Previously on Hidden Fragments
After narrowly escaping capture at the city gate, Calen, Marisa, and young Tobin entered Bramblebrook under the suspicious gaze of Captain Droskar and his soldiers. Marisa’s quick wit and charm saved them, though Calen wrestled with jealousy as she played along with the captain’s advances. Inside the bustling market town, Tobin revealed that his family and even the local baker secretly possessed Scrolls, the sacred writings of the Bible outlawed by the regime. Their mission to gather the Scrolls seemed to be advancing, and hope returned to their hearts. But back at the gate, the evil Slink had just arrived.
Will they be able to keep themselves and the precious Scrolls safe?
Chapter 11
The Bell, the Boots and the Bridge
Crossing Bramblebrook was not easy. People were everywhere; pushing, shouting, running. Calen and Marisa had to be careful while guiding their horses through town, following Tobin’s simple directions. They passed the Crooked Lantern, the pub where Captain Droskar had hoped to claim Marisa for himself. From its windows poured drunken songs and the reek of Ogre’s Ale and sweat. The stale air reminded Calen of his night in prison. Right then, the door of the pub banged open. A giant appeared, hurling a chubby man into the street. The fellow’s screams cut short as he crashed onto the cobblestones, right in front of Hosanna’s hooves. The horse panicked, and Calen had to jerk the reins. He barely managed to steer away without causing an accident. The man gave Calen a foul stare and mumbled something about locking up irresponsible riders.
A few streets further, the din began to fade and at last their eyes found the bakery. A humble cottage, nevertheless bright and clean looking. The scent of warm bread drifted into the street like a promise of something delightful.
The sign above the door read: ‘Life-giving Bread’
Marisa chuckled as she pointed to the sign. “Seems like we are at the right place.” They swung down from their saddles. Calen reached for a post to tie his horse, but Marisa’s hand stopped him. “Not here,” she murmured, eyes scanning the street.
“Really?” he asked, glancing at the passersby. “They’re just horses.”
“Better safe than sorry,” she whispered, pulling him towards a tree a short distance away. The horses snorted softly as they were secured, hidden from view.
With a final glance to make sure no one noticed, they slipped back towards the bakery. A tiny bell tinkled above the door, announcing their arrival.
The luscious smells of freshly baked cinnamon rolls, cookies and bread entered their nostrils. Even though Calen wasn’t the least bit hungry, his stomach growled. A woman with a gentle demeanor stood behind the counter and was just serving a bearded middle-aged man who had ordered several loaves of bread. She handed them to him with a gracious smile.
“That’s three coins and a half, then,” she said.
The man’s eyes flashed. “That’s more than last week.”
The woman shrugged. “I am sorry, Wilbert. The Council of Twelve has raised the taxes on flour again. This is their official price. Can’t help it.”
The man’s hand tightened around the loaves as he muttered something about the world being unjust. He begrudgingly paid, turned without giving Marisa, Calen, or Tobin a second glance, then walked off in a huff and slammed the door behind him.
The bell tinkled loudly.
“Sorry about that,” the woman said with a sigh as she turned to her new customers. “It’s just one of those days, and I had a rough night. But what can I do for you?” Then she spotted Tobin and broke out into a wide smile. “Tobin,” she exclaimed. “How good to see you again. You want your usual bag of flour?”
Tobin greeted her with an affectionate smile of his own and nodded. “Yes, Mrs. Mabel. We need flour again.” He paused. “But, by the whiskers of Saint Giles, may I introduce my friends?”
Mrs. Mabel cast Calen and Marisa an interested glance. As her gaze rested on Calen, a flicker of recognition crossed her face, almost as if she had met him before. For a moment, her eyes grew wide, but she quickly looked down.
Strange.
Calen was certain he had never seen this woman before.
“Tobin’s friends are always welcome,” Mrs. Mabel said at last, in a thoughtful voice. She made a small bow in a respectful greeting.
“Mrs. Mabel,” Tobin added with his youthful zeal, “I not only want flour, but my friends want the scroll— “
“— Good to meet you, too,” Calen said, cutting off Tobin in his enthusiasm. “Your bakery is fine indeed, and the fragrances here could stir hunger in a king’s hall.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Mabel replied, but Calen could sense she was a bit more reserved than before and some of her warmth had been replaced by tense confusion. She turned her attention back to Tobin. “I am sorry, son. I don’t know what you are talking about, but I’ll get you your flour.”
She briskly turned around and disappeared through the door that led to the back of their store.
As soon as she was gone, Calen turned to their young friend. “Tobin, you need not be so rash. You scared the woman by mentioning the Scrolls.”
