“Lyra! Wake up!”
Lyra rolled over with a groan, squinting at the window. “It’s still dark outside. What time is it?”
Caramelle gave her another cheerful shake. “Nearly dawn, sleepyhead! C’mon. Rise and shine!”
“Nearly dawn?”
“I know,” Caramelle sighed. “It’s shameful. I overslept after all the excitement of yesterday.”
“Overslept?” Lyra repeated, but most of the word was lost in a giant yawn. “Shouldn’t we wait to ‘rise and shine’ with the sun?”
Caramelle’s eyebrows rose in shock. “Sunrise is like midmorning for a baker. I would usually have a loaf of bread proofed and in the oven by now. Don’t bards get up early?”
“Nope,” Lyra replied, sitting up groggily. “We’re usually out late with shows or rehearsal. Mornings are very… slow in the Treble household.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’re rooming with me.” Caramelle pulled Lyra to her feet. “Got to get you out of those performer habits and into a true baking schedule.”
The next fifteen minutes were a blur to Lyra, but at the end of them, she found herself sitting with Caramelle at the first-year table in the dining hall.
“No one else is here,” Lyra whispered, looking around at the otherwise empty room. “Are we really that late?”
At that moment, the doors swung open once again to admit Professor Puff.
“We’re right on time,” Caramelle said with satisfaction. Then, her smile brightening, “Good morning, Professor!”
“Good morning, Aspiring Bakers.” The Texture headmistress gave them each a cordial nod before taking her place at the central table. She was followed closely by Professor Genoise, and finally a yawning Professor Honeycomb.
“Of course today is a bit more relaxed, since there are no classes,” Caramelle whispered to Lyra, exchanging friendly greetings with both professors as they entered. “The other students are probably still sleeping. But we want to make a good impression. The professors see us already here, they know we’re diligent, right?”
Lyra caught the look of approval in Professor Genoise’s eyes as he glanced over at their table. She nodded fervently. “Makes sense. And thanks. For, y’know, getting me here… on time.”
Caramelle squeezed her hand. “That’s what roomies are for.”
The kitchen doors opened, and a set of dishes came floating through the air. Lyra expected them to serve the professors first, but to her surprise, they soared straight to the first-year table.
“I guess they serve guests in the order of arrival?” Lyra guessed, gazing with admiration at the steaming plate of eggs and bacon in front of her. “How do they know, from inside the kitchen? And how does the floating spell work?”
Caramelle waved a dismissive hand. “Probably some menial kitchen staff magic. Bakers don’t concern themselves with the service side of the industry.”
The doors opened again, but this time, the dish that appeared was not floating. Chef Peppercorn Flax himself stood there, holding two plates heaped with cinnamon rolls.
“Good morning, early risers!” he called, his voice booming genially around the room. “Happy Cinnamon Roll Sunday!”
“Cinnamon rolls!” Professor Honeycomb clapped her hands. “Oh, how I’ve missed these.”
“You can make them yourself while the students are on break, Lavender,” Professor Puff observed calmly.
The Flavor headmistress grinned up at Chef Flax as he deposited one plate at the professors’ table. “Not like Peppercorn’s. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“That’s because our head chef guards his secrets closely. Especially regarding these beauties.” Professor Genoise picked up a cinnamon roll, sniffing delicately. “One of these days, Flax, I’m going to get it out of you.”
Chef Flax merely winked in response, then strode across to the first-year table, presenting the other plate of cinnamon rolls to Lyra and Caramelle with a deep bow. “Special treat for the first to arrive!”
His smile warmed Lyra right through, delighting her almost as much as the delectable aroma emanating from the plate. She tried to match it as she replied, “Thank you, Chef Flax.”
“Oh, call me Flax. Or Peppercorn. Or just Chef, if you like. One name is enough for me.” Chef Flax gestured to the plate of cinnamon rolls. “Go on, try one. The heating spell lasts a while, but it’s still best to eat them when they’re fresh.”
Cinnamon rolls were Lyra’s favorite breakfast treat, and these were the most perfect specimens she had ever seen. Each was a generous portion, but still small enough that one wouldn’t feel bad about having a second, or even a third. They were perfectly round, with shiny sides denoting an egg glaze. The tops were slathered in just the right amount of cream cheese frosting. An extra dusting of spices over the frosting hinted at the rich flavors waiting within.
Reverently, Lyra chose a particularly plump, especially sticky roll and took a large bite. Her eyes closed. For the next several seconds, she was lost in a blissful haze as all other senses gave way to taste.
“Sharps and flats,” Lyra sighed, once the exquisite bite was finally swallowed. “That is… priceless. I can see why you deliver them by hand.”
“I don’t, usually,” Chef Flax chuckled. “But I wanted the chance to meet the creator of that incredible cake we all enjoyed last night. How did you do it?”
Lyra nodded in agreement as she turned to Caramelle. “I’ve been waiting to ask you the same thing. Especially about the gold roses. How did you manage to make them so shiny?”
