Chương 17: Proper Applications of Salt

The wall of golden pastry groaned and marched on menacingly. Broken metal baking trays tumbled down its sticky surface as it swallowed the empty kitchen and spilled out into the courtyard of the golden cliff.

"Salt pulls moisture and dries things out," Bart said, his voice cutting through the panic of the monks.

"It will soak up the enchanted rose syrup and stop it from reacting with the butter!" Brother Odo nodded wildly.

"The syrup's magic speeds up when the butter melts!" Bart grabbed a massive canvas sack of coarse sea salt from a nearby pile.

"Then we dry it out and cut the heat. Abbot, order your men!" Abbot Halvorn stared at the buttery avalanche threatening to crush his ancient monastery. He swallowed his pride.

"Do as the Keeper says! Move!" The monks jumped into action. Following Bart's quick orders, a dozen monks dragged heavy iron baking trays across the stone floor, slamming them down to build a quick wall.

"Do not just throw the salt on top!" Bart shouted over the rumbling pastry.

"Score it! Open it up!" Five strong monks ran forward with long, sharp bread knives. They cut deep lines straight into the moving wall of golden crust. The pastry hissed and popped, letting out clouds of sweet, hot steam and bubbling red syrup.

"Now!" More monks rushed forward, hauling sacks of salt. They poured the white salt directly into the deep cuts of the dough. The moment the coarse salt hit the wet inside, the pastry shrieked a high, whining sound like a kettle boiling over as the salt drew glowing red syrup from the exposed layers.

"Fold it!" Bart ordered. Monks with long wooden paddles pushed against the dough, pressing the salted layers back together to trap the heavy salt inside. But the mountain of pastry was still inching forward, driven by the intense heat radiating from the cliff face. Bart looked past the courtyard, his eyes narrowing.

"The heat from the vents is driving the magical bake! Shut the ovens!" Halvorn did not wait. He waved his arms, and a team of monks sprinted to the cliff wall, hauling on the thick chains. CLANG. CLANG. CLANG. CLANG. CLANG. CLANG. CLANG. All seven massive iron doors slammed shut. The golden furnace glow vanished from the cliff face, and the intense heat began to fade. Without the magical heat feeding it, and with the heavy salt disrupting the rose syrup reaction, the enchantment finally broke.

The wall of pastry gave one last, sad shudder. It sagged heavily, pushing outward one final time before coming to a complete stop. The leading edge of the crust stopped exactly two inches from Abbot's nose. The courtyard was completely silent, except for the heavy breathing of the tired bakers. The scored, salted outer layers of the dough had continued baking briefly from the remaining heat, producing crisp, flaky strips along the cuts. Brother Odo slowly stepped forward.

He broke off a crisp edge, took a small bite, and realised that Bart's scoring, folding, and salting had produced something completely new.

"It is buttery, flaky and savoury," Odo whispered.

"A salted fold." Abbot Halvorn frowned. He reached out, took a small piece from Odo, and tasted it reluctantly. The abbot chewed slowly.

"A Saltfold," he corrected solemnly. He looked at the giant wall of pastry, then turned to Bart.

"You have created a new savoury fold," Halvorn said.

"I was trying to stop it from crushing you," Bart replied.

"Intent is not a requirement for culinary discovery, and you made me realise maybe we should experiment more albeit in more safer ways" Halvorn said. He reached into his grey robes and pulled out a small brass medallion shaped like an oven door. He handed it to Bart.

"I name you an Honorary Brother of the First Oven, the lowest rank our Order can grant without requiring vows." Bart looked at the destruction surrounding them.

"That feels appropriate."

"Does this position include duties?" Bart asked.

"No," Halvorn said.

"Coffee?"

"Also no." Bart sighed.

"Then honorary will be acceptable."

"It is edible and delicious," Odo noted, taking another bite.

"But the salt makes the dough too heavy. It cannot achieve Rickard's proper 72 layer structure. Golden Troll Fat is still required for an authentic Moonfold." This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Halvorn's eye twitched. He looked past Bart at Brother Odo.

"Brother Odo, we will discuss your future after the roof is returned to its proper position." Odo lowered his head.

"Yes, Abbot." Behind them, Gregor was sitting on a wooden bench. The shock of the pastry attack was fading, and his choir voice had finally gone back to normal. With the danger over, Gregor's thoughts went back to what Bart had said in the courtyard and the terrible conclusion he had not yet had time to process. Gregor's face turned completely pale.

"Boss," Gregor whispered, pulling on Bart's sleeve.

"You said Golden Troll Fat. And Brother Odo followed Rickard's recipe."

"Yes," Bart said.

"I ate troll," Gregor gasped. Brother Odo stepped around the edge of the dough wall, looking deeply ashamed.

"No, you didn't," Odo said.

"I could not find Golden Troll Fat. I used monastery butter instead." Gregor let out a massive sigh, his shoulders sagging with intense relief.

"Oh, thank the Gods!." Odo glanced nervously towards the towering mountain of solid pastry.

