This piece is set four or five years before the main plot of my fantasy story takes place. In a city to the West of Stellaria called Altor sits a famous Academy of Magic, known only as The Academy. Two of its students were Techo and Ludwig. Techo’s esteemed father ensured she would get a place at the Academy before passing away when she was young. Ludwig excelled on his entrance exams, and was accepted in part due to novelty – he is the only Giant the Kingdom has seen in living memory, and this draws attention.
We join them on their very first day.
First Year students of Class——- – 2 filed into the Academy’s Food Hall. It was a beautiful room, reminiscent of a huge church: high stained-glass windows let in the Autumn sun, spotlighting orange beams of dust in the air. The light fell onto long tables made of dark wood and benches on either side. These might once have been polished, but decades of use had left the tabletops scratched and uneven. Techo loved it.
For such a big, stony room, one would have expected it to be cold. But, quite the opposite – it was so warm you could fall asleep in it. The reason for this became quickly apparent: in the far corner of the Hall sat a wall of ovens – eight of them, in two columns of four. They all seemed to be running. A greying Halfling man who had been idling by these ovens now lifted his cap and sat a little straighter. Techo gave him a nervous wave. He waved back.
A woman’s voice sounded suddenly from behind them, and the awkward new students were glad of somewhere to direct their attention.
“Good afternoon, class.” The voice belonged to an older woman dressed stunningly in navy Wizard’s robes hemmed in electric blue. Her hair was grey, falling to her shoulders in fraying coils that would once have been thick and gorgeous. Her face was severe, but her eyes shone.
“My name is Professor Eve Malistra, but please call me Professor M.”
The name set off whispers amongst some of the class: students that had older siblings here were aware that Professor M was legendary. A force to be reckoned with; universally feared amongst students but far more universally loved.
Techo knew none of this, but you could tell it all simply by looking at the Professor’s face.
“I have been teaching at the Academy for forty years. I installed this particular lesson to the syllabus thirty years ago, and I have been the one to teach it to every single class since then. I find that is a good chance to meet me, and to interact with your classmates.
I trust you’ve all met each other before – during registration this morning, and during your tour of the grounds.” Techo’s ears twitched, and she overheard a few excited students muttering something about bread.
“I encourage you to talk to and help each other during this lesson, but not while I am talking, thank you.”
Techo grinned to herself as the students shut up.
“It’s been a busy morning: I trust you are all getting hungry.” Professor M walked as she talked, making her way over to the edge of the Hall. Running along the far wall was one long worktable, raised higher than the eating tables. Along it, at regular intervals, sat four sets of metal weighing scales. At the end of it sat a washing basin.
“At the Academy, a hot meal is provided to you once a day. There will also be a small selection of food available in the mornings, and butter and simple spreads are always available in the kitchen. This alone will not be enough to keep you full. Every student at the Academy is expected to make their own bread, and you will be making your first loaf today, now.”
Excited tittering would have broken out if any student had dared. The silence was still thick with anticipation, and Techo looked around to find someone to share it with. She knew none of the students, and was terribly nervous.
“Thirty places have been set out at the worktable.” Students craned their necks to see as Professor M pointed out the place settings. “Each has a bowl, a tin, a measuring jug, three spoons and two cleaning cloths. Each also has a recipe card for a simple loaf of bread.
“Students are not required to stick to the recipe card, but I suggest that you follow it until you are confident.
“You have sole use of the tables until three p.m., at which time it opens back up for the rest of the academy to use as they please.”
Three pm? Techo thought. That’s four hours. How long does bread take to make?!
M turned her attention fully back to the class, standing straight and addressing them a final time.
“I insist that students learn how to make their own bread, because food is the great equaliser. Some of you will be from families that will have already taught you some magic, some of you will as of yet know none. Some of you will be very rich, some less so.
“Every student here will now be signing out the same flour, and afforded the same opportunity to feed themselves. Magic is an affair of the mind: it takes mental dexterity. It is easy while studying magic to forget how important using your hands is, the physicality of things. Bread will respond directly to the work and care you put into it; you can’t fake it, rush it or skip steps.
“Your first loaves – if indeed, they are your first – will almost certainly be poor, but don’t be disheartened. This is a lesson in practice and patience. The more keenly aware of you will soon realise just how similar bread-making is to magic.
“My teaching ends here. You will now have to rely on your recipe cards and classmates. I will supervise, but you won’t be graded, so don’t panic. Now, go.”
Professor M gestured to the worktables rather like Willy Wonka gestured to the chocolate room, allowing the students to skip past her and into the space dizzy with nerves and excitement.
0000000000
Techo stood back for a moment and watched. About half the class had rushed into positions nearby the ovens, and formed an impossibly fast queue in front of the Halfling. Techo overheard them talking.
