And on a low table covered with a brilliantly colored cloth sat the most gorgeous cake I had ever seen. It had to be at least three layers, but it was such a perfect cylinder that I couldn't guess where one left off and the next one began. The violet icing smelled delicious, its perfume combining vanilla, honey, citrus, and a dozen other delightful fragrances I couldn't guess even though I'd bought the extracts to make it. Hermalaya had covered it with scrolls and ridges of frosting that while elaborate was not in the least overpowering or tacky. She had taken the colored-sugar decorations that we had brought her and changed them so they looked handmade instead of cranked out of a cylinder. The Cake was just... perfect.
Beside this marvel of pastry sat a pile of plates that I had picked up at Polkey's, and an elaborate silver cake server that must have belonged to Hermalaya.
"Yum!" I went to pick up the server, ready to cut a piece of cake for myself. Hermalaya appeared from our kitchen and met me with a sharp paw to the chest. She had on a full apron and a cloth tied over her ears. Both were handsomely embroidered. She fended me away from the table with a sweet, indulgent expression that nevertheless brooked no nonsense. I backed off.
"Do not touch it. Now, the ceremony begins." She smiled at us, showing all her sharp teeth, and put a hand on our shoulders. "Welcome," she said.
"Thank you," I said.
"Thank you for inviting us," Bunny said, with a correcting eye on me.
Hermalaya looked surprised. "You know something of the Way of Cake?"
"I read about it in a magazine. There's a similar custom on Klah."
Hermalaya nodded. "Then lead this one in the responses, will you? I will continue."
I was mystified, but I followed Bunny's lead. The vixen princess led us to the small table. She knelt beside it. The billowing apron settled around her slender knees like a ball gown. She gestured to us to join her on the floor. Bunny assumed the correct stance with grace. I found it less easy to fold myself up. The hard floor made me want to squirm, but Hermalaya didn't move a hair in spite of the discomfort, so I could hardly complain.
"Now, as you are the guest of honor, Mister Skeeve, I will ask you how old you are?"
I told her, and she counted out small, colored candles from a small box. The number she placed on top of the Cake did not correspond in any way with the number I had said. She flicked her thumb and forepad together, and a tiny flame appeared between them. She touched the fire to each of the pristine white wicks. She closed her eyes with her hands shielding the flames and sang a keening song that traveled up and down the scales. Bunny nodded in time with the music. When the princess finished, she opened her eyes and looked at me.
"Blow them out," Bunny whispered.
I obeyed, then had to scuttle backward, as Hermalaya seized the beautiful Cake server from the side of the table. She wielded it like an expert swordswoman might a longer blade.
Flick, flick! Four slender, perfect pieces of Cake had been dealt onto a pair of the small plates as slickly as cards. Inside the purple icing the layers were chocolate. My favorite. Hermalaya took another implement, this one with a rounded blade. She picked up a round earthenware pot that had been sitting just out of sight under the edge of the table. It looked humble and ordinary, like a jam jar, but from it she scooped the most luscious-looking ice cream I had ever seen. Somehow with a knife she managed to make perfect hemispheres, one of which she deposited upon the first sloping wedge of Cake. Bunny held her breath, but it didn't slide at all. That seemed to be important. A dollop of whipped cream followed. Then the princess rubbed her fingers lightly together over the Cake, and a glorious rain of sprinkles descended, seeming to make the otherwise ordinary confection glow. Even I gasped. Bowing her head, Hermalaya handed me the plate with both hands. I accepted it, and sat wondering how I ate it, while Bunny was given her Cake. Hermalaya then handed us beautifully wrought silver forks, and offered us crystal goblets brimming with white. I followed Bunny's lead, mashing the ice cream and whipped cream into the cake and cutting bites with the side of the fork. Once we had all been served, Hermalaya wiped the server on an embroidered cloth, returned it to the table, and sat patiently with her paws folded on her knees.
"How's this different from a Klahdish birthday party?" I asked Bunny in a whisper.
"Shh!" my assistant said. "A Cake Master studies for years to get everything exactly right."
I shrugged and ate my cake ... er, Cake. I had to admit it was the best I had ever eaten, in any dimension. It tasted at least three times as good as it had smelled, and the ice cream reminded me of my own childhood. The glass was full of pure white, sweet, ice-cold milk that made the Cake taste even better.
After we ate, Hermalaya rose gracefully to her feet and held out a hand to me. I rose, feeling awkward and out of place. She led me to a line on the floor drawn in glitter and handed me a long piece of green cloth cut into a long, thin triangle with a long pin attached to the top. She took the cloth from around her ears and made to tie it over my eyes.
"Oh, no," I said. "No, thanks."
"Skeeve!" Bunny admonished me. "It's part of the ceremony!"
"All right," I said. I turned to my hostess. "Sorry."
"It's all right," she assured me in her soft voice. "You're just not an initiate?"
I allowed myself to be spun in a circle live or six times, then I staggered forward, feeling my way toward the embroidered wall hanging. My hand touched cloth, and I plunged the pin into it. I heard snickers come from behind me. I snatched off the blindfold and looked at the wall. The dragon now had a tail on its head. Gleep, crouched underneath my