peteyfrogboy

This is a little writing exercise inspired by sailormur's News From Poughkeepsie.

Silvia slashed her knife across the sack of flour, neatly bisecting the red impresa stamped on its side. Finely milled white powder flowed from the sack like blood. As it filled the wooden bin below, she studied the emblem she had cut. It depicted a man standing between two tall sheaves of grain, each as high as the man himself. She scowled at the presumption of mere farmers styling themselves as rulers of the city.

She scooped flour into a bowl to begin the morning's baking, adding salt and butter with the ease of long practice. Silvia had been making pies for ten years, since she was first able to reach over the table to help her father at his work. He had been a good baker, even compared to the other masters of Carpi, but his heart was never truly in the work. It had been broken years before Silvia had been born, at the same time as his family's name.

The Pio family had been the lords of Carpi for a hundred years, given dominion by the great house of Este in the days when Dante wandered in exile. They had been wise and worthy stewards, through war and peace alike. It was the plague that had been their undoing, though not directly.

Silvia added water to the bowl, keeping the fierce thoughts in her mind separate from the movements of her fingers. A heavy hand made a heavy dough, and she knew better than to make that mistake. Perhaps a heavier hand would have done better for her family in days after that fateful plague. Men and women had died, as had happened before and would happen again when God saw fit to send death walking through the world. The farmers in the lands around Carpi had been struck down as much as any, and they prayed for salvation. God heard their pleas, and responded to them when others heard only silence.

The simple farmers who would become the Company of the Golden Sheaf not only heard the Word of God, but learned to speak it themselves. Even with their numbers diminished, the fields produced bounties the likes of which no one had ever seen before. Wheat grew tall, and grape vines sprouted where none had taken root before. It seemed to be a miracle, and the young lord of Carpi, Silvia's uncle, praised the farmers and allowed them to create a guild housed within the city walls. The fortunes of Carpi were destined to rival those of Ferrara, Florence, even Venice.

Silvia pounded her fist into the ball of dough, smashing it into a thick disk on the floured table top. She leaned on her rolling pin and began to flatten it as that upstart guild should have been flattened. Instead, it had risen up and overthrown the rightful rulers of Carpi, reshaping the city into a republic. The Pios were thrown down, their palaces seized and stripped of their treasures. Even the Este, who had ever been allies of the Pio, did not come to their aid; economic gain was a greater lure, it seems, than loyalty.

It could have gone worse, her father had always said. The Pio were allowed a place of honor among the cooks and bakers who showcased the city's amazing produce. Silvia grimaced as she went to stoke the oven. She laid fresh logs on the embers of the previous day's fire. She spoke a single, quiet Word, and flames began to lick their way up the sides of the wood without the addition of kindling. This small thing was all that the almighty Golden Sheaf had seen fit to give the Pio in exchange for the entire city.

The Word of God was understood by all living things, of course, though its effect was not always great. Man had free will, so it could not be used to command people. Dominion over beasts had already been granted by God in the days before the exile from Eden, so it gave no greater control there, either. The farmers had obviously found it very useful in the cultivation of plants. They had no need of the Word's ability to command fire, however. Fire was alive, clearly, as it moved, ate, and even breathed. The Word the farmers had been given was a subtle thing, however, and not enough to control the wildfires that were the enemy of their crops. It was useful only for parlor tricks, lighting candles and managing the various fires used for cookery. It was a small enough payment to appease the rulers they had deposed.

As she began filling the pie crust, Silvia heard a brief, loud cry from outside. She ran to the door and looked out to see a man lying on the street, unmoving. The cobblestones were uneven and slick from the previous night's rain. The sun was not yet up, so she dragged the man into the bakery where she could see him better. Pulling back the hood of his traveling cloak, she could tell immediately that he was dead. The hood was soaked with blood from where his head had struck the stones and his eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.

Judging by the rucksack and cloak, she guessed that he wasn't from Carpi.She opened the man's bag and tried to find something to tell her who he was. In amongst the clothes and other necessities, she discovered a sealed letter. The wax seal bearing the Golden Sheaf's mark had been broken along with the man's skull, so she saw no harm in opening it. It seemed that this was one Antonio di Paolo, a farmer from Arezzo. The letter was a recommendation for membership in the Company, with the man's name filled in by the Companion whose signature was at the bottom of the letter. It seemed that they were searching for more members from outside the city, no doubt to avoid the danger of admitting someone with ties to the old regime. Silvia smiled.

It took only a flick of a pen to turn Antonio into Antonia, and judicious use of the Word on a candle flame to gently repair the cracked wax seal. Silvia had little fear that they would recognize her face, since she had been born years after the daughters of the Pio had been a valuable commodity. The Company did admit women, though not many. Her only worry was that they might double check her recommendation, but Arezzo was miles away and she felt sure she could convince them it was unnecessary. Politics was in her blood, after all, which was more than they could say.

She would learn their secrets, and crush the Golden Sheaf like they had crushed her father's soul. She could sell their knowledge to every city in Emilia and beyond, rebuilding her family's fortune even as she destroyed the Company's competitive advantage. She dusted the flour from her hands and spoke a Word to snuff out the fire in the oven. Her days as a baker were over, and revenge was a dish best served cold.