Chapter Text
Once upon a time there was a baker who baked the best pies in all the land, but his village was so small it had no name. The baker was cheerful and kind. Birds gathered outside his bakery to listen to him singing while he rolled out pie crusts and sliced fruit. He kept seeds for them to eat. Baked goods make birds fat and give them little bird coronaries. There's only so many dead songbirds you want to sweep up outside your bakery. Apart from the dead birds, the baker was quite content. If he sometimes wondered what the rest of the world looked like, he quickly forgot because pies don’t bake themselves.
In another kingdom far to the north, where the winters were white and the summers were green, there was a prince. He was strong and brave, but prone to worry. Some days fear rolled across him in waves and he could not leave his rooms. His parents, King Robert the Bad (who was actually very nice) and Queen Alicia, despaired over their son's illness because they did not know what to do for him. They asked healers to help their son, but before a solution could be found, a dragon carried the prince away.
At least that's what his parents believed. Really a jealous friend cursed the prince and turned him into a dragon. The dragon prince couldn't remember his name or his former life. He decimated villages and consumed flocks, but always grew hungrier. Being hungry made him resentful. A well adjusted dragon is a plague. A resentful dragon is worse than anything you can imagine.
Memory loss aside, this dragon wasn't stupid as some dragons are. He knew that rampages and binging on maidens couldn't fill the emptiness inside him. He needed something else to stop the gnawing that made him stamp and roar until nothing was left. Mountains crumbled under his misery and he was forced to fly away and find another forest to burn. Another village to rampage. Other flocks of fat sheep to devour.
One day, a Tuesday I think, the dragon landed in the forest outside the village so small it didn't have a name. It was in the prosperous realm of King Duan, far, far south of King Robert the Bad's lands. King Duan sent his bravest, most faithful knights to slay the dragon. People can't pay taxes if they have nothing, or worse--if they're dead. Plus it doesn't look good to other kings. They side-eye you hard if you can't get your dragon problems settled. King Duan was having a tournament and a ball in a month's time to celebrate his daughter's coming of age. All the surrounding kingdoms were planning to send their princes with jewels, escorted by their bravest knights.
If King Duan's knights didn't get rid of the dragon then the princes might not attend the festivities. The princess was lovely, but more importantly, she was very smart and prayed she wouldn't have to marry a dolt. The dragon might help her avoid that. She knew she could never marry her true love, but that's another story.
In the unnamed village the baker ran a tavern where you could drink ale with your savories and mead with sweets. Everything the baker made was delicious and the villagers didn't know how lucky they were because they'd never tasted other baked goods.
On this particular Tuesday, the baker was pulling meat pies out of his oven when his assistant, Chowder, ran into the kitchen, shouting incoherently about a dragon. The rest of the villagers gathered around the open door at the back of the kitchen, milling nervously. Chowder described a beast as black as ink with a wingspan wider than than Dex's potato field.
"What's he doing out there?" The baker asked, dusting his floury hands off on his apron. "Maybe he's just taking a nap. We're a very small village. Probably not worth his time."
"Well. He knocked over a bunch of trees and curled up in them like it's a nest. Maybe he's asleep? I don't know. How do you tell? Sorry. Is this the kind of thing I should know?" Chowder was agitated, but no longer shouting. The baker poured him a small glass of mead and cut him a large slice of mutton pie. He was a sweet boy, but excitable
“What will you do?" The blacksmith asked the baker. The blacksmith was a large man with fists like anvils, but he was shy and if he hadn't inherited the smithy he would have grown roses.
The baker sighed. "Once these pies are finished, I'll go out and take a peek. See what's what."
The blacksmith and the rest of the villagers were relieved. None of them wanted to face a dragon, but none of them wanted to flee either. They still worried because the baker was very small in stature and the dragon was very large.
The baker was setting the last of his pies out to cool, when four brave knights rode in on enormous roan colored horses. None of the villagers had ever seen anything like them and came out of their houses to gawk.
