#sure his ancestors - great great grandparents or further - were part of the gentry but he's not

[skyriderwednesday]

That doesn't narrow it down much Holmes, there were several French artists called Vernet.

I start to believe that 'art in the blood' is better known as Autism.

[exileseverafter]

Chapter 10

The Science of Diplomacy

“My ancestors could create feathers out of spun sugar and reproduce paintings with glaze on canvases of cake. We made pastries filled with gryphon’s milk cream and candies shaped like jewels made from the juice of pomegranates.”

“Cats, really. Why do humans keep them around? There has to be a less monstrous thing they can use to keep rats from getting to the grain stores.” Philomene had discovered to her relief that the cats had at least done at most minor damage to her laboratory dollhouse. One of the windows had been knocked in and the water the bean had been soaking in was now dripping onto the floor, a casualty of the impact of cat on house. But everything else was largely unchanged. Apparently the cats had just used the house as a thing to sit on rather than a toy to be explored and knocked over. If she was being honest with herself, she might not have been able to tell if anything knew had been tossed around. She recognized most of the little boxes, trinkets and cast-off aprons on the floor. All things she made a mental note to organize properly when she wasn’t quite so busy. Unfortunately, the entire place smelled unmistakably of cat. Opening the windows helped to air it out a little, but not enough to make it very bearable. By the time Marjorie was awake to take her to Ezra, she had taken to sitting on the surface of the table and hanging a few dresses out there for good measure. The last thing she wanted was to go about with the fragrance of mangy feline. “You’ll be alright, then?” Marjorie held Philomene cupped in her hands as she carried the princess into the kitchen. “I mean, I understand it’s a one-on-one talk. Which is perfectly fine! Diplomacy and all that. Oh, and the prince went home, so don’t worry about him being nosy.” “He went home? But it was so late last night…” “You sound like Ezra.” Marjorie shrugged. “His bear came to get him and took him home. I’d worry about going through the forest at that hour of night if one doesn’t have one’s own private bear.” Secretly Philomene was a little more relieved that the bear wasn’t present. She didn’t mind Basil, though she did want to have a private talk with Ezra for a reason. “And I will be perfectly fine. You said Ezra is gentle! We’re indoors, and the Toad isn’t going to try anything while I’m in the same room as a giant cook who probably knows how to make fried frogs’ legs.” After a few more minutes of reassurances, Marjorie set Philomene back on the table and retreated to the bedroom. Ezra hadn’t noticed; he was poring over an enormous old book with yellowed, tattered pages, and looked to be half asleep himself. Philomene realized a bit too late that she should have had Marjorie alert him. A few taps of her cane did nothing, and poking him seemed rude and possibly dangerous. She sat down, cleared her throat and shouted. “Excuse me, Mr. Kettle!” There was no reaction from the giant. He was still absorbed in his book. She had to stand a considerable distance just to see him as a humanoid shape; any closer and he’d be a looming tower of flesh and blood in need of a haircut. Already she could make out every wrinkle and stitch on the patches in his clothing and see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Flower Folk had to be observant of everything around them. The world was full of snakes, large insects, birds and cats. The humans of Thumbelina were allowed to reside there by an ancient pact that required them to be careful underfoot and not abuse their size advantage, but even the most well-meaning ones could be very dangerous. A Sky giant was on a completely different level. Should Ezra so much as sneeze he could grievously harm Philomene. No wonder her people’s interactions with the Sky Islands were usually the duty of human diplomats writing letters to be delivered by bird, and incredibly rare at that. ‘Such is the duty of a princess,’ she reminded herself as she walked over to the edge of the book. She waited until he was about to turn the page and then stuck her cane on top of it, clearing her throat. That seemed to startle him as his gold eyes finally settled on her, widening. “OH, PRIN-cess.” He was courteous enough to adjust the volume of his voice right away so it merely rumbled instead of boomed, sitting up and lowering his head in a sort of bow. “Forgive any rudeness. I didn’t see you there…” “Please forgive any rudeness on my part as well!” She hoped she’d be able to keep up this shouting. Marjorie had been kind enough to tell the story of Thumbelina Kingdom the previous night in part because her voice carried better. “Is now a good time for a talk? I realize you are likely a little busy…” “With work, yes.” Ezra’s hand rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, no! Now is a perfect time. Give me a chance to take a break from this.” She could tell from how quickly he spoke that it wasn’t completely true and he didn’t want to be rude. Just let me set this book aside.” He opened a calloused hand that could have comfortably held half the Flower Folk in the Royal Court and she eased herself carefully into I as he held her up to eye level. He was squinting at her, his other hand supporting his chin. “Is this quite alright? I just prefer to be able to make eye contact when speaking, so I imagine…” Of course he wouldn’t be able to make eye contact with her. The size difference was too great. That must have meant he was doing this for her benefit, so she could look directly at him while she addressed him. She would have to reward such thoughtfulness, and made a note to do so. “Thank you, Ezra! Please don’t mind if I sit.” There was a moment in which he was clearly waiting for her to start, and she had to rehearse her words to remember just how she was going to bring it up. ‘I should have paid better attention during diplomacy lessons.’ As it was up to her, she cleared her throat. “First of all, thank you again for your continued hospitality. My servant tells me that you’re not here on the land of your own free will, and right now this is the only shelter afforded you. It’s very generous of you to let us stay here, especially as you’ve let Marjorie have that oddly well-furnished room.” “Really, it’s nothing! I’m used to sleeping sitting up,” Ezra said. “And this is where I work, at least until I can return to the sky. That bedroom looked like it had been set aside for a lover or something anyway.” Realizing he might have blurted something untoward, he turned red in the cheeks. “I mean G. Chulainn’s lover! Maybe. No offense to Marjorie, but I don’t see her that way at all. And honestly, there’s no reason it should have been in the condition you found it in. It might have been enchanted, and I’d rather stay away from enchantments.” Philomene figured she’d best continue before Ezra made more excuses for his own kindness lest someone notice it was there. “Actually, I need to ask for a little more help. Do you mind if I ask you about your family?” His eyes widened and he sat up a bit straighter. “The Kettles? You’ve heard of us down there? By which I mean down in the mountain cities, not down as in height. You know what I mean.” She chuckled. “You’re the one nervous around me? It’s alright, Ezra. You can relax. And yes, here and there are records of human gentry ordering cakes and desserts fashioned by a member of the Kettle family. I doubt any of your line were able to bake for Flower Folk, of course, just by virtue of scale.” Ezra glanced aside. “Well, we can try,” he said quietly. “Would you like to request something, Princess? I was able to buy a magnifying glass at the market last night. It’s a bit small itself but I can manage. Really!” She shook her head. “That won’t be necessary, though if I’m ever in need I will be sure to commission you.” The image of great Ezra leaning over a table, carefully decorating a cake for Flower Folk, amused Philomene so that she found herself grateful the distance likely kept him from noticing her covering her mouth and stifling a laugh. “No, I just need to know more about your line. I know it sounds abrupt, but I do have my reasons. Just before I can tell you, I have to know if I’m thinking of the right Kettles.” “You want to know about us? Well.” Ezra held his head a little bit higher, oddly imitating the poise and pride of a highborn noble. Then again, why wouldn’t an artisan family hold themselves in esteem? “For generations we developed new cooking and baking techniques, working our very heart and soul into our craft until we were known not only throughout Mielle but across Vox itself and the other Sky Islands. My ancestors could create feathers out of spun sugar and reproduce paintings with glaze on canvases of cake. We made pastries filled with gryphon’s milk cream and candies shaped like jewels made from the juice of pomegranates.” “Those ingredients sound expensive…” “Oh, they were! Terribly so. But our work merited a high price, and we were able to afford luxuries like that even with the high price of goods in the Sky. Which is ridiculous, might I add! Having seen what that Market charged by comparison, I-am getting off topic, sorry. And I hope this doesn’t sound too arrogant. But it’s all true, at least as far as I’ve known.” He played with the pages of the book with his free hand. “And we still have most of our recipes. At least the very old ones. Or, well, what’s in these books…” “I see.” This didn’t sound like the work Ketyl had written about, but it couldn’t have been a mere coincidence. Philomene decided to probe a little further. “And you have always created luxuries?” “Not always. We’ve always baked and cooked, with at least one member of every generation taking up the mantle. Often two. But we used to do more modest work to get by, according to stories my mother told me. That would have been a long time ago, grandparents of grandparents at least and probably moreso.” Ezra frowned. “Of course, I’ve only ever done modest work. I hope it doesn’t disappoint you, Princess, but Kettle is a fallen name by now. The cost of goods went up too high, our craft fell out of favor. We went into debt just to keep ourselves afloat. Then there were family splits and other disgraces.” From the distant look on his face, he apparently didn’t want to go into detail. “In recent generations especially. As far as I know now I’m the last one.” “And you can bake with Kettle techniques?” That was key. “I…” Ezra bit his lip, eyes shifting like a scolded dog. “I know the pastry crust recipe. Pancakes. Not much else. By the time I was old enough to learn my mother was in no condition to teach me, and Father was already gone. After she passed I was sent out of ‘charity’ to work my family debts off under someone who had a distinct interest in keeping me from learning Kettle baking, and I never had time to study the old recipe books I inherited. Like this one.” He took a deep breath. “But it’s quite alright! I have more time now, and an audience! Someone wants me to learn how to bake like the old times, so I’m teaching myself. Someone very important, someone…whose name keeps eluding me. I must have been tired by that point.” That Ezra could not remember someone who had planted such a strong idea in his head worried Philomene, but she couldn’t let herself be sidetracked. That he was not trained in Kettle techniques at all was less than ideal, but he was willing to learn. She stood up for a moment. “Do you mind letting me see that book? From a safe perch, of course.” Ezra seemed to hesitate, glancing between the book and Philomene. “I won’t spill any secrets,” she added. “Promise. And you needn’t worry about me being competition. I cannot cook at all.” At that he relented, holding his