Realms of the Arcane - Brian M. Thomsen [27]
"No use. It's shut tight." He sighed and tossed up his hands in dismay-to discover his palms and the bottoms of his fingers covered in white powder. Curiously, he rolled it with his fingertips and was fascinated to find that it joined together in little clumps. He brought a bit to his tongue and tasted before Sasha could reach to stop him.
Wiglaf s face brightened. "Flour! It's flour!"
"And it's covered," she said.
Wiglaf looked back at the packet. Its protective outer shell was sloughing off in great clumps now, deconstituting as they watched. Wiglaf made to pick it up, and his hand came back full of flour. He brushed it away, and revealed his new discovery.
Nestled inside the pile of flour was a cream-colored soft lump, a finger-length square, that appeared to have been broken in two, judging from its one jagged edge. There was a small jar full of cloudy, viscous liquid with bits of matter suspended in it. Under both items, Wiglaf found a double-folded piece of parchment covered with strange vertical scribbles: semicircular forms, bisecting lines, strategically placed dots. The dry sheet crackled as Wiglaf unfolded it.
"Can you read it?" Sasha asked.
"Thorass."
"I beg your pardon?"
"It's written in Thorass. Auld Common tongue." Wiglaf bent in concentration. "Nobody uses it anymore. There's no telling how old this is, Sasha. Centuries, maybe."
"I'll bet Fenzig can read it."
Wiglaf frowned. "For your information, he's teaching me how, too."
"Fine. Give us the translation, your mageness."
"Well… I just started, and it's a dead language anyway, so I didn't really…"
"… and you have this problem with studying. Great. Just when we could actually use a little book learning."
"Hold on, hold on. I've got some of it. Time'… no, Year… none-food.' "
"Ah. Crystal clear."
"Please, Sasha. 'Make… meal'… no, 'bread… of… wonder. Make year… many-food.' "
Wiglaf's mouth fell open. He turned slowly to the other items.
"Sasha, do you realize what happened? Do you realize what we have here?"
"No, me many not-realize."
"There must have been a Year of Famine, long ago, who knows? And then a very powerful magic-user- maybe a whole bunch of them-made this." He held up the lump and turned it in his hand. "So stupid, it's right there in front of me. Dough. This is starter dough! It makes the bread of wonder!" He grabbed the jar. "And this has to be magical sourdough starter-to make even more dough!"
"I'm hungry already."
"No, don't you see? This stuff turned the Year of Starving into a Year of Plenty. It might even have saved our whole civilization. And they must have hidden it here in case a famine came back."
"You think it's still any good?"
"No reason why not. In Luiren, they discovered a sealed flask of ale from ancient times that turned out to be just fine. And so was the recipe they found along with it. Inns are serving Oldest Ancient Stout there today. And this could be even bigger!"
He stood, amazed, and threw out his arms. "Sasha, this is the greatest discovery Calimshan has ever seen!" He started to tip back into the water, but Sasha was there.
"Hey, no more diving today, okay, Wiglaf? Let's just take your wonder bread back to town."
* * * * *
The Ovens of Evertongue employed three full-time bakers; two apprentices who evaluated, procured, cataloged, stored, and measured the constant flow of foodstuffs; and, lowest in the pecking order, an ovenboy whose never-ending job was to keep the floors and counters as tidy as business would allow, and the used implements recycling back into the process all clean and shiny. Wiglaf himself had served a few terms as ovenboy, a miserable duty that nevertheless befell anyone who wished to rise in the hierarchy. Even the shop's cat, Piewacket, considered herself in a supervisory position.
Thorin and the entire staff had been at work