“I am the Baker...” 

Part 1 

I am the Baker
I bake the cake
Make no mistake, I like to bake
Once I discover
My innate behaviour
To mix, to make, to bake! 

from “The Baker” by The Aquabats

 “Okay, that comes to…$24.90.” The old man behind the counter looked at the pile in front of him. “Y’must really love y’bread!”

“I guess you could say that,” Gary replied. “I’m thinking of becoming a baker, actually.”

 “A baker, eh?” the old man asked thoughtfully, while stroking his grey beard. His eyes darted around and, seeing nobody else in the shop, he beckoned Gary closer.

Suspiciously, Gary leant forward, trying to avoid breathing the same air as the old man.

“Y’wouldn’t be interested in joining a little…group, would ye?” he whispered.

This raised Gary’s suspicions even more. “Is this the sort of thing that involves an altar and a small animal?” he asked.

The old man shook his head. “I’m talking about…a meeting of Bakers.”

“There’s a regular baker’s meeting?” Gary asked a bit too loudly.

The old man’s eyes widened in terror. “Shh! Not so loud! It’s a secret!”

“There’s a secret regular baker’s meeting?” Gary whispered.

“Sure, why not?” The old man shrugged. “A lot of groups have secret societies, these days. There’s the Pigeon Fanciers, the Spanish Hairdressers, the Funny Hat Wearers.”

“Oh, I saw them last week,” Gary interrupted. “They were having a nude meeting in the park, and…”

“That wasn’t the Funny Hat Wearers society. That was the Secret Accordion Players Society,” the old man said sternly.

“But they were wearing funny hats.”

“Exactly,” the old man nodded. “Excellent disguise, eh?”

Gary opened his mouth to argue, but the old man was right.

“If y’interested, come by at around closing time tomorrow. We’ll be waiting…”

Gary picked up his bread and quickly left the shop. Without a doubt, the old man was crazy.

When Gary got home, he put the pile of bread on his kitchen table, and stared at it for a few minutes. Despite all the warning signs his brain was giving him, the idea of joining a secret society of bakers was becoming more appealing by the minute. After all, you only live once, and it wasn’t as if he’d achieved anything in his life, so far.

Against all reason, Gary made his mind up to see the old man again, the next night.

“Hello again. I was wondering if ye’d come back or not,” the old man said. He gave Gary a huge toothless grin and locked the door behind him, before handing him a brown hooded cloak.

“Here, put this on,” he said, “and follow me.”

The old man finally introduced himself as Karl, and took Gary into the kitchen. From there, they went to a door which had “CLEANING STUFFS, DO NOT ENTER” written on it, in what looked like crayon. Karl put his hand on the doorknob, and paused. He gave Gary a reassuring wink, making him more nervous, and opened the door.

It certainly wasn’t a room containing “cleaning stuffs”, as the door had said. It looked much more like an elevator.

It was, in fact, an elevator.

There was a single button. A large red one labelled “Down”. Karl pressed it, and the metal doors closed.

“Erm…Karl? Where exactly are we going?” Gary asked nervously.

“Secret Baker’s meetin’,” Karl replied, without looking at Gary.

“Yes…and where’s that?”

He turned to look Gary straight in the eyes. “At the Centre o’ th’ Earth!!!” he said. The last four words echoed loudly, for no apparent reason.

“The Centre of the Earth? Why’s it there?” Gary asked, after a short pause.

“T’s th’ only place where the second-best bread can be baked.”

Gary paused again. “Why?”

“Not hot enough anywhere else,” Karl said. His tone showed that he was already sick of this conversation.

Gary pressed on anyway. “Wouldn’t the bread burn there, or something?”

Karl fixed him with a glare that could only be described as unpleasant. “Listen here, boy. Have y’ever heated bread higher than 1000 degrees?”

Gary shook his head.

“Then how d’ye’ know what happens to it at really bloody-high temperatures?” Karl’s voice was just as unpleasant as his glare.

Gary didn’t have an answer to this. Scientifically, if bread would burn at a few hundred degrees, it would only burn faster at thousands, no, millions, if not billions of degrees. Still, he wasn’t exactly an expert on bread. Maybe it was magic.

“We’ll be here f’r about a day,” Karl said. “This’s why Bakers aren’t around on Sundays. ‘Cause they’re all down here.”

“What are you talking about?” Gary asked, “Heaps of bakeries are open on Sunday!”