The baker kept his head. He bowed and said, "Brave Sir Knights. Welcome to our village. You must be weary after your journey. I've fresh meat pies and our ale is as good as any if you'd care to try it before you face the dragon."
One of the knights jumped from his horse and removed his helmet. He shook out his glossy hair. The villagers oooohed and elbowed each other. One of the younger girls said a little too loudly, "Look how it ripples and flows in the breeze!" She was shushed by her mother and several aunts.
The knight bowed gallantly to the young girl, who hid behind her mother's skirts, then turned to the baker. "The sun is almost set. The dragon won’t stir until daybreak. We'd be very grateful for food and drink. We've ridden for three days and nights. Our horses are tired and my men are weary. Is there someone to see to the horses?"
The villagers had a few sturdy plough horses, but nothing as majestic as these steeds. And if the stables weren't new or grand, they were clean and freshly whitewashed. Several lads and lasses ran forth to help with the knights' horses.
The four knights ate and drank a great deal. Their leader was not as tall as two others. One fair and one dark, who seemed to be the best of friends and ate off each others trenchers and teased each other a great deal. The fourth knight was very small, smaller even than the baker. He kept the hood of his cloak drawn up and didn't eat as much. He twisted and knotted small lengths of twine into flowers and animals for the children--like magic. Everyone seemed to be forgetting the danger they were in. They were treating it like a holiday.
After the tables were cleared and the crumbs all brushed away, the baker couldn't help but ask, "Are you sure the dragon won't attack in the night?"
The glossy haired knight stood. His armor was battle worn. The villagers were reassured by every dent and scar. He'd obviously fought and survived many times.
"The king has sent us to dispatch the dragon. We'll go just before dawn, which is the safest time to approach. They get their power from the sun."
The baker raised his hand to ask another question. The knight nodded for him to go ahead. "Shouldn't we go and take a peek at him now? See what he's up to? Know your enemy?"
The knight shook his head, but not unkindly. "No. Too dangerous. He won't come to us tonight, but if we go to him, he will attack. We go before dawn when his energy is lowest and cut off his head. Easy peasy. We know this monster. We've been tracking him for months and we've seen what he can do. Now, let's have more ale and more pies, for tomorrow we may get our asses handed to us!"
Again the baker raised his hand again and the other villagers moved away from him a little bit, which did hurt his feelings a little bit.
"Yes?" The knight asked, still patiently. His green eyes twinkled with amusement and the baker liked him a great deal.
"What if the dragon is just passing through? Maybe he doesn't mean us any harm." The baker abhorred violence and had buried every pie-slain song bird with an etched stone and a name.
The other two knights pushed back their seats and stood. They were taller than their leader and talked over each other.
"No. No--" The dark one said.
"Like you've got to understand dragons, man," the pale one chimed in.
"Right. You can't give them time to settle in. Once the sun is up they'll destroy everything."
"It's science. They're killing machines. They don't have a conscience."
"It will kill all of us and burn your village to the ground."
"Yeah. By noon tomorrow."
"And if we don't stop it now it will move on to other villages."
"Count on it."
The villagers whispered back and forth among themselves. The knights probably knew what they were about, but the baker cleared his throat. Everyone turned to look at him in shock and he flushed very pink.
"Well. I'm sure you're very strong and tall. God. Y'all are so tall." The small baker shook his head. He hadn't meant to say that aloud. "But what if you can't kill the dragon? Sir... sorry.
What's your name?"
The knight bowed. "I am Sir Shitty. My companions are Sir Ransom and Sir Holster." The smallest of the knights kicked him in the shin. "Oh. This is our squire, Lardo."
"Once I've killed the dragon, that'll be Sir Lardo," she said, poking Sir Shitty in the chest. Their squire was a woman and the baker thought that was very progressive and approved. The knights laughed at her, but she glared back so fiercely that they all coughed and cleared their throats and shifted nervously: clink, clank, clink. The baker frowned at them and all the villagers noticed. They’d always relied on their baker, but the knights were very tall and their swords were very long. The villagers started to wonder if they'd been wrong about him. He didn’t seem quite so capable when he asked so many questions.
