Baker's Kindness

The baker hesitated at the entrance to the alley. Taking a deep breath, he pulled his cloak tighter around him and stepped into the darkness.

A short distance in, he stopped to lean against the wall and wait for his vision to adjust to the dim light.

Be brave. This is necessary.

He shivered as visions of beggars and thieves attacking him from the shadows entered his mind. He stood straight and pushed his shoulders back, touching the heavy oak cudgel hanging from his belt. "Come on. Let's get this over with." He pushed himself from the wall and started down the alley, leaving the protective light of the main street behind.

He raised a perfumed scarf to cover his nose as the smell of filth threatened to overwhelm him. In his own district of the city, even the back alleys were kept clean to prevent vermin, disease, and vagabonds from gathering. A dark shape huddled against the wall. The baker slowed but did not stop.

Too large.

A few moments later, a loud clattering startled him. He fumbled for the cudgel, cursing as it became tangled in the folds of his cloak. Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead as he jerked the weapon free and held it up in front of him, his breath ragged as he trained wide eyes on his attacker.

A skinny white cat with mangy fur looked up at him.

His laugh was shaky. "Just a cat." Or a large, ugly rat.

"What are you doing here, sir?" A voice from nearby caused the baker to spin in surprise. A young man, sixteen or so by the look of him, sat with his back against the wall. Dirty, ill-fitting rags partially covered his chest and legs. The baker could see bruises and dirt on his exposed limbs. He was skinny with black, stringy hair.

Perfect. The baker smiled and bent down. "I am here to offer help, lad."

"To who?"

"If you are interested in a warm meal and some clean clothes, then my offer is for you."

The boy shook his head. "I don't think I can pay the price you'd be wanting for something like that, sir."

"The price . . . oh no." He raised his hands. "I'm not interested in you that way."

The boy coughed. "Everything has a price, and I have only my body to use as currency." He pushed himself further back against the wall. "Please. I'd rather lay here hungry and cold than do anything vile."

The baker scowled. "I told you, boy, I'm not here for sex." He paused, took a deep breath, and smiled. "I was once a poor boy like you, but someone helped me. I would simply like to do the same." He sat down beside the boy and did his best to ignore the filth on the ground as it squished beneath him. "Every year, I go out and find a young boy on the streets."

"What for?"

"To give him a chance at a better life," the baker said. "I bring him to my home for food, a bath, and clothes."

"Do you let him live with you?"

"No, but I do invite him back once a week to eat and bathe."

"A bath every week? Even lords and ladies don't go to such excess. That's the best way to catch pox or some other sickness. Everyone knows that."

The baker chuckled. "That's not so, although most peasants believe as you do. The truth is quite the opposite. Cleanliness is next to godliness, boy."

The young man let the matter drop with a shrug. "Why me?"

"Luck"—the baker raised one hand and pointed farther into the alley—"mixed with a bit of cowardice on my part. You are the first suitable candidate that I encountered and I am loathe to venture deeper unless you decline my offer. What do you say? Are you interested in a warm meal and some clean clothes?"

Looking off into the distance, the boy appeared to consider about the offer before nodding. "I would be grateful for your help."

"Excellent." The baker stood and reached down to help him up. "In my part of the city, I am the baker. You may call me'baker'or'sir'. What is your name?"

"Demenik."

"Well, Demenik. Let's get out of here."

Demenik lowered his head and pulled at his ragged coverings as they entered the finer part of the city. "The law would beat me for being here."

The baker held his hand and continued to walk purposefully forward. "Yes, but not for long. When you stink a little less and wear finer clothes you will be able to walk these streets freely."

Demenik shook his head. "I don't think so, sir. The law is shrewd when it comes to spotting things what don't belong."

"That don't belong."

"As you say, sir."

"This is my house and bake shop." The baker nodded at a plain building up ahead. "Let's go around the back."

They entered a narrow alley between buildings——this one clean and well lit——and stopped at a small door. The baker produced a key ring from his pocket and inserted a small iron key into the lock. "Wait here." He pointed at an empty box on the ground. "Remove your shoes and outer clothes and put them in there."

"But . . . I don't have any clothes on under these rags."

"Then keep your pants on but remove everything else. The goal is for you to be clean, not to make my house filthy."

The baker entered the house and returned a few moments later with a towel over his shoulder and a bucket filled with water. A young boy stepped out into the alley behind him. "This is my son."

Demenik smiled at the baker's son. "It's good to meet you."

The baker's son looked blankly at Demenik and said nothing.

He seems odd. Maybe he's simple.

"Wash the worst of the dirt off out here." The baker put the pail on the ground. "I have more water warming on the stove for a bath." He tapped his son on the shoulder and the boy held up a shiny red apple. "First the dirt." The baker pointed at the bucket. "Then a snack."

Demenik removed the long-handled scrub brush from the pail and began to wash himself. In a few minutes, he had scrubbed most of the grime from his scrawny frame.