“What? Those bastards!!! Where are they?” Karl’s expression was a mixture of anger and annoyance, which are two completely different things of course.

Gary listed a few of the bakeries open on Sundays, while Karl wrote them down.

“I’ll be giving this list t’ th’ Dough Lord,” said Karl, “That’ll teach ‘em!”

An awkward silence passed, which was eventually broken by Gary.

“Where does the best bread come from?” Gary asked.

“Eh?”

“You said the second-best bread is made at the Center of the Earth,” Gary said, “Where is the best bread made?”

“Th’ only place hotter than th’ Center o’ th’ Earth.” Gary looked quizzically at him. “Th’ sun, o’ course.”

“You’re joking, right?” Gary smiled weakly.

Karl gave him another very serious look. “Bakin’s no joke, boy.”

Part 2

Up in the morning
To start my work
I cannot help wanting to bake a dessert
Like a gladiator
About to meet his fate
I enter my arena, bow my head and start to bake! 

from “The Baker” by The Aquabats

The elevator arrived at its destination after what seemed like a suspiciously short amount of time. It did indeed feel warmer down here, but Gary was expecting the centre of the Earth to be, y’know…. hot enough to make people spontaneously combust.

“Woah! Woah! Woah! What d’y’think you’re doin’?” Karl asked.

“Going out there,” Gary pointed to the elevator doors.

“Not without y’cloak, you’re not.”

Gary struggled to put on the huge cloak he was holding. When he was finished, he noticed that Karl was also wearing one. This was quite odd, as he hadn’t seen Karl bring an extra cloak for himself.

They pulled the hoods over their faces, and then stepped outside the elevator.

Gary had been wondering about what the Centre of the Earth would look like. He’d imagined it to be sort of cavernous, like…. well…. a cavern. What he hadn’t expected, was that it would look more like the interior of a hospital: spotless white walls, fluorescent tube-lights in the ceiling, and that unpleasant smell that just says: “Hospital!”

They walked past a few other people in cloaks, their faces also covered by hoods, and came to a door marked “DOUGH LORD”. Karl raised his fist to knock, but paused to look at Gary.

“This is y’last chance, boy,” he said, with his fist hovering at the door. “Y’sure y’want t’be a Baker?”

Gary nodded. After all, what did he have to lose? Since he’d already travelled in an elevator to the centre of the Earth, only to discover it was inhabited by a group of very clean bakers…. he figured that he was probably insane anyway.

Karl smiled, though it was hidden under his hood. He knocked on the door three times, very quickly.

Rat-tat-tat.

“Enter,” came an echoing voice.

They stepped into an extremely tidy, and quite large office. The only pieces of furniture were a large brown, very professional looking desk at the back of the room, with a large black leather chair behind it. Naturally, the chair was facing the back wall, shielding its occupant from view. In short, the room was the perfect cliché of an evil mastermind’s office.

“Greetings Master,” Karl said while bowing, despite the fact that the person in the chair couldn’t see him. He pulled at Gary’s sleeve, until he bowed too.

“Ah, welcome Karl,” came the voice from the chair. “It is good to see you once more.”

“My Dough Lord, I have brought one who wishes to follow the path of Pastry Enlightenment.”

“Very good. How did he fare in the Trials of a Thousand Cake Burns?”

“What?” asked Karl

“The initiation thingamajig.”

“…Oh shit!” Karl exclaimed. He turned to Gary.

“There were a few things I forgot t’do. Come with me.” He dragged Gary out of the office by the sleeve, slamming the door.”

“Idiot,” the Dough Lord muttered.

“Follow me,” Karl said urgently, guiding Gary through a maze of corridors, eventually stopping at a door that looked much like the one to the Dough Lord’s office. The only difference was that this one said, “TRIALS OF A LOT OF CAKE BURNS, OR SOMETHING.”

Karl knocked on the door.

“What’s the password?” came a muffled voice from the other side.

“Peanuts,” Karl replied and the door opened.

They stepped into another very white room, with four nearly identical doors on the opposite wall. Three of them were clearly for trials, and the last one said “TOILET”. It seemed that at the centre of the Earth, every label on everything, was written in crayon.

Karl nodded at the man, who had presumably been the one who opened the door. He then grabbed Gary by the arm, took him to the “TRIAL 1” door and knocked.

 “What’s the password?”