“Good Gravy,”the boy muttered. “You want them scrolls, right?”
“We do,” Calen said in a fatherly tone, “but …”
Before he could finish, the door to the back swung open again. The baker himself entered, a giant of a man, with Mrs. Mabel close behind, carrying two small bags of flour.
“Hello, Mister Samwell,” Tobin exclaimed, eager to escape Calen’s stern look.
The baker’s eyes narrowed as he studied Calen and Marisa, then softened just a little when he turned to Tobin. “Good to see you, lad. Here’s your flour.” He took the bags from Mrs. Mabel and set them on the counter. “I’ve added an extra bag for your mother. A gift. Tell her we hope she’s well.”
Then his gaze returned to Calen and Marisa, cool and distant. “We are rather busy. Do you need anything else?”
Calen hesitated, unsure what to say. At that instant, Marisa drew her shiny cross from beneath her garment and held it up to the baker.
The baker’s eyes lingered on it for a long moment as he leaned heavily on the counter. Then he shot Mrs. Mabel a quick glance.
“I’m sorry we came in so carelessly,” Marisa said. “We heard that … you, too, believe in the God of the Scrolls. We are not here for ordinary bread, but …” She paused, searching for the right words. “… we have come for the living bread.”
Calen could see the struggle in both the baker and his wife’s eyes. It wasn’t hard to guess their thoughts. One wrong word to the wrong people could land them all in jail.
“Living bread?” the baker said. “I bake bread to … eh … feed the hungry.”
Marisa nodded. “And … cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days.” *
The baker’s eyes softened, and a faint smile appeared. Then he answered and said, “For I was hungry, and ye gave me meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink; I was a stranger, and ye took me in.” **
The atmosphere in the bakery shifted. To Calen’s amazement, the cloud of suspicion lifted. What were they talking about?
“Glad to meet you,” Samwell Wheatley said at last. “Children of the King are more than welcome.” He motioned for them to come with him to the back, but just then the little bell at the door tinkled. The door swung open, and a soldier strode in. His sword caught the light, and each step of his muddy boots stamped grime into the wooden floor.
Calen froze. Was that one of the soldiers they had seen at the gate? It sure looked like it but it was hard to tell, since all soldiers looked alike; equally dark, unpleasant and wicked.
Again, just as she had when she encountered Captain Droskar, Marisa showed no hint of fear and took control of the situation. She gave the man a warm, welcoming smile and stepped aside to make room at the counter.
“Your turn, soldier,” she said. “We are just waiting for our order.”
The soldier grunted something unintelligible, ignored them and turned to the baker. “Want a Bishop’s Belly-Buster Pie,” he demanded in gruff tones.
“Sure,” Samwell said and motioned for Mrs. Mabel to get it for him.
“Last one was a bit too dry,” the soldier continued in a complaining voice. “I am not spending my precious coins on something of inferior quality.”
“So sorry,” Samwell replied. “It must have rested on the shelf a touch too long. This one is fresh from the griddle.”
Mrs. Mabel returned, holding out a luscious pie. Calen had to admit; it looked grand.
The soldier studied it closely, then decided the cream- and fruit-covered delicacy met his requirements. He nodded, took a few grubby coins from his tunic and pressed them into Mrs. Mabel’s hand.
Without another word he took the pie, turned around and disappeared through the door.
For a moment, silence hung in the bakery. “Let’s talk,” Samwell Wheatley said at last. “Wife, you stay in the shop, in case other customers come in. I’ll talk to our friends.”
Mrs. Mabel nodded, relieved that everything seemed in order. Calen, Marisa and Tobin followed the baker through the back door.
They stepped into the baker’s workshop. The space was limited, yet everything was neatly arranged so that every inch was put to good use. Low wooden beams, blackened by years of smoke stretched across the ceiling, and rough stone tiles covered the floor. In one corner stood a sturdy brick oven. Against the walls were rough wooden tables and shelves filled with sacks of flour, bread and delicacies Calen had never seen before.
The baker gestured toward a small spot near the oven, where a wobbly bench awaited them. He settled onto a stool pulled from beneath one of the tables.
“Now, what can we do for you?” the baker asked once they were settled down. “My dear Mabel tells me you were asking about the Scrolls. Are you interested in studying them?”
“Yes, we are,” Calen said.
“No, not just that,” Marisa interrupted. “There’s something else.”
“What is it?” the baker asked as he tilted his head.
Marisa pointed at Calen. “He spoke with old man Angus just before he died and–”
“– You met Angus Stoneval?” Samwell asked, surprise creeping into his voice.
