Dragonquest - Donita K. Paul [33]
“Regidor,” Fenworth commanded, “get us a bowl big enough to put our little doneel in.”
Toopka’s eyes widened, and she sat up straight, placing her hands demurely in her lap.
“Our first lesson in wizardry”—Fenworth looked purposely at Regidor and then at Kale—“will be transforming existing material supplied by Wulder into a different form.”
Toopka slid off her seat and edged toward the door.
“Stay, my little Toopka.” Fenworth bestowed upon her his most charming smile. “You will be needed.”
Toopka shook her head warily. “Librettowit’s gonna help me write my letters.”
“You told Regidor at breakfast you had learned them all.”
Toopka gulped, took a step closer to the door, and nodded. “All the capitals.” Her bobbing head stopped midmotion and became side-to-side denial. “I’m not doing very well with the small ones.”
Fenworth gestured for her to return to her seat. “Time enough for that later. You’ll learn a bit here, being in the thick of things.”
Fenworth perched on a high wooden stool and folded his arms into the sleeves of his loose silken robe. His face twitched in annoyance, and he brought out one hand. A gray mouse dangled by its tail from his long fingers. He leaned over, set the animal on the floor, and waved his hand in a wide circle over the cowering creature. “Begone!”
The mouse scurried away.
Fenworth resumed his posture on the stool, with his arms crossed and hidden in his robe. The color of the fabric shifted from red to orange to purple and settled in a blue darker than the evening sky. A myriad of twinkling stars dotted the robe. A few pinpoints of light dusted his shoulders, but as the material flowed to the ground, the stardust grew more dense until the hem glowed brightly with starshine.
“We will need,” said the wizard in solemn tones, “the fine powder ground from the annual grasses of the class of Triticum. And three ova of Gallus domesticus.”
Regidor narrowed his eyes. “We need flour and three eggs.”
Kale listened as Fenworth gave convoluted instructions and watched Regidor assemble the ingredients for an ordinary cake. She had seen women in River Away bake just such a cake.
Sighing, she relaxed against the frame of the door and let her gaze roam the room. Bardon soon picked up a book and didn’t even pretend to be interested in the cooking class. Regidor nodded seriously at Fenworth when given instructions, then winked at the doneel child at every chance. Kale moved quietly into the room and sat beside Toopka.
“He was just fooling.” Toopka gave her a toothy grin. “I’m not going to be part of the cake.”
Kale nodded. She couldn’t see that this baking had any wizardry to it. She watched all the more carefully to see how Wizard Fenworth might surprise them with a twist of magic in the making of one two-layered round cake. Nothing but the extravagant names he gave for ordinary baking powder, butter, sugar, and vanilla was any different from the way any marione mistress put together a cake for Sunday dinner.
While the cake baked in the old oven, Kale, Toopka, Wizard Fenworth, and Regidor sat around the table playing benders.
Toopka’s cards kept falling out of her hands. Regidor patiently helped her sort them and get them back in order.
“She’s won,” he said as he again helped rearrange her hand. “She has each of the seven high races and two wizards.”
“Two wizards, you say?” Fenworth rubbed the beard at his chin. “An excess. One wizard suffices for almost any task. Kale, take the cakes out and let them cool.”
The wizard rose from the table and put the cards back on the shelf. Standing over the cakes, he rubbed his hands together.
“Shall we have mallow or cream frosting?”
“Chocolate!” squealed Toopka.
“Very well.” He went over and sat in his large cushioned chair, nodding to Dar and Librettowit as they entered. “Dar, be a good fellow and teach them how to make frosting.”
Soon the wizard was snoring as the group around the table measured and stirred.
“Do we get to eat it when we finish?” asked Toopka.