When he was finished, the baker raised the bucket and poured it over him to rinse off the soap. He handed Demenik the towel and apple. "Dry yourself off, eat the apple, and come in when you are no longer dripping wet."

Demenik took a bite and grinned as sweetness filled his mouth. Chew slowly. But his mouth would not obey. He devoured the apple in four quick bites, core and all.

"Come inside when you are dry." The baker led his son inside.

Demenik smiled as he towelled himself off.

***

An hour later, Demenik pushed away an empty plate and leaned back in his chair.

"Do you want some more?" The baker held up a ladle filled with mashed potatoes.

"Thank you, but no. I am truly filled to the bursting point."

The baker chuckled. "It would be a terrible waste to throw it all back up."

"Don't worry, I won't." Demenik yawned.

"You are tired. All I can offer you for a bed is the floor by the rear door, but it's better than sending you back to the alley. A safe place to sleep is part of the offering each week."

"That will be perfect. I wish that there was some way to repay you."

"Don't worry about that. Sometimes kindness is its own reward."

Demenik nodded and bowed his head. "You are a good man, sir. I will not forget this."

"Good. Maybe someday you will be successful and able to help others in a similar manner."

Demenik could not imagine ever being able to help himself, let alone others, but he nodded and looked down at his lap.

"Before you go to sleep, there is one more thing."

Demenik looked up and his breath caught in his throat.

The baker held a shiny silver coin in his hand. "This is for you." He dropped it into Demenik's palm.

The boy's hand shook and tears welled up in his eyes. This is more money than I have possessed in my entire life. I can buy food for a week with this. "I cannot repay this."

"I do not expect you to. I do, however, expect you to spend it wisely."

"I promise that I will." Demenik held the coin reverently, examining it before tucking it into the waist of his new pants.

"Good." The baker stood and patted Demenik on the back. "I must begin baking for this day's business. When you wake up, feel free to sneak out the back door quietly. You may return here in one week's time. Come at midnight, and knock on the back door. I will be expecting you."

Demenik nodded.

"There is one more condition." The baker's expression was serious. "You must tell no one about our arrangement. If you do, the deal ends. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Off to sleep then." The baker nodded to his son. The boy turned and left the kitchen.

"It was nice to meet you."

The boy ignored him.

Demenik shuffled to the back door. This wood floor is softer than the wet stone of the alley.

He lay down and was asleep in seconds.

***

Demenik woke to the sounds of pans clinking and the delicious aromas of bread baking. On the ground beside him sat a fresh roll. He considered saving it for later, but had no place to store it and so he leaned against the wall and began to eat.

The baker came into the room, sweating as he scrambled to pull bread from the oven and place other trays of dough into the heat. He dumped the bread from the pans and began to sort them into baskets.

"See you next week, Demenik." The baker turned and walked towards the counter in the next room.

Demenik stood, taking another bite from his roll as he checked to make certain that the silver coin was still tucked securely into his pants.

Stepping out into the morning sunlight, Demenik popped the last piece of bread into his mouth as he began walking toward the main street. He rounded the corner with a full belly and a smile on his face. Quite suddenly, life had gone from being miserable to once again worth living. He was too preoccupied by good thoughts to be aware of his surroundings.

"What's this, then?" a deep voice said as a strong hand gripped his hair and pulled him onto his tiptoes.

A large man held him tightly. The man's neck and head were thick and muscular, his nose ugly and crooked. The dark grey cloak of a Keeper of the Law was draped over his massive shoulders.

"Please, sir, I—"

The Keeper cuffed him with a casual flick of his hand. The force of the blow brought tears to Demenik's eyes. "Shut up, puke." Spit flew from the man's mouth and landed on Demenik's cheek. "I know everyone in this neighbourhood, and you do not belong here." He gripped the boy's hair tighter. "You got clean clothes, but I know a guttersnipe when I see one." He shook the boy. "Who did you steal from?"

"No one, I swear it. I—" The baker's warning stopped him from saying more. I'm not supposed to tell anyone.

"Well, where were ya, then?"

Demenik remained silent.

The Keeper growled and punched the boy in the back, driving him to the ground with a squeal of pain. He delivered two quick kicks to Demenik's ribs, followed by two hard slaps to his face.

Demenik lay on the ground, his face on fire. He could taste blood and his ribs burned.

The Keeper squatted down and leaned in close. "I'm in a good mood today, so I'm gonna let you go. But if I ever see you again, I will truly hurt you. Do you understand me, vermin?"

Demenik nodded.

"Get up and leave before my good humour does."

Demenik scrambled to his feet, wincing at the pain in his side. He jogged away as quickly as he could.

The Keeper watched Demenik flee. When the young man had disappeared from view, he turned and looked up at the window.

The baker's son looked down onto the street.

The Keeper smiled at the boy, touched a knuckle to his eyebrow in salute, and walked away.