“I told you we wanted to be the first to sign out some flour. Felicity told me that the queue was boring when she took this class.”
“We’ve got this, don’t we, Henry? My Dad’s been teaching me how to make bread since I could knead dough – he made his first loaves here in this room and he wanted me to get the best start possible.”
“I’ve actually bought in a bit of garlic because I knew we’d be getting this lesson today. I want to impress Prof M as soon as possible, get my head above the rest and all.”
It seemed as she listened to the students that this lesson was a famous one, and many of the students had come prepared. She had not gotten the memo, and began to feel distinctly ill. Instead of joining the queue herself, she wondered over to one of the furthest set places – one of the last not already claimed by bags and robes. She wouldn’t even know how much flour she wanted to sign out until she read the recipe card.
The worktable was set into the wall at the correct height for a Human. As a Halfling, the wood jutted out at about the height of Techo’s teeth, and she sighed. The only other halfling, dressed in a shirt embroidered with some family crest or another, had confidently wondered to the end of the room and picked up a wooden stool.
She needed a stool too, but was too nervous just to take one. She spotted the Halfling man watching her out of the side of his eye.
Be brave. Be brave.
Techo walked up to the man, who paused signing out flour to speak to her. The student Techo had interrupted looked at her with indignation.
“I’m sorry, but am I alright to take a stool from over there? To work with?”
“Go right ahead.” The man smiled, and Techo’s nerves eased. She watched as his eyeline was drawn suddenly up from her – right up.
“May – may I take one too?” Techo turned to follow the new voice.
Stood behind her was the tallest man she had ever met. He was one of her new classmates. She had no idea how he had come to be that tall, but she had overheard her classmates whispering about giant genes when he had first entered their classroom at registration. She had never met a giant, and by the looks of it, neither had anyone else. It had been very hard not to stare, but now, she looked.
The poor student looked even more nervous than her. He was dressed in a plain shirt with brown X – suspenders, and subtly patched trousers.
The halfling showed no reaction whatsoever to his height. “Go ahead,” he repeated. “And thank you two for asking.”
One or two students looked at the Halfling who had taken the stool without asking, but they were already enthusiastically kneading dough with their friends and was not listening.
Together, Techo and the Giant walked across the hall to fetch stools. They were aware that half of the class had stopped to look at them: they made a ridiculous pair.
Be brave.
“I’m Techo,” said Techo.
“I’m Ludwig.”
“It’s nice to meet you!”
“You too.”
Ludwig picked up his stool, and watched as Techo struggled slightly with hers.
Without speaking, he met her eye, and picked hers up too.
“Now, then, I can carry it myself.”
“I’m sure you can.” Ludwig spoke softly. “Thank you for asking for a stool first. I would have been so nervous, I would never have asked for one otherwise.”
Techo now understood that Ludwig wanted to return the favour, and stood back from her stool accordingly. As they returned to their seats, they spotted Professor M on a small balcony. She had lowered her book and watched Techo and Ludwig as they settled down next to each other. Ludwig sat on his stool to lower himself down, and Techo stood on hers to raise herself up.
“Ludwig… have you ever made a loaf of bread?” Techo asked.
“I’ve made two. My Momma made them with me, as something to do together.” Now he stopped talking and blushed, nervous that he had made himself look childish. “But mine weren’t great.”
“No, that’s good! You’re two loaves up on me. I don’t understand this recipe card. What is proving? Why are the timings so changeable? How am I supposed to know anything?” Techo grew more nervous as she voiced her fears aloud.
“We can make our loaves together, if you’d like.”
Techo looked up at Ludwig, eyes shining.
“I’d like that!”
“But I can’t promise they’ll be any good. At all.”
Techo, who had been far more nervous about being the only student with a dense, burned loaf, now shook her head. “That really, really doesn’t matter.”
- Insert recipe card –
0000000000000000
Bread was hard.
Techo had never kneaded dough before, and watched her classmates carefully before trying it herself.
Every time she pushed her dough forward, her stool wobbled. It was awkward, but she carried on, determined not to let her height be a disadvantage today.
Behind them, Techo and Ludwig heard a shout.
“Good Morning, Professor M! Howdy-doody, Shanks! Feels like just yesterday we last met.” A student had breezed in behind them, dressed in plain, bright robes. They held themselves obviously with the confidence of a third-year. Techo stopped kneading to watch them.
Shanks appeared to be the name of the Halfling manning the ovens. At the student’s arrival, he hopped up a stepstool to the top-right oven. The student waited patiently below, still talking.
