, and Jonas was the head baker for the shop. Marty and Dan Sloe came along just about then and walked silently inside, still barely awake. Half an hour later and the three of them would be laughing and working at a furious pace and still all before the dawn.

Such was the baker’s life. His sons ran in to see him, covered in soot and ash. Honestly, those boys attracted dirt. Millie Priest and Cindra Smith came downstairs after they were through work and would service the counters once their daytime customers came around. The other girls either had late callers still to be dusted off, or were cleaning the rooms for the next shift, before they too would stop by the bakery for a loaf or two on their way home. Jonas’ own wife helped run the upstairs, along with his brother James, who helped deal with the occasional trouble. Baking was easier; it was certainly safer. Nary a one of his customers round this end would resort to fists over the goods and nearly all left with a pleasant word and a smile. Jonas would take the bakery end of the business any day. Next now, with the first of the breads out and was to set the sweet treats and butter buns on his pushcart for the morning workmen who always came along on their way to the docks and for whom he always had good hot tea and plenty of variety on the cart to tempt them.

Jonas jostled the load along and swung his cart out into its place at the edge of the street, when without sound or warning the early dawn air erupted in shouts and the sound of racing hooves on the cobble just up the side alley. And then, even before he could think a massive black horse with fine elvish trappings in black leather, mounted by a black hooded creature, came tearing into view. Too late the rider spotted his bakery cart and disaster would surely have happened as he came headlong towards Jonas, but that black beast was powerful and quicker than most. In an instant it jumped clear over Jonas, who threw himself to the ground just the same, and only one rear hoof caught a pile of sweet buns and sent them flying all about the street, as the horse raced on. One second it seemed, little more, and then all was still as the grave. Jonas got himself up as Millie and young Tom, his boy came up to him. They helped him gather the breads before any potential customer could see they hit ground and right the cart. It was only then that they all asked the same question. Who was that strange rider and where was his horse taking him in such a hurry and at such a time as this?

Some thought him a dispatch rider, but those boys wore their green uniforms and had much simpler kit. Millie pointed out that the horse took the road towards the Guild Halls, the most of which were either abandoned or only used for socials. Jonas took it all in and then with a shudder it dawned on him. The only guildhall that might receive an elf dispatch rider dressed in black this time of day and who might have a need for speed and disregard of the townsfolk would be the Assassins’ Guild. The very thought of it made his blood chill and he was visibly distressed the rest of the day. It was from him that the rumors and wild tales grown in the telling began of elf assassins sending secret messages to their own folk who practiced the art. And even though Jonas only whispered his fears to a few, by midmorning the whole town knew of it and by noon the whole city was repeating it as a fact. An elf rider had brought dispatches to the Assassin’s Guild warning them of a hit, or posting an urgent contract, but there could be no denying the facts. More than just the baker saw that horse and reported the same. It was an ill omen for sure and this with the Sea Mansion Season just starting too.