The baker told Chowder to fetch more ale and more pies. Everyone ate and drank with the knights who told many tales and held everyone spellbound. The knights drank. The villagers drank. The baker worried they'd run out of ale.
The knights drank until they passed out on the benches and tables in the tavern and slept like the proverbial dead. Several of the villagers dropped off in their seats too. Chowder had passed out on the bar. The baker put a blanket over his shoulders.
The baker was too worried to sleep. He'd only had one small mug of ale. Someone needed to keep their wits. He spent the whole night stress baking pies to get a jump on the feast they would have once the dragon was defeated. He decorated the crusts with images of the dragon's defeat. He was finishing the last one, featuring soon-to-be Sir Lardo carrying the dragon's head back, he started to feel sorry for the dragon. Only a tiny bit though because the dragon had reputedly eaten a lot of people and ruined a lot of villages.
Dawn was coming and the knights were snoring. The baker tried to shake them awake, and then poked them with a broom, but they were still quite drunk. Sir Shitty woke up bleary eyed and ran outside to be ill. The horizon was pearly gray. The baker ran back and forth alternately putting pies in a sack and kicking the groggy knights. As usual if no one was going to do anything, he'd have to. He took a swig of the apple brandy he kept locked in a cupboard, purely for medicinal purposes.
He set off into the woods to see the dragon and offer him a last meal. It was ominously silent. No birds or squirrels were out. Nothing skittered through the leaves. He only hoped could distract the beast until the knights got there. Besides the baker had never seen a dragon and he was curious, but terrified. Mostly terrified. But he loved his village and couldn't bear the thought of his people being hurt. He kept walking when his knees turned to treacle. He wasn't good with a blade unless he was slicing fruit, but he was good at feeding people. He might be good at feed a dragon something other than people.
He didn't have to go far into the forest to find it. It was larger than his tavern and curled up in a nest of broken trees, smoke gently drifting from its nostrils on every exhale. The baker hid behind the trunk of a large sycamore and watched its flank rise and fall with every breath. Its scales were jet black and shiny, like beatles wings. A creature so terrible and destructive should be hideous, he thought. The unexpected beauty of the dragon sent a sharp pain through the baker's heart.
The dragon didn't stir in the slightest, but he rumbled, "I can smell you, human."
"Oh." The baker wasn't sure what else to say. He'd been working over the ovens all night, keeping the fire going and baking. He hadn't thought to bathe before visiting the dragon. "I'm so sorry if I woke you."
The dragon opened one shockingly blue eye. "I don’t sleep."
"Ever?" The baker's eyes opened wide. "You must be exhausted. I didn't sleep last night and I am worn out."
The dragon was beyond tired, but he didn't want to talk about it. "You smell," the dragon sniffed, "like peaches." The smell was familiar and yet he had no memory of ever encountering a peach. He didn't particularly want to eat this small person, which was a relief. You never get to talk to anyone if you eat them before they can stop screaming in terror.
The baker drifted forward as if hypnotized by the large blue eye, which let's face it, he probably was. "I baked lots of pies last night. Twenty mince, twenty apple, and ten peach. The peach crop is a little late this year. But we'll need to celebrate after you... um." The baker flushed and something fluttered inside the dragon.
“After I am slain?” He was amused by the baker. Many had tried to kill him. This small human wouldn’t have a chance. He wasn’t even armed. The dragon raised his head and took a great breath, suddenly alert. "I smell armor and sweat and horses." He relaxed a little and crossed his front legs like a cat. "Only three knights?"
"More like three and a half." The baker scratched the back of his neck. "But I wanted to see you first. I've never seen a dragon and I brought you some pie. I realize that's stupid now. Dragons probably don't eat pie. Do they?"
