Page 4 of A Phoenix Reborn at Christmas

Chapter

Two

What an insolent little shit!

Lord Percival Everflame stormed away from the bakery, still shocked at the outrageous behaviour of that nobody and nothing baker.

How dare he talk to Percival like that? How dare he treat Percival in such a contemptuous manner? How dare he mock and insult Percival?

His strides lengthened.

I am Lord Percival Everflame! I am a phoenix!

That baker should have been grateful Percival had set foot inside his dinky little establishment.

But Percival would never visit the Magic Bakery again! He would tell everyone what a terrible bakery it was. He strode through the slushy cobblestone streets of Hovel Quarter, as the district was often unofficially called.

His nose wrinkled. He’d have to have his boots cleaned by his servant tonight. They’d be disgusting after he walked these revolting streets.

Percival wouldn’t even consider coming to this part of the city if their factory weren’t here. His uncle had considered moving it. But it had been here for over a hundred years. Moving it would be expensive. So instead he had to work in this revolting part of the city.

At least he usually never had to wander the streets. He normally just took his carriage to the factory and then home. No reason to explore Hovel Quarter and meet its dishevelled inhabitants.

An error had led to him having to find food for himself today. Normally Cook supplied him with an exquisitely packed lunch, which he could eat in his office.

But for some reason it had not been in his office today. That was his servant Ines’s duty. She better have a good reason for why it had not been here. Ines had been forgetful the last couple of days. She’d seemed distracted. Perhaps she needed to be let go.

Because of her incompetence, Percival had had to make the decision to either starve or find lunch for himself.

He thought of that baker. Of his insolence. Of his mocking tone.

I would have been better off starving than having to deal with him.

What was this city coming to? Those who worked in service should be properly trained how to treat their betters.

The guards to Everflame Glass Factory nodded in recognition as he approached. He walked through the entrance only used by his family and several authorised employees.

He strode up the stairs to the upper level of the factory. He walked along the corridor towards his office. One side of the corridor was comprised entirely of glass so he could survey the factory below.

He paused to look down. Their workforce consisted of mostly imps. Although, there were a few fire demons and even a couple of volcanic nymphs. Not many other races could tolerate the intense heat of the factory where they melted and shaped glass.

The heat rose. It prickled along his skin and washed through him. He inhaled and relished the heat, wishing he could shift, fly, and shoot flames. Instead, he had to work.

He continued along the corridor, entered his office, and closed the door. He put the mushroom and leek pie on his desk and sat.

He slid the pie from the paper. It just fit within his hand. The bakery hadn’t even provided cutlery or a plate. He sighed, really wishing Ines had done her duty and provided him with the packed lunch from Cook. Cook was a pixie who’d spent over a hundred years training under the best cooks in Anorra.

Percival grimaced and braced himself. At least the pie didn’t look terrible. The pastry was golden. But the insides would probably be a greasy, soggy, sludgy, overly salted mess. He lifted it to his lips. He took a bite.

He moaned as his teeth sank into buttery, flaky pastry. The warm leek and mushroom filling rolled over his taste-buds. He closed his eyes and chewed. He moaned again. The rich, creamy filling had been perfectly seasoned with a blend of herbs. It had been perfectly salted too and nicely spiced. He swallowed.

How had that bakery produced such food?

He licked his lips, collecting the crumbs of delicate pastry. He took another bite. And another. He was overcome as he chewed and swallowed. He stared down at the half-eaten pie, amazed at the complexity of flavours.

Bite after bite he took of crisp pastry, which contrasted with the decadently soft filling. He couldn’t get enough of the savoury flavours exploding on his tongue. The pie oozed comfort, and he almost wished he was curled up before a fire.

And suddenly the pie was gone. Within a couple of minutes, he’d devoured it. Not once had he bemoaned the lack of cutlery or plate as he ate.