With a quiet nod from Calen, Marisa continued speaking. “Angus told him God wants my friend here to collect all the missing fragments of the Scrolls and put them together. We need a full copy so we can produce copies for the entire country. Everyone needs the full counsel of God.”
Samwell Wheatley’s eyes widened as he stared at Calen. He could hardly believe that a man like Calen had been entrusted with such a high mission.
“Is that so?” Samwell asked slowly.
Calen pressed his lips together. “I know it seems strange that someone like me should be asked to perform such a task,” he said softly. “I’ve only just recently come to know the God of the Scrolls myself …” His eyes flicked toward Marisa, who encouraged him with a steady, reassuring look.
“I am a scribe,” he began hesitantly, “and I did not believe in the God of the Scrolls until Angus Stoneval called on me, just before he died.”
As he told his story, and he came to the part in the cave, his voice broke and tears brimmed his eyes. He ended with a trembling confession. “I am not worthy of any service to the King of Heaven,” he said. “I’m only just beginning to understand who God is, and how wonderfully loving. Forgive me, friend baker. I still have a long way to go, and much to learn.”
Samwell remained silent for a long moment, trying to digest all he had just heard. At last, he asked, “And what can we do?”
“Tobin told us you have some parts of the Scrolls too,” Marisa explained. “We already have several books in our possession, but perhaps we could copy what you’ve got.”
“Copy?” Samwell Wheatley asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, copy,” Calen said. “We would not want you to give away the only part of the Scrolls you possess. I am sure Bramblebrook needs it.”
“A scribe, huh?” the baker mumbled. “Are you any good?”
“I am fast, and I can copy every word faithfully. What you entrust to me will not be lost, but multiplied.”
“Like Jesus multiplied the loaves and the fishes when He was preaching to the crowd,” Marisa added, referring to something that was still a mystery to Calen.
Samwell let out a sigh. “I don’t really know you,” he said at last. “I know Angus and I know Asher, but I don’t know the two of you. How can I truly know I can trust you?”
From the doorway, all of a sudden, a quiet voice spoke up. “I believe them, Samwell!”
It was Mabel. The door to the shop had not been properly closed, and she had been standing just inside the shop, listening. “Last night,” she said, “I had this dream and, in the dream, I saw this young man.” She opened the door all the way and pointed to Calen.
Samwell Wheatley looked up, surprised. “You had a dream? You didn’t tell me.”
“I know,” Mabel replied. “There wasn’t time. It kept me awake for most of the night, as it was so clear. Even now, I can still remember every detail.”
“Tell us the dream,” the baker asked.
“In my dream …,” Mrs. Mabel began and she turned to Calen who shifted nervously on the bench.
“… You were standing on a rickety bridge suspended over a yawning chasm. The bridge was shrouded in mist, and it was clear danger was all around. The planks of the bridge were rotten and crumbling, but there were faint little lights piercing through the mist as well.”
“Lights? What were they?” Samwell asked.
Mabel lowered her voice. “There was a distinct voice, clear and warm. It said, ‘These lights are the Scrolls that must be collected to save this country from disaster.’” She paused and swallowed hard, the weight of the dream pressing on her. “Then I realized the man in my dream was to collect the lights. He had to leap from plank to plank, from trial to trial, trusting in God by faith and using his skills to gather all the lights.”
“And …,” the baker asked, “… did he succeed?”
Mabel’s face showed helplessness. “I don’t know,” she said, lifting her hands in apology. “That was when I woke up. I didn’t understand the dream or who the man was, until I heard you talking.”
She turned to her husband, eyes pleading. “Samwell, we need to help. You must give him the scrolls we’ve got. He can copy them. My dream must have been from God.”
Samwell leaned back, running a hand over his weathered face, his features a mask of concern. “Trust is not given lightly, especially with matters like these,” he muttered. After a long pause, he looked at Calen. “But what can I say, after my wife tells me of such a dream? Tell me, how soon can you copy what we’ve got? We have several scrolls.”
“You do?” Marisa exclaimed, unable to contain her joy. “Oh, I can’t wait to read and memorize them all.”
Then the shop bell tinkled again, breaking the fragile stillness.
Boots struck the floorboards in heavy rhythm. Soldiers’ boots. More than one pair. Whoever had come, they were not seeking a Bishop’s Belly-Buster Pie.
Samwell and Calen froze. Mabel’s eyes widened and Tobin hid behind her skirts. Marisa’s fists tightened.
A plank from the bridge in Mabel’s dream creaked and threatened to give way.
* Ecclesiastes 11:1 (KJV)
** Matthew 25:35 (KJV)
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