The dragon blinked, but couldn't answer. He watched the baker remove a pie from his bag and set it on the side of a broken tree that stood between them. The dragon tilted his head to one side. The pie was as big as one of his toes.
The baker pulled himself up to sit on one of the downed tree trunks. He was small for a man. His hair was pale gold. It would glint in the sunlight. The dragon could imagine it. The man sitting on the edge of a bridge over a stream, swinging his legs and laughing. Fishing? The dragon had never been fishing. So much was lurking on the very edge of his memories. He sniffed the pie. Peaches. It reminded him of something--or someone.
"Is the pie drugged?" The dragon looked highly suspicious. "To make me easier to kill?"
"Good lord. No!" The baker was appalled. He broke off a small pieces and ate it to show that it was safe. "I'd never do that to a pie. It'd ruin the taste."
The dragon was weary and lonely and hungry, but he watched the baker swing his legs. "You're very small. You should eat more protein."
"How about you eat your pie and keep your opinions to yourself." The baker crossed his arms and the dragon wanted to laugh so he did, but his chuckle must have sounded like a death threat because the baker paled and the dragon quickly stopped.
He took the pie into his mouth as delicately as he could and let it sit there. He concentrated on the sweetness of the peaches. They reminded him of a woman with a merry laugh. He closed his eyes and waited to remember more and didn't realize he was rumbling and it sounded like purring.
The baker squashed down an urge to scratch behind the dragon's ears. Dragons are not cats.
The dragon couldn't remember who the woman was, but she'd been important to him and he missed her. He thrashed his tail and snorted, shooting flame out his nostrils. The baker squeaked and fell back off the tree trunk. The ground was thick with leaf mould and the landing wasn't terribly hard.
The sun was climbing and already the dragon seemed more alert. Quicker. He flexed his claws, each one as big as one of the baker's shins. The baker took another pie out and set it in front of the dragon. He climbed back onto the tree trunk he'd fallen from and sat on his hands to hide that they were shaking. "So. You've probably been everywhere. I've never left this village. What's the world like?"
They sat and talked while the sun rose. The dragon described lakes and oceans. Mountains and streams. Places where the stars were different. And whenever he grew restless or stretched his wings, the baker took another pie out of his bag and offered it to him. This went on for some time and the baker took out the last pie and hoped the village would bury him with all the song birds, if there was enough left to bury.
The knights rode up and were shocked as anything to see the small baker sitting on a fallen tree next to the dragon. Chewing the fat. (Not literally.)
Sir Ransom lifted his visor. "This is so not cool." Sir Holster agreed. "Yeah. What the hell is going on?"
Sir Shitty sat astride his great horse and stroked his mustache. Uncertain what to do with a chatty dragon sitting so close to a baker who'd made the best pies he'd ever tasted. Lardo gasped and jumped down from her horse. She lay her sword on the ground and approached the dragon with her hands up to show she meant no harm.
She pulled back her hood and shook out her black hair. The dragon stared and she stared back. "There's something familiar about you," she said. She drew close enough to lay a hand on the dragon's front paw. The knights watched dumbstruck. The baker wasn't sure what was happening.
The dragon shot out his other paw and knocked Lardo to the ground and rose over her. The baker panicked and rushed between them. He threw himself over Lardo and tried to shove the dragon away with his bare hands. "Don't you hurt her!"
The dragon drew back from the rain of tiny fists, but Lardo shoved at the baker. "Get off. It's all right."
The knights were frantically whispering to each other and darting nervous glances at the dragon. The baker stood aside and the dragon snuffled the squire again and squinted, trying to remember. He glanced at the baker who smelled like peaches.
The memory was starting to come into focus. "We used to go fishing. We’d sit on a wooden bridge and eat peaches."
“That’s right.” Lardo sat up and looked the dragon fiercely in the eye. "Do you remember your name?"