“I think the head chef was talking to you, Lyra,” Caramelle replied coolly.
“Me?” Lyra looked back at Chef Flax. “You mean, my cake?”
“That’s right. Miss Treble, is it?” Chef Flax extended a hand. “Allow me to congratulate you on a truly exceptional creation.”
“Oh, thanks,” Lyra said faintly, reaching her hand out instinctively as she tried to process what she was hearing. “You can call me Lyra. Or Treble. Whatever you prefer.”
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lyra.” Chef Flax turned to Caramelle, extending the same hand. “And congratulations are, of course, due to Miss Meringue here also. A dazzling display of skill, especially for one so young.”
Lyra felt the air around Caramelle soften at the praise.
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“Thank you, Chef Flax.” The auburn-haired girl took the offered hand graciously. “And thank you for the feast last night. I look forward to the next three years of meals from your kitchens.”
Chef Flax clapped his hands. “Three years! That’s what I like to hear. You two will go far, I can tell.” Turning back to Lyra, he leaned conspiratorially across the table. “I would like to discuss that cake with you soon, Lyra. I saw your recipe, and I just can’t wrap my head around how those spells produced that delicious dream.”
“I’m not sure myself,” Lyra confessed. “But I’m happy to tell you anything.”
Chef beamed. “I’d be most obliged. Confidentially, of course. Baker to baker.”
A sudden thought struck Lyra, and she grinned mischievously. “If, in return, you share some of your cinnamon roll secrets with me.”
Chef Flax threw back his head and laughed heartily. “You’ll definitely go far, Lyra,” he said eventually, his red face creased with merriment. “I’m afraid those particular secrets are far too valuable. But, if you like, you can help me make the next batch.”
“R-really?” Lyra stammered. “I can — you’ll let me come back to the kitchens? I can watch?”
“Not just watch. Assist!” Chef Flax said. “A bright baker like you will definitely pick up on a trick or two by observing, but even more by participating. Bring your plate.”
“Oh, thank you!” Lyra stood, scrambling to gather her plate and utensils. “Thank y—”
Caramelle placed a firm hand on her arm. “I don’t know that we have time, Lyra. Maybe we should just finish eating, and —”
“There’s plenty of time!” Lyra exclaimed. “Classes don’t start until tomorrow. There’s nothing going on this morning.”
“That’s not true,” Caramelle replied smoothly. “The third-years are giving a tour of campus, remember?”
Lyra shook off her roommate’s hand. “That doesn’t start until ten o’clock. We’ll be finished by then. Right, Chef?”
“Right indeed, Lyra.” He offered an arm, which she took, then turned to Caramelle. “The invitation includes your colleague also, of course. What do you say, Miss Meringue? Care for a peek behind the curtain?”
“That’s all right.” Caramelle smiled sweetly. “When one has been baking as long as I have, there is so little mystery left to enjoy. I prefer to preserve it whenever I can. But thank you.”
Chef Flax nodded solemnly. “As you wish, Miss Meringue. Shall we, Lyra?”
“Yes, please!” Lyra grabbed one more cinnamon roll for her already full plate, then matched Chef Flax’s stride back towards the kitchen doors.
“Found a friend, Flax?” Professor Genoise called as they passed.
“I believe so, Professor,” Chef Flax said gaily. “With any luck, I’ll have her making better cinnamon rolls than you within the hour.”
Professor Genoise smiled, as did Professor Puff, but Professor Honeycomb laughed merrily. “Back into the inner sanctum, Aspiring Baker Treble! That’s a great honor. Keep your eyes open, and enjoy it!”
“I will,” Lyra assured her, casting one more glance back at the first-year table as she arrived at the kitchen doors. Caramelle was studiously eating, her auburn head bent fully over her plate. Then one of the dining hall doors opened, and Lyra’s eyes were drawn irresistibly to the shimmering, practically incandescent figure of Cardamom Coulis the Third.
Through the corner of her eyes, Lyra saw Caramelle’s head snap up and flash a radiant smile at the newcomer. Then the kitchen doors swung shut behind Lyra, blocking her view.
“This is where the magic happens,” Chef FLax’s voice boomed beside her. “Quite literally, in fact.”
Feeling a pang of regret at the loss of an opportunity to speak to Cardamom, Lyra forced her head around to take in the royal academy kitchen.
She gasped.
This could be nothing else but the kitchen of a magical baking school. The room was smaller than she had expected, roughly the same size as the dining hall, but it still felt spacious. Stoves and ovens alternated with countertops and drawers around all four walls, the pattern broken only by the doors she had just walked through and another set of doors in the opposite wall. A massive island stood in the center of the room. Its polished marble top was covered with bowls, a rolling pin, and various cinnamon roll ingredients.
Lyra was struck by the differences from the exam hall in which she had spent the previous morning. Instead of rich mahogany paneling, the kitchen walls, floor, and ceiling were all gray, bare stone. While the exam hall contained a line of giant windows, the kitchen boasted only three small circular panes of glass, each barely two feet across and set in the center of the three outer walls. Peering at the window in the east wall, Lyra could just glimpse the faint pink that heralded the oncoming dawn.