“Oh, I’m cutting it fine, aren’t I? Terribly cheeky of me to be using the oven during an induction, but it looks like most of you are still kneading. But –” they said this now to Shanks – “really kind of you to let me.”
When Shanks passed their loaf down to them, nearby students let out gasps of ooh-s and aah-s: this was no ordinary loaf of bread. The loaf was a wide, flat focaccia in a pan unlike the ones they had been issued. The top was shining and deliciously brown, and it had been decorated beautifully with tomatoes, cloves of garlic and thyme.
The student showed it off smugly to anyone who had come to take a look.
As they passed Techo and Ludwig, they smiled: Techo and Ludwig were both leaning back on their stools to look at the bread, and their height difference had clearly amused the student.
“That’s gorgeous!” Ludwig said.
“Thank you!” The student looked at Ludwig for a second longer, before bursting out: “I’m terribly sorry, but I’ve got to say it: My God, you’re tall.”
“I am, aren’t I? It’s terribly inconvenient.”
The student smiled, glad they’d not offended him. “You’ve got to promise to stand at the back of the group when they do magic demonstrations, alright? I’ve got a tall classmate that always pushes right to the front, and I don’t half dream of beheading him.”
They seemed about to take back their last statement, but Ludwig seemed amused, and they thought better of it. Instead, they turned to Techo.
“Do what you want, but I’m good friends with a few Halflings and they’ve figured out that it’s easier to knead at the tables. They never really got that oomph when they balanced on stools.”
Techo looked around. “…That’s allowed?”
“Allowed?” The student laughed. “This space is yours now, ok? And since you’re here, I’ll give you some advice.
“Make friends with the Oven Monitors. Make friends with Professor M. They say you can only sign out so much flour a week, but that’s just so you don’t open yourself a bakery here. If you really want to practice, they’re very generous with it. They close this room for inductions, but they’ve let me come in and make a loaf anyway. Does that make sense? They respond to passion and kindness with generosity. Woah.” They paused, admiring themself for a second. “I don’t think I’ve ever been that articulate in my life. Write that down or something, you hear?”
“Had you had much practice when you started at the Academy?” Techo asked, still clearly admiring the loaf.
“God, no! My first loaf here was shit. Well, not shit, but it didn’t rise much at all. That’s what they’re all like at first. They’re not usually burned, or inedible, just a bit… sad. You’ll get the hang of it. Cheery – o!”
The student let Techo and Ludwig be, but Techo watched as they took out a knife and cut two slices from their focaccia. They twisted their hand, and the slices rose out of the tin and into the air.
Enjoying the attention of several pairs of eyes, the student made the slices float through the air. One drifted to Shanks, one to Professor M. M politely declined her slice, but Shanks took his and bit into it, giving the student a decisive thumbs up as the second slice returned to its tin. Now, the student really did leave.
When they had gone, Ludwig turned to Techo.
“Well, they said that they’d never baked before they came here, and they made that.”
“Yes… it’s hopeful, isn’t it?” Techo turned back to her own wet dough. “I just wish I could skip three years and be good at it now. What a bore.”
000000000
Luckily, readers, I CAN skip three years, because I’m the one who writes the story.
THREE YEARS LATER
“This is getting ridiculous.”
“Then it means I’ve won.”
“Oh, my god, fine.” Techo harrumphed and reached for her water jug, sloshing some more out onto her dough and checking the number. “That’s 400 millilitres now, so I’m 20 up on you.”
“With the caveat that it still has to be a good loaf.” Ludwig leaned over and pretended to inspect the wet mess that Techo was attempting to scrape off her hands and knead.
Shanks watched the pair with amusement. Halfway through first year, they had asked him his working hours – and since then they’d taken care to come and make their loaves when he was on duty. It was sweet to be liked.
Shanks worked nights, and this suited Techo and Ludwig well. The ovens were open at all hours, and they had taken to coming in the middle of the night to avoid all the footfall and fuss of the day. He had noticed during the last few years that Ludwig depended heavily on schedule and repetition: he liked to see the same Oven Monitor; he liked it to be quiet; he liked to make exactly the same bread each time. He asked Shanks to place all his loaves in the same oven, in the same position.
Techo was more easy-going, and more experimental in her baking. She had bought several different pans during her time at the Academy, and had tried making all manner of breads: sweet, savoury, milky, moist, floury. Rolls, plaits, twists, boules: each with different patterns sliced into the top to help it rise.
Tonight, though, they were making the bread Ludwig liked – a simple sandwich loaf. They had a bet going: who could work with the wettest dough, and still come out with a successful loaf? The endeavour was risky in nature: once you’d added more water, there was no taking it away. The loser was buying the winner drinks in one of the City Taverns.