“Gravy,” Karl replied, and the door was opened for him.

They stepped into yet another room. Actually, this one was more of a hallway. At the end was a rusty metal door that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a dungeon.  Karl whispered something to a Baker in the hallway, who looked at Gary.

“You will now duel the Dough Demon,” she said. “Pick your weapon.”

She held out a tray on which where various cooking utensils.

Confused, Gary reached for a spatula.

“I wouldn’t recommend the Spatula o’ Madness,” Karl said urgently.

Gary changed his mind, and picked up a very shiny egg-beater. Karl nodded, then pushed Gary toward the rusty door and opened it.

“Wait! What am I supposed to be doing?” Gary asked.

“She jus’ told’y. Y’dueling a Demon,”

“Can’t you give me some advice, or something?”

“All I can say is that th’ Demon is very tall.” Karl replied.

Gary raised an eyebrow, “How tall, exactly?”

“Dunno. Never been measured.”

“Why not?”

“B’cause it can reach far enough t’grab people trying t’measure it. Off ye go!”

Karl shoved Gary through the door, and slammed it shut behind him.

Gary’s world fell into darkness.

Part 3

Flour, Sugar, Milk,
I send out for more
An unsung hero I need no reward
A short vacation I’d like to take
After I bake a chocolate cake

from “The Baker” by The Aquabats

Gary picked himself up off the ground and leaned against the stone wall. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, though it didn’t make any difference. It was just too dark. He had no idea where he was or which direction he was facing, so be began to slowly walk forwards.

Clutching the egg-beater in his right hand, he used his left to feel his way along the wall. He tripped over a few rocks and hit his head on some of the stalactites that were invisible in the darkness. Only determination kept him from crawling to a corner, rolling into a ball and crying, “Mummy! I’m scared!”

He barely managed to stay upright when his next nervous step went lower than the last one. Crouching and touching the ground, he discovered that he’d made it to a set of stairs, crudely carved into the stone.

Slowly, still touching the wall, Gary descended. He was doing quite well until he tripped and tumbled down at least fifty-eight steps before his fall was broken by the hard stone floor. As an added bonus, he hit his head on something and fell unconscious.

When Gary finally woke up, the concept of time was confusing him. He had no idea that he’d been knocked out for three hours and twenty-three minutes, as it was still just as dark as it had been earlier.

Groaning with pain, he sat up and rubbed his head. His hand came away feeling warm and bloody, because he was bleeding. He was about to swear, but a noise to his right caught his attention instead.

Footsteps?

From someone with soft feet. Or someone wearing comfy slippers.

Or maybe…Someone made of dough!

Gary quickly crawled backwards until he hit a wall, which he huddled against in fear. The footsteps came closer and closer. He held up the egg-beater in defence.

Gary could hardly hear the footsteps over the sounds of his own heartbeat and breathing, though he noticed when the footsteps stopped. Whatever it was, it was right in front of him. Then it spoke.

The voice sounded as though it came straight from a nightmare, bringing images of Hell and Lucifer to mind. The actual words, however, seemed out of character.

“SORRY, IT’S A LITTLE DARK IN HERE. JUST LET ME GET THE LIGHTS,”

The creature flicked the switch, which lit up the room. The word “room” may not have been the best word to describe it though. It was more like a cave.

Everything was made of stone. The walls, with many lamps attached, reached up high into the darkness. The ceiling couldn’t be seen at all. To Gary’s left were the stairs he’d fallen down. Directly in front of him was an enormous creature made of dough.

It was more than six feet tall. Three feet more, to be exact. It was a basic humanoid shape, except for the horns, claws and tail. There were no features on its soft white body at all. It was just a giant blob. In the place where its face should be, there were two very large chocolate buttons for eyes, and a slit for a mouth.

“Oh g-g-god,” Gary stuttered. “You’re th-th-th-the Dough Demon, aren’t you?”

After he’d said it, Gary realised how stupid that question was. Of course it was the Dough Demon. What else could the six-plus-three foot tall creature made from animated dough be?

“THAT’S ME. PLEASED TO MEET YOU.”

It held out a huge hand for Gary to shake. He shook it after a moment’s hesitation. Gary’s hand, which had left an imprint in the dough, was now covered in the sticky stuff.

“WHAT BRINGS YOU HERE…UMM…?” the creature asked.

“Gary,” he introduced himself. “Actually, I was sent here to fight you.”