The dragon growled and shook his head. He didn't know his name and that wasn't right. He knew he'd had one at some point. "I wasn't always a dragon, was I?"
Lardo said, "No, I don't think you were. Please. Try to remember. Please."
The dragon glanced at the baker who nodded encouragingly at him. The flutter he'd felt earlier grew stronger. He remembered peaches and fishing. Dangling his bare feet over the side of a bridge. He remembered swimming in a lake in the summer. The feel of a hand sifting through his hair as he fell asleep. He sniffed the baker again and let his thoughts wander. "I remember snow," he said slowly.
"Right," Lardo said. "It snows in winter where you’re from. What else can you remember?"
It hurt to remember. The dragon swung his tail and splintered down several more trees. The knights jumped forward with their swords out, but both the baker and Lardo shouted at them to keep back.
The baker placed a small hand on the dragon's front paw. The dragon looked down at the tiny hand and held very still. He did not want to hurt the baker and that was unusual. He didn't want to hurt the girl either. He’d known her once. She was like a sister. The knights he was still unsure about because they were brandishing their swords, but in a halfhearted way. No. He wanted to remember and he didn't want to eat them. Not so very much.
"It's all right." The baker patted his giant, scaly leg. "I won't let them hurt you."
Those words were like a bubble popping around the dragon. For the first time in his memory the dragon was cold. He shivered. His scales fell away and scattered on the ground around him.
One moment the baker was patting a giant clawed foot and the next he was patting the hand of a large, naked man with sad blue eyes. The man squatted on his haunches and looked around wildly. He patted his arms and legs and jumped to his feet. The knights had all dropped their swords and were huddled close together. The baker fell back and sat on the ground in shock. Lardo jumped up and threw her arms around the naked man.
"I remember," he said. "My name is Jack." He held Lardo at arm's length and thinking carefully said, "Larissa?"
"Yes" She was almost in tears, which she circumvented by punching Jack in the arm.
Sir Shitty walked over, trembling so hard that his armor clanked even when he stood still. "It can't be."
"It clearly is," Lardo said.
Jack, former dragon, current naked man leaped forward and seized Sir Shitty in a hug. "I know you! Wow. I'm cold! Look. I have goosebumps." The man turned to show the baker, who looked politely at Jack's goosebumps. It was better than looking at any of his other parts, but only because it seemed rude when you hadn't been introduced.
Sir Ransom and Sir Holster dug through their packs and found clothing for the naked man, which they offered to him by kneeling.
"Rans? Holster!" Jack dragged them off the ground and hugged them too, the kind of back pounding, rowdy hugs the village men gave each other when a baby was born. Jack put on their spare clothes and the baker was still sitting on the ground, covered in dead leaves, perplexed by everything he was seeing.
Jack turned around and held out his hand and helped the baker to his feet. "I'm Jack."
Lardo laughed. "Yeah. Prince Jack."
Sir Ransom and Holster bowed again. Sir Shitty was trying to wipe tears away with his gauntlets. The baker gasped and bowed very low. He wasn't sure what you were supposed to do in front of a prince. Maybe he was supposed to lie on the ground.
"Oh, for God's sake," Jack snapped. "I was going to eat you all an hour ago. Stand up."
Sir Shitty jumped on the prince's back and wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug. "What happened to you, you beautiful fucker?" Sir Shitty jumped down and squeezed Jack's face. "Look at him! Look at this face! I've never seen anything so gorgeous!"
The baker agreed, but it wasn't his place to say so and he was feeling in need of the rest of the contents of that bottle of apple brandy.
Lardo cleared her throat. "You need shoes and we need to send your parents a message that we've found you. They thought a dragon ate you."
"How long have I... " Jack swallowed hard.
Lardo and Shitty exchanged uncomfortable glances. Shitty said, "Five years. They never stopped looking."
"Then there's no time to lose," Prince Jack said. "Of all the times to not be able to fly quickly away."
