‘I’m sorry Your Crustiness, but he insists on seeing you.’
Cob, The Arch Dough of Bakersville hung his head. He looked around the Palace, with its columns and pillars, a confection of support, standing proud, like the ultimate wedding cake. Just when everything was going so well and he had to deal with a neurotic Head-Baker. How had it come to this? They shouldn’t have recruited from abroad, they should have stayed with what they knew.
‘What’s he want?’
‘He…’ the page-bap sagged in the middle, a little underdone. ‘He won’t tell me.’
‘Why can’t he just do what he’s paid for? He’s here to bake, not bend my ear.’
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