The Dough Demon’s features remained emotionless, but its voice changed.

“OH…” There was just a hint of sadness.

“But I’d rather not,” he said quickly.

“SPLENDID!” It sounded happy again. “SHALL WE PLAY A GAME INSTEAD?”

“Sure. I… What?” Gary was confused.

“A GAME,” it repeated. “LIKE CHESS, OR PIN THE TAIL ON THE DONKEY.”

“Erm…sure,” said Gary.

Three games of chess, eight games of poker, two games of badminton and one terrible comedy movie later, Gary started walking back up the stairs.

“Thanks again. I had fun,” Gary lied. He’d lost every single game.

“YOU COME BACK SOMETIME, Y’HEAR?” the Dough Demon shouted up the stairs to him.

“Don’t worry, I will,” he replied.

When Gary reached the door, he knocked loudly.

“Who is it?” came Karl’s voice from the other side.

“Gary!”

“…Gary who?”

“Karl! Let me in!”

The door opened and Gary stepped out. Karl inspected him.

“Well, well, well! Y’look all battered and bloody,” Karl said.

“Thank you,” Gary replied.”

“But y’r alive. I s’pose that means you beat it, eh?” Karl sounded very proud. “Where’s th’ egg-beater?” he added.

Gary patted down his pockets.

“Shit…I must’ve left it behind.”

“S’alrigh’,” Karl shrugged. “S’not th’ only one we’ve got.”

“Good,” Garry sighed in relief. “What now?”

“Now y’go to Trial 2.”

Karl opened the door to the second trial.

“What? Wait! Can I have a weapon first?” Gary asked, annoyed.

“Y’ probably won’t need one,” Karl replied.

“Probably won’t need one?” Gary was suspicious.

“Y’ definitely probably won’t need one,”

Karl pushed Gary through the door, before slamming it shut behind him.

Part 4

Sometimes It’s mighty lonely
When you’re all alone
(With a loaf of bread)
But I’m just doing my job
The best that I can
So the children can be fed

 

from “The Baker” by The Aquabats

Gary stumbled through the door but managed to keep his balance. He brushed some dust off his ruined shirt and stared around the room.

It looked like it had once been a kitchen. It was cold, dark, dusty and grimy. There was an old refrigerator to his left, a sink full of dirty dishes on his right, and a dirty oven directly in front of him. A mouldy table was in the middle of the room, with a big cloth covered lump in the middle.

There were a few filthy windows here and there, one of them looking out into an overgrown garden. It took Gary a while before he realized that this didn’t make sense.

Garden?

He was supposed to be at the Centre of the Earth!

He walked over to a window and made a trail in the dirt with his finger. Sunlight streamed in, so bright that he had to squint.

Sunlight? At the centre of the Earth?

He went back to the door and knocked.

“Wha’?” Karl’s voice came from the other side.

“Karl? What am I supposed to be doing?” Gary asked.

There was a pause.

“Didn’ I tell y’?” Karl asked, confused.

“No, you didn’t.”

“Oh, righ’,” Karl sighed. “Y’have t’ bake somethin’ f’r th’ kiddies.”

“…Kiddies?”

“Y’know,” Karl said. “Children.”

There was another pause.

“What children?” Gary asked.

“Aren’ they there?”

“Nope. No ‘kiddies’ at all.”

“Oh, righ’. Well, bake somethin’ f’r them anyway.” Karl sounded unsure.

“With what?”

“Ingredients in th’ fridge,” Karl replied.

“Okay. And a recipe?”

“Baker’s instinct, boy. Y’won’t need one,” Karl replied.

“Right…” Gary started to walk away.

“Wait! One more thing!” Karl said.

“Yes?” Gary was getting impatient.

“Th’ loaf o’ bread on th’ table. Don’ eat it.”

Gary walked back over to the table and removed the cloth, awakening a minor dust storm. It looked like there was a lot of mould under the dust, and there could even be even a bit of bread under the layer of mould.

Wincing in disgust, he put the cloth back.

Opening the fridge, he was surprised to find that most of the ingredients seemed quite fresh, even the flour, which shouldn’t have been refrigerated in the first place.

Gary took out a few items and placed them on the table. Flour, sugar, milk and eggs. It didn’t look like there would be enough.

Where are the bowls?

Apart from a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, none could be found.

