Dragons of the Watch - Donita K. Paul [36]
The shadow moved away.
“Wait,” called Ellie. “Please don’t go. We’d like to know you. Can’t you come down and talk to us? We could have tea.”
“Tea’s no good without daggarts, and there haven’t been daggarts for years.”
He shuffled off.
“Should we go after him?” asked Ellie.
“Have you seen the grand staircase?” Bealomondore shook his head. “He’ll have to come to us.”
As Ellie and Bealomondore walked to the butcher’s shop, Airon flew above them, circling back whenever she got too far ahead. Tak moseyed along, munching on plants from the flower boxes and poking his nose in piles of trash. They occasionally had to stop and wait for him to catch up.
“How long do you suppose Rumbard City has been under the wizard’s spell?” asked Ellie.
“Four hundred years.”
“Exactly?”
“No, approximately. Rumbard City’s been around for four hundred years. Old One’s journal recordings did not give a year until later on, so I estimated by how many earlier journals I found.”
“You really have learned a lot in the two months you’ve been here.”
“Necessity. Desperation. Boredom. Three instigators of industry.”
Ellie mulled that over in her mind. She could see how that was true. But the poor children and lonely Old One crowded out other thoughts of Bealomondore.
“Do you know what I want to do?” she asked.
“Eat noonmeal?”
“Yes, that. I’m starving. But after noonmeal I’d like to look into making daggarts. These children don’t ever have daggarts, do they?”
“Not that I’ve seen.” He smacked his lips. “Daggarts. Our cook used to bake daggarts in the early afternoon, and we’d have them with milk. Now that was a treat.” He shook his head. “An excellent idea, but where are we going to get the ingredients and a working oven?”
“We could look in the bakery.”
Bealomondore smiled at her, the twinkle in his eye gleaming. “That sounds like a reasonable place to start.”
They emptied the box on the butcher’s stoop and hurried through their meal. After disposing of the leftovers, they went to the other side of the fountain to the bakery. Ellie had full confidence that Bealomondore would be able to gain entry to the closed shop. However, his skills were not needed. The back door lay on the ground, and the state of the interior testified to ransacking done by the roving horde of six-year-olds.
Tak meandered around the room, sniffing and sneezing at carelessly tossed flour. Ellie crossed her arms over her stomach, looking down at the white piles of flour on the floor and childish footprints marking trails in every direction. “Well, the supplies used to be here.”
“Maybe we can find something on a top shelf.” Bealomondore began to climb up to a counter. “What kind of daggarts did you want to make?”
“I know recipes for oatmeal, chocobit, and butter daggarts.”
Bealomondore took hold of a book with two hands and lowered it over the side of the counter. “A recipe book. Watch out. I’m going to let it fall.”
The book landed flat and poofed the old flour into the air. Ellie waved a hand in front of her face and backed away. When the air cleared, she returned to the book and opened the cover. “There’s a section on desserts.”
“Good,” came Bealomondore’s answer from high above.
Airon chittered wildly, and Ellie interpreted her distress. She looked up and gasped. Bealomondore climbed a long, thick string of garlic that looked brittle and ready to break.
“Be careful!” she shouted.
He reached a cabinet, wedged his fingers under the door, and opened it. Once inside, he gave a hoot he must’ve picked up from living with the kimens. “We hit the mother lode! I see baking powder in a tin, an unopened bag of salt, a box that has spices in it, and some colored sprinkles you put on top of birthday cakes. You know, the kind that goes on the icing.”
She put her hand over her eyes, shielding her sight from the glare coming in the big front window. “Any sugar? Flour? Lard?”
“Nary a speck. Are eggs in your recipe?”
“In the oatmeal and chocobit.”
Bealomondore came to stand on the edge and leaned out to speak to her. “We’ll have to go to the outskirts