Sir Ransom and Holster shared a horse and offered Jack the other one. The baker stood awkwardly willing himself not to feel sad, watching them gallop away. He scooped up his satchel and picked up one of the shiny black dragon scales and slipped it into his pocket. If it weren’t for the wrecked trees and the dragon scales, the baker could have convinced himself that none of it had really happened.
He heard hoofbeats. Jack had circled back and held out his hand to the baker. “Come on. I didn’t mean to leave you. I’m sorry.”
"Oh." The baker shrank back. "I can walk back. It's not far."
Jack shook his hand impatiently and the baker let himself be hoisted up in front of a real, honest to God prince. It was wonderful, which made it so awful. Like eating a whole pie and knowing it’s going to hurt later. The prince didn't speak and when they returned to the village everything was in an uproar. The news that the dragon was really a missing prince had everyone running in six directions at once. Sir Ransom and Sir Holster left off their armor so they could ride fast and took off at great speed carrying a letter written by Lardo.
The prince dismounted and helped the baker down. He blinked bleary eyed and swayed on his feet. The baker ordered Sir Shitty to grab the prince before he fainted dead away.
Sir Shitty grew agitated. "Do you think it's the curse? Is he all right?" Lardo felt Jack’s forehead and grew pale.
The baker said, "He’s exhausted. There's a bed in the room in back. I don't think he's slept in the last five years."
Lardo said, "What makes you think that?"
"He told me he didn't sleep. You said he'd been like this for five years." The baker pointed out the bruise like shadows beneath the prince's eyes. Goodness. They were going to put a prince in his bed. He'd changed the linens not too long ago. He was certain they weren't up to royal standards, but this prince hadn't slept in a bed in five years so he might not notice.
Once they had the prince settled in just a pair of breeches, they closed the door and Lardo launched herself at the baker and and wept quietly on his shoulder. The baker rubbed her back and let her cry herself out. Poor girl. When she stood back to dry her eyes, the baker had to dry his too. Someone blew their nose nearby and they looked over to find Sir Shitty rubbing his eyes on his sleeves.
Sir Shitty said, "Lardo. How did you know it was him?"
"Didn't you notice his eyes? Exact same color as Jack's." Lardo swiped at her eyes again.
Sir Shitty wrapped her in his arms and set his chin on top of her head.. "I didn't notice. I was too busy being terrified. I know you're a strong, capable woman, but I thought you were going to die and it scared the crap out of me."
The baker thought he better leave them alone and quietly drifted back to his kitchen and picked the decorative crust depicting the demise of the dragon off all the pies. When he finally slept, it was in the hayloft over the stables..
The prince slept for three days. He woke to the most glorious smell and stretched. The bed was too small, but he didn't care. He was human. He knew who he was. He didn't want to kill anything. And he was horribly thirsty. Someone had left a mug and a pitcher of water next to the bed. He drank right from the pitcher, rivulets of water escaping and dripping down his neck and chest. When he finished he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. When he was finished he spotted the baker standing in the doorway, looking horrified. Jack's manners had once been very polished. He looked around. The bed was much too small. He could smell pies baking. He was in the baker's bed and he was filthy and drinking water like a beast.
"You shouldn't--" he started to say.
The baker squeaked and ran out of the room, slamming the door.
"--have given me your bed," Jack said to the empty room.
A moment later Shitty popped his head in. "Your parents will be here by noon. You should clean up. You smell like crap."
"What time is it?" Jack jumped out of bed. There was no window in the small room. The ceiling wasn't tall enough for him to stand straight, but that wouldn’t be problem for the baker. Whom he'd obviously disgusted. He'd make amends. He'd buy him new linens. Buy him a new bed. Maybe build him a new tavern. He could never thank him enough for what he'd done. Maybe he could visit him later. Once things settled down. Jack could imagine himself sitting quietly, pretending to read a book, but really listening to the baker sing and bake pies.