It was a fun bet: there was something comical in how messy their stations were compared to usual, and they were both doughy halfway to their elbows. Shanks watched on as, with great vigour, Techo managed to knead her dough.
“A great man once told me,” she said between breaths, “That the key to working with a very wet dough is speed. Don’t give it a chance to stick.” Shanks chuckled: this was directed – and referring – to him.
Ludwig looked over and was impressed. He leaned in to check her water jug by the glowing light of the ovens.
“Let me see that. Are you sure that’s 400?”
“Are you jealous? Jealous of all this yummy structure?” Despite the shit talking, the dough was still incredibly hard to work with. “Shanks, we’re still agreed that if I fuck this up, you’re switching this out with a good loaf when you get it out the oven?”
“I’ll be able to tell.” Ludwig lifted his hands from his dough in frustration. “This is mad. I’m using less water than you, and my dough is sticking worse!”
Shanks cut in. “That’ll be because your hands are so much bigger. If they’re warmer, the dough will be more likely to stick.”
“So you’re saying… you’re saying Techo is cheating!”
“Having small hands is not cheating.” Techo gave her dough a few final, quick turns before gathering it up and dropping it into her oiled bowl. Ludwig, sensing that his was worked enough, did the same. They covered their bowls with dampened cloth and each tied a piece of fabric around the rim, to keep it tight.
They had taken to proving their bread by their beds at night, letting it rise before knocking it back first thing in the morning. This routine was now deeply learned, and they both loved it.
Ludwig looked around the hall. “Not many more loaves of bread left to make here, Techo.”
Techo nodded sadly. “I know.”
Indeed, part of the reason they’d had the bet was to make some memories in the Food Hall while they still had time: their final year ended in a matter of weeks. They had both grown so accustomed to the Academy, and neither could face the thought of leaving.
“What will we do when we have no more special oven?” Ludwig asked.
“We’ll get a place, with our own oven. And you can figure out exactly the best place for your bread to sit there.”
“I fear I will burn my hands, or mess it up. Shanks’s always done the oven part for us.”
“That’s something exciting and new to learn!” Techo said this hopefully, but she knew that the change in routine would be devastating to Ludwig no matter what. Only time and new routines would fix what he was losing at the Academy.
Shanks interrupted their thoughts. “You two… if there’s nobody about tomorrow morning, I can let you put your own loaves in.”
“Hear that?” Techo pulled Ludwig’s sleeve excitedly. “Let’s get it nailed while we’re here, and then we can use our own oven when we move!”
Ludwig seemed comforted by this. Techo thanked Shanks with her eyes.
Together, the pair of them took their bowls to their rooms, pausing to wish Shanks – and the Hall – goodnight.
—-
AN ASIDE.
Prof M fought hard to get where she was as a teacher. She had to fight even harder to get her crazy idea approved by the school board. Students making their own bread?? Not only was that insulting to the students of elite heritage, it would be expensive and inconvenient to install.
But Professor M makes her case. Making bread rounds you out as a person. It teaches you a valuable life skill: for every student at the Academy, for the rest of their lives, if there is flour, there is good food to be eaten.
It teaches patience and practice. The most talented and elite magic student will fuck their first loaf of bread up: you can’t think your way around it, you can’t be good first time. It connects you to your own body. It connects you to time: you have to measure the hours as the yeast does its work. It connects you to reality: you feel the moisture of the dough, the heat of the oven, the taste of the cooked bread.
When it does finally get approved, M pays for the ovens out of her own pocket. She staffs the ovens herself, signs out all the flour personally. After the first few years – almost every single student reports that they wouldn’t be who they were if they hadn’t learned to make bread at the Academy.
–
Now, M talks about food as “the great equaliser”. Some of Techo’s peers have prepared thoroughly for this class. Even the act of baking bread has become this segregated exercise – the upper class students who know the syllabus or have relatives who attend the Academy know to practice making bread in advance, and this becomes a form of clout in First Year. The students think they’re impressing the Professor, but they have misread the class entirely: by preparing and showing off, they are going directly against the initiative of the class. There is nothing M can do about this: she’s stuck in a system funded and run by the same people whose sons and daughters are attending the classes.
She watches each new class induction carefully. In each class there are students that rush to make the most gorgeous loaf of bread, keeping their knowledge to themselves on purpose. There are some classes where kind students have almost become tutors, running new students patiently through the best technique. When this kindness isn’t shown, there are always a few that have never made bread before in their lives – and these are the most interesting to watch.
There have been several instances through the decades where Professor M has watched a student make an incredibly poor first loaf, and to develop through the years into a very fine baker. Often the third years will offer her some homemade bread proudly, and she gets misty-eyed when this happens even to this day.
SEASIDE ILLUSTRATION 