“Charmain rapped on the door and, when that did no good, put her face to the glass and shouted, “Let me in!” The person inside at length shuffled over and opened the door enough to put his face round it. He proved to be an apprentice about Peter’s age whom Charmain had never met. “We’re closed,” he said. His eyes went to Waif in Charmain’s arms. The open door had let out a gust of recent doughnut smells, and Waif had her nose into it, sniffing rapturously. “And we don’t allow dogs,” he said. “I ...need to see my father,” Charmain said. “You can’t see anyone,” the apprentice said. “The bake house is still busy.” “My father is Mr. Baker,” Charmain told him, “and I know he’ll see me. Let me in.” “How do I know that’s the truth?” the apprentice said suspiciously. “It’s as much as my job’s worth—” Charmain knew this was the sort of time when she needed to be polite and tactful, but she ran out of patience, just as she had with the kobolds.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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