Story for the Day: Rautu's Birthday P2

Cake is serious.
He camped accordingly for his conquest: the fires in the hearth were lit, his trappings were got and secured about him to give him all the advantage of a mountainous and menacing aspect, his scowl was apparent and firm, and when he declared himself ready, his closed his eyes and submitted to Haakhas until the cake should arrive. His peaceful ruminations were inundated by notions of his impending treat: its delicate and slightly bitter savour, its pleasant texture, its mellifluous scent made him eager to stand at the bottom of the stair and await his delivery there. He would wait, though it might be difficult to do so; he should not want to ruin Kai Linaa’s surprise that he might admit his expectation of the cake to dampen her unbidden happiness, which must be his true gift and thus all his glory, but when an hour had passed and no cake had arrived, the giant began to suspect some misapprehension. He reasoned it away, proclaiming to himself that it was a holiday and perhaps it was a very large and lavish cake, and maintained his pose until two hours had gone and still no cake. This was not to be borne. How could such indiscretion and injustice be tolerated? A cake late in its make could be forgiven, but a messenger late in his delivery could not. He stood from his place, wrapped his trappings about him, and skulked toward the Marridon bakery, keeping his hand on the hilt of his blade for comfort and for use should the situation allow.
                The bakery door was thrown open, the patrons awed and then quieted, and the owner made a whimpering hello when he observed who had come to his establishment. He was aware of the horror that had befallen this rival: though the giant’s patronage had made Diras Delights the wealthier of the two businesses, his inpatient temper and impossible demands had rendered him the most terrific object to one who was insensible of how to appease his appetite. He knew that the giant’s favour lay for his rival, and that he should be here and thundering to the counter with such strident footfalls did not bode well. He began to sift through the orders of the past few days in his mind: none had been for the Den Asaan; he should have remembered had they been, and as he was gripped by the collar and lifted into the air, he considered whom he should be firing for this apparent misconstruction.
                “I say, Den Asaan, sir,” began the owner in a timorous tone, adjusting the round spectacles on the bridge of his nose as he was jostled about. “Is there something I can do for you, sir?”
                The giant narrowed his eyes and bellowed, “Where is my cake, Mhojhudenri?”, giving the owner a firm shake.
                The owner was silent and looked as though he had little idea what the giant meant.
                “I know there was one being sent to me,” Rautu continued, bringing the owner’s terrified features to his own flouting aspect. “If you refuse to deliver it, I will challenge you for the right to continue your services.”    
                “I am sorry, Den Asaan, sir,” said the owner plaintively, “but we have received no order for your name.”
                Rautu made a low growl and glared at him.
                “We did receive an order for the commons, but that delivery was just made.”
                “You will show me proof that it was delivered,” Rautu shouted. He released the shivering man, folded his arms, and waited until some means of attestation were found.
                The owner scurried behind the counter, scrambled together a few papers, and soon found Kai Linaa’s order slip. “Here it is, sir,” he said, triumphantly waving the paper about. “See? It says here it was delivered an hour ago, and it was signed here by the recipient.”
                Rautu inspected the slip with chariness and his eyes flared when he observed the name written at the bottom. “Was this meant to be delivered to her?”
                “The young woman who ordered it said to have it delivered to the castle. Where else does one make deliveries if not to the castle kitchen?”
                The terror of who was now in possession of his cake besieged him: the fat fingers perusing its glazed surface, the exhalations poring over its shavings, the voracious eyes studying it. It was all ruination and agony, and the instant he realized whom the recipient of his cake was, he bowled aside the patrons in his path and leapt back to the keep.

Enjoy the story? Enjoy the first book in the series!


  1. Uh-oh! This isn't good. Martje better start numbering the hours in her day. Rautu's on the warpath for his cake.


Post a Comment