Cursing under his breath, Gary went to the sink and took all of the dishes out. He couldn’t find a plug but ran the water anyway. The drain was so clogged that a plug was unnecessary.

He found a small, nearly empty bottle of dishwashing liquid, which he poured into the sink. Washing off the layers upon layers of filth on the pots and pans took a long time, and left Gary exhausted. He decided to sit down and rest for a few minutes.

He drifted off to sleep. A few minutes turned into a few hours. When he woke up, there was no longer sun coming through the windows. However, the moon and stars provided enough light to see by.

Gary stood up, stretched, yawned, and then got to work.

It turned out he knew more about baking than he thought. He struggled a little with the mixing, as there were no utensils of any sort, but he got there eventually.

After putting the cake mixture in the oven, he washed the dishes again. Then he waited. 

Ding!

Putting on some oven-mitts, Gary took his creation out of the oven. It was a very plain cake, but it was a cake nevertheless.

“Karl!” he knocked on the door. “Karl? I’m done!”

There was a pause before the door was opened. Karl inspected the cake.

“Nicely done, boy,” Karl said with pride. “We’ll make a baker out o’ y’ yet!”

“Great!” Gary grinned. “What next?”

“Well, usually I’d put y’ into th’ last Trial,” Karl stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Bu’ I think y’deserve a drink first.”

Part 5 

I am the Baker
I bake the cake
You’re the decorator and you decorate
You take the credit
While I slave away
I mixed, I made, I baked!

from “The Baker” by The Aquabats

The loud chatter of the bar was getting on Gary’s nerves but he was glad for the break. Karl placed a glass of milky looking liquid in front of him. It was as thick as mud, and looked just as tasty.

“Erm…what’s this?” Gary asked suspiciously.

“We call it a Wheatini,” Karl replied.

“What? Like a Martini made from wheat?”

“Somethin’ like tha’, yeah,” Karl winked. “Give it a try. Y’ll be surprised.”

Gary carefully tasted a little of the foul looking drink.

“It’s delicious!” said Gary. “It’s like…what you’d get if sweet bread and vodka could have babies.”

“Told y’,” Karl nodded.

“Anyway, what’s the last Trial?” Gary managed to ask between mouthfuls.

“Who said anythin’ abou’ another Trial?”

“You did.” Gary replied.

“Did I?”

Gary nodded, annoyance clear on his face.

“Shit. Looks like I lied, then,” Karl said. “Y’see, there used t’ be three Trials, bu’ th’ last one was too dangerous. Now we use th’ old Trial room t’ hold cleaning stuffs.”

“Soooo…I’m a Baker now?” Gary asked hopefully.

“We have t’ see th’ Dough Lord firs’,” Karl said before finishing his drink. “C’mon then!”

Karl knocked on the door. Rat-tat-tat.

“Enter!”

Karl and Gary stepped into the tidy office again. Without warning, the leather chair swivelled to face them.

The man sitting there was completely covered by his white cloak. Looking closer, Gary could see that the cloak used to be black, but was now completely covered in flour.

In his lap was an unmoving cat that appeared to be made of biscuit. The tag on its collar said, “TIBBLES”.

“Ah! I see you’ve returned,” the Dough Lord said while stroking Tibbles. “Has the new one passed the Trials?”

“Yes Master, he did,” Karl said.

“Very good indeed.” Crumbs were flaking off the cat. “Where’s his cake?”

Gary placed the cake he’d made on the table. The Dough Lord may or may not have been looking at it. The hood made it impossible to tell.

“It is acceptable,” the Dough Lord said, nodding. “You will train him further, Karl.”

“Yes Master, of course,” Karl bowed low.

“That is all.”

The Dough Lord gave a flick of the wrist, a signal that they were to leave. He didn’t seem to notice that his cat’s ear had fallen off in the process.

In the lift on the way back to the surface, neither of them spoke for a while.

“Y’know tha’ y’ll get no credit f’r th’ cake, don’ y’?” Karl asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Th’ cake decorators. They get all th’ credit,” Karl replied with a hint of resentment in his voice.

Gary was silent. He didn’t really care much about the cake, but it obviously meant a great deal to Karl. He changed the subject instead.

“I guess we’ll be working together every day then, right?” he asked.

“Exactly,” Karl said. “Bu’ y’ve still got plenty t’learn.”

Gary laughed, but stopped at the serious look Karl gave him.

“Bakin’s no joke, boy.”