Shitty cuffed him on the shoulder. “You haven’t heard a word I just said. Come on.” He dragged Jack outside to a small, cold pond. They scrubbed and splashed and lay down in the sun to dry.
"How are you? For real." Shitty inspected Jack's arms and legs as if looking for stray dragon scales.
"It was like a nightmare, but I'm awake now. I'm starting to forget. The dragon wasn't me. I was sort of trapped inside it. Does that make any sense?" Jack sat up and pushed his wet hair out of his eyes.
"Magic is weird. Anything is possible." Shitty punched him on the shoulder. "I missed you, you asshole."
Jack nodded, throat too tight to say anything, but Shitty understood. He always did. They'd grown up side by side. Riding horses, learning to fence, and skating in the winter when the lake froze solid. And as quickly as he was forgetting what had happened--he also remembered awful things. Screams. The crack of homes burning. The feel of rubble beneath his claws.
"Jack. Listen to me. It's not your fault. Whatever the dragon did. It wasn't you." Shitty grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. "Do you hear me?"
Jack half nodded and half shook his head. "It's not that simple."
"It rarely is, but in this case it truly is that simple." Shitty drummed his hands on Jack's stomach. "I'm so damn happy you're back."
They heard a trumpet fanfare and the jingling of harnesses and bells. They crammed themselves back into their clothes and ran back to the village center just in time for Jack's parents to alight from their coach. Tears streamed down his mother's cheeks. She stretched out her hands, almost afraid he wasn't real. Jack grabbed her hand and pressed it to his cheek. His father stood quietly and patted his wife's back and squeezed his son's shoulder. His parents looked a little older than he remembered. More careworn. There was a crease in his father's forehead he didn't remember.
"Je suis desolé," Jack said.
"Ça n'est fait rien," his father murmured. They all went into the tavern and Chowder, looking terrified, served them pie and ale, which they all agreed was the best they'd ever had.
Jack looked around for the baker, but he was nowhere to be seen. His assistant and Shitty told Jack that the baker hadn’t slept since they’d brought Jack back to the tavern. The entire time Jack had been asleep, the baker had cared for him. Jack’s heart lurched in his chest, but no one could tell him where the baker had gone. No one could find him.
Jack sat with his parents for a good long while, until his mother was no longer so pale and his father started talking about returning to King Duan’s castle where they were guests.
“I need to thank the baker, who saved me,” Jack said."He was very brave and kind."
“We’d very much like to meet him and thank him,” his mother said.
Still no one in the village could find find the baker. No one ever used his name. They called him “our baker.” Jack resolved to find him and ask him directly. He sort of wanted to hear it from the man himself.
Jack stood, but he swayed on his feet and fainted. Sir Shitty caught him. They laid him on one of the benches. He was breathing, but they could not wake him. The villagers summoned the local herbalist, an old woman wise in herb lore who’d presided over every birth and death in the village for the last 80 years. She felt Jack’s forehead with her wrinkled hands and pried open his eyes. She shook her head. “It’s dark magic,” she said. “I can’t do a thing for him.”
His parents bundled Jack into their traveling coach, praying they’d find someone who could help or that Jack would wake up. His mother and his father both wept after the door the carriage had closed. It was a very long ride back.
While all this had happened, the baker had been fast asleep in the hayloft. He'd fallen asleep remembering this disgusted look the prince had given him and wished none of it had ever happened. When the villagers came looking for him, no one spotted the small lump curled in the shadows deep under the eaves. When the baker awoke it was dark and the prince was far away. Chowder told him what had happened. No pie that could fix his cracked heart. So he cleaned. The baker carried the dragon scale around in his pocket so that he could touch it whenever he felt overwhelmed by sadness. And if he dreamed about sky blue eyes and water drops running down a muscular chest, well, that wasn't a crime.
**
No one thought to look among the broken trees in the forest. All of Jack’s shed dragon scales had been scooped up and carried away. Except for the one in the baker’s pocket.