"That may be why the layers stuck together and became angry." Gregor's relief vanished.

"If missing troll fat made the pastry angry," he whispered, pressing both hands against his stomach, "what exactly did I swallow?" His stomach gave a small gurgle. Gregor went completely still.

"Brother Odo," Bart said, pulling the slip of paper from his pocket.

"The record said the book was given to Master Gurrum Goldbelly at the Honeyglass Market. How do we get there?" Abbot Halvorn stepped forward.

"Honeyglass Market is three hours east by flour cart. Today's delivery was delayed by this disaster, but the cart survived. You may ride in the back once the courtyard is safe."

"And while we are there," Bart added, "I require one drop of clarified Golden Troll Fat." Gregor stared at him.

"For the coffee grinder," Bart explained.

"That is not any better boss," Gregor said. Bart turned and looked across the courtyard. The plain white Staff Restroom door was still standing on the stone tiles, held up by nothing. The blue text on the wood glowed faintly. OUTBOUND ACQUISITIONS: GILDARA Destination Accuracy: 81%"We are taking the cart," Bart said firmly.

"We will return here for the door once we have finished at the market."

"No monk will touch it," Halvorn said, looking at the floating white door.

"None of us wishes to discover where it goes." Before Bart climbed into the flour cart, Halvorn handed him a Saltfold wrapped in wax paper.

"Present this to the Guild," the abbot said.

"Preferably before they hear about the roof." The journey across the Golden Provinces of Gildara was surprisingly beautiful. The flour cart rumbled over smooth stone roads, winding through rolling hills covered in golden wheat and bright red spice flowers. For three hours, Bart reviewed the Archive's incomplete catalogue notes on Golden Trolls. Most of the entries concerned baking regulations, ingredient standards, and several extremely detailed arguments about acceptable pie thickness.

One damaged entry caught his attention. ROSE-PEARL MOONFOLD Guild Classification: Restricted Recipe Production Requirements: Certified baker, registered oven and clarified Golden Troll Fat Warning: Unstabilised imitations may undergo uncontrolled expansion Bart looked back towards the distant monastery and groaned. Meanwhile, Gregor sat in the back of the wagon among the flour sacks, constantly running his tongue over his lower teeth and asking Bart if his skin was starting to look shiny.

"You are not growing tusks, Gregor," Bart said for the fourth time.

"It was only butter."

"Magic butter, boss," Gregor muttered, checking his reflection in a shiny tin cup. As the sun began to set, the cart crested a hill. Below them lay the royal capital of Aramholm, and at its centre was Honeyglass Market. Bart and Gregor hopped down from the cart and walked through the grand entrance. Gregor raised his hands defensively. Every story he had heard about trolls involved crushed carts, missing travellers, and suspiciously empty boots. Instead, he stopped and stared.

The market was built beneath a huge, beautiful roof made of amber glass. It turned the late afternoon sunlight into the colour of honey. The Air smelled of sugar, vanilla, and roasted nuts / spices. Rows of perfectly clean wooden stalls displayed amazing food art. There were tiny sugar castles, perfect fruit tarts, and tall cakes that looked like they belonged in a museum. And then he saw the trolls. They were huge, easily 12 feet tall, with wide, strong shoulders and golden skin that shone in the light.

Each one was big enough to lift a horse cart with a single hand. But every single troll was dressed in a spotless, perfectly ironed white chef's apron. Their large lower tusks were neatly filed and decorated with hanging silver tasting spoons. At the nearest stall, a giant troll with hands the size of rocks was using a tiny pair of silver tweezers. A polished brass badge shaped like an oven door was pinned to his apron: GOLDEN TROLL BAKERS' GUILD - QUALITY INSPECTOR.

He carefully placed a small, sweet flower onto the top of a frosted cupcake. To their left, two guild inspectors, also trolls, were leaning over a pie, measuring the crust with tiny wooden rulers. Every stall had neat, handwritten signs clearly showing prices, allergy warnings, and potential side effects. Gregor stared at them, his mouth hanging open.

"Those are the monsters?" Bart adjusted his glasses.

"Try not to judge our potential suppliers too quickly, Gregor. They seem to be highly skilled artists." They stepped fully beneath the roof, walking down the wide centre aisle of the market. Suddenly, the massive troll with the silver tweezers stopped moving. He lifted his huge head. His nose twitched. The troll sniffed the air once the twice, His bright golden eyes slowly turned, locking directly onto Gregor. A stubborn spot of ruby red syrup still stained the cuff of Gregor's leather armour.

The troll carefully set down his tweezers.

"Rose-syrup glaze," he rumbled.

"Monastery butter. Far too much yeast." His golden eyes narrowed.

"And no stabilising fat." He leaned farther over the counter.

"That pastry was baked without a licence. Someone has been eating an unlicensed counterfeit Moonfold." Gregor slowly, carefully, stepped completely behind Bart.

"Boss," Gregor whispered, shaking.

"I did not know lunch required paperwork."

"Most dangerous things do," Bart said.

"I think the pastry reported me," Gregor whimpered.