Yet, the room was brightly and cheerfully lit. Torches burned in sconces along the walls, and a hanging iron chandelier graced each of the room’s four corners. All the fire burned so steadily, Lyra was sure it must be magical.
There was also magic at work in the room’s temperature. Despite all the sizzling of bacon and the delicious aromas that spoke of ovens at work with breads and pastries, the air in the kitchen was pleasantly cool. Hesitantly, Lyra reached out and touched one of the walls. The stone was not only cold to the touch, but it radiated an icy aura. She pulled her hand back quickly.
“Those walls are something else, aren’t they?” Chef Flax asked, noting the movement. “Powerful cooling spell. Adjusts automatically to counteract the various heat levels without and within, to keep this space an even temperature constantly. Has to be renewed once a week. Otherwise, I’d be the main thing getting cooked in this room.” He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his face. “I carry my own heating around with me, you see.”
Lyra nodded, but the magically regulated temperature was not the most compelling aspect of the royal academy kitchen. Far more impressive, in light of the extensive culinary efforts underway wherever she looked, was the absence of any other people.
“You… you’re in here by yourself?” she asked, staring around in wonder. “You do all this work alone?”
“Salts, no,” Chef Flax chuckled. “Bumble here is my sous chef.”
A flurry of movement to the left made Lyra turn her head. There, whizzing back and forth between two pans of bacon, was the largest flying squirrel she had ever seen. It was at least a foot across when it spread out its arms and legs to soar from one pan to the other. A small white chef’s hat sat securely atop the creature’s head, standing out sharply against its bright red fur.
As Lyra watched, the flying squirrel turned over four pieces of bacon with one expert flick of a spatula. Then it darted over to another pan and sprinkled in a handful of pepper with one paw, while its abnormally long tail nimbly adjusted the heat.
“Bumble!” Chef Flax called. “Come and meet Lyra!”
Bumble held up one paw in a just-a-moment gesture. Twisting, he launched himself across to the island in one mighty leap.
Chef Flax waved a hand. “Don’t worry about the dough. Lyra here is going to help us with the next batch.”
Bumble held up the ‘wait’ paw again. Scooping flour out of a bag with the other paw, he began dusting the counter with rapid flicks, chattering amiably in squirrel-language.
“Can you understand him?” Lyra whispered.
“Bits and pieces,” Chef Flax sighed. “That’s all I’ve been able to pick up over the years. Shame too. He’s already a great companion, and he understands me just fine, but it would be nice to have a real conversation. I keep meaning to take lessons. One of the former students here turned out to be a bit of a dud, baking-wise, but an absolute whiz at animal dialects. He’s offered to teach me, but I never seem to have enough time.”
Having dusted the counter to his satisfaction, Bumble leapt over to Chef Flax and Lyra, landing lightly on the large man’s shoulder.
“Bumble, this is Lyra Treble, one of our new first-years. Someday soon, she’s going to explain to me how she used three of the simplest baking spells on record to create the most enjoyable cake I have ever had the pleasure of encountering.”
Bumble bowed low, then leapt over to Lyra’s shoulder, chattering excitedly.
“He’s honored to meet you,” Chef Flax translated, smiling. “I can tell you that much. He got a tiny taste of that vanilla cake too.”
“The honor is entirely mine… Bumble,” Lyra said, blushing and trying hard not to giggle as the flying squirrel’s whiskers tickled her ear. “Did you give him that name, Chef?”
“Certainly not. That’s his right name. First word I learned in his language. Right, Bumble?”
Chef Flax made a strange chattering noise, and Bumble made a sound in return that sounded suspiciously like a giggle.
“It’s a… lovely name,” Lyra assured the bright-eyed sous chef.
“Bit odd, of course, but don’t let the name fool you,” Chef Flax warned. “He’s much less messy than I am. More efficient, too.”
Bumble chattered what Lyra guessed was confirmation of this claim.
“So, just you and Bumble.” She looked around again at the multiple cook-stations, all going at once to produce a variety of pleasing aromas. “That’s still a lot of work, isn’t it?”
Bumble chattered indignantly.
“Remember that there are rarely more than fifteen people to serve at a time,” Chef Flax chuckled. “The occasional banquet with invited guests, sure. But otherwise, we’re a cozy family here. Just enough work to keep me and Bumble pleasantly busy.” He rubbed his hands together. “Speaking of, we’d best get a move on with these cinnamon rolls. The second-years are a ravenous bunch.”
Bumble chattered a mournful affirmative.
“And afterwards,” Chef Flax continued, “if you’d like, I could show you the greenhouse? I know the third-years are giving the grand tour later, but they tend to zip through these parts of campus. Not nearly enough time to see all the good stuff.”
Bumble leapt from Lyra’s shoulder to a cupboard, returning a second later with a clean apron for her.
She smiled. “Let’s get baking!”