hand over the book and letting her look over. She peered down at the sea of old paper, making out swirls of ink that flowed like thin clouds. “Ah!” she cried out. “Skyscript! Old Skyscript, in fact.” She looked over her shoulder back at Ezra. “Is that the problem, translating it into the modern way of writing?” “Not exactly. We all had to learn a little Old Skyscript for Sun festival services. Do you mind if I set you down? My hand is falling asleep…” “Oh! Of course, of course.” Philomene let him lower her down and climbed carefully back onto the book, making sure not to wrinkle or tear pages with her shoes. She could already start to read and translate the words in her head, though they were so big she couldn’t decipher full sentences. “I had to learn a number of languages in my studies, Old Skyscript among them. I can help you.” “Can you?” Ezra blinked. “You would? Forgive me for asking, but why? I imagine saving Thumbelina’s a higher priority than my attempts to bring back Kettle cuisine. Especially since this book wouldn’t even have the instructions to make our masterpieces, just various techniques I’ll have to navigate to make my own.” “That’s just it. These are the very old recipes, right? Ezra, did you know baking is a kind of science?” “It…” He stared down at her. “It really isn’t. I mean there are books involved, but no needles or gears…” “Medicine and mechanics are not the only kinds of science. You use yeast to make dough rise, right? And you measure just the right ingredients. It’s all chemistry, and chemistry is absolutely a science.” “So…” Ezra tilted his head. “This is all for the pursuit of ‘science?’” “No. I do have an ulterior motive. You see, I know it sounds ridiculous but I think these books might hold the secret to understanding how Green Magic was turned into a weapon against my people and possibly yours.” She looked up at him with utmost seriousness, in hopes it would make it sound a little less silly. Her response was another incredulous stare. “With baking.” “How to explain…” Philomene tapped her cane. “You see, science and magic aren’t that different, despite what some practitioners of both will claim. One’s more about studying the nature of reality and the other is for tweaking it. And I think that what you inherited is not merely a recipe collection but a book of spells, one of the last records of culinary Hearth Magic as developed by the Sky wizard Ketyl. If that is…!” She hoped she wasn’t letting her excitement get the best of her. “If it is, we might be able to undercover the secret to countering the rampant Green Magic. Using Hearth Magic, you could make soups that bring visions of the future or almond cookies which change hair color. It’s all in the ancient records! Even if most of it is theoretical and hasn’t been proved in practice in a long time. And even if I suspect the techniques were lost when your family started pursuing more higher-class and lucrative interests…” She stopped to catch her breath. “I can help you learn the techniques and observe how it works, and even if we don’t find a counter-spell I can use the data I get from observing magic in action to-to…” It was as if a wall had shut in front of Ezra, all his warmth gone from his face. She worried at first she had angered him and he would retaliate when she was at her most vulnerable, but instead he just stood up, turning away from her. “I’m sorry. There’s no magic involved.” He didn’t sound offended so much as hurt. “…But, there is. I mean, there was.” Philomene couldn’t let a subject drop when it came to her kingdom, even if it was clear to her she likely should. “I didn’t mean to insult your family, Ezra, honestly.” “It’s not that. But we don’t do magic and we never have. Period!” As he shouted the last bit, the table shook under Philomene’s feet. He turned around again, gently easing her off the book before he closed it and lifted it up in both arms, all the while refusing to make eye contact with her. “I’m sorry, Princess, but I have to get back to work. I have a client to impress and only a week to do so, and you’ve seen how much work I have ahead of me. No offense, but I’d rather do it myself.” He almost seemed to be hiding behind his bangs. “I’ll keep an eye out at the market for anything that might help you, but I’m just a baker. I’ll go get Marjorie for you…” As he disappeared from the room, Philomene slumped back down onto the table. Her back was sore from standing that long and guilt prodded at her stomach. How had she managed to step on a nerve so easily? Wouldn’t anyone be thrilled to know they could have that kind of power at their fingertips? And here she had worried he would be too reckless with it. “I’ll have to try again,” she whispered to herself. She could ask Marjorie’s advice, as Marjorie had that way of getting people to do things they wouldn’t have otherwise while believing it was their own idea. But that was trickery, and hadn’t she said promised herself she would avoid deceit? “Client, is it…” Had someone else recognized the name of Kettle and what it really meant, or had Ezra just found a glutton with high class tastes? When had Ketyl’s descendants gone from practicing her magic techniques to more mundane culinary arts? And more importantly, was she barking up the wrong tree? She couldn’t force him to help her. Unless someone was trying to twist Hearth Magic in the same ways Green Magic had been warped. Marjorie came into the room wincing. “Ezra’s in a bad mood, the poor dear. He said he’s off to go fishing, and I’m sure that boy has no idea how to fish.” She bit her thumbnail and held Philomene in her free hand, which felt comparatively snug after the vast plane of Ezra’s hand. “Did it not go well? At least we know he doesn’t have a violent temper, thank goodness.” “It could have gone better.” Philomene sighed. “I’m afraid I might have let my enthusiasm for magic get the best of my diplomacy skills. But I’ve made a decision. When Ezra goes with you to the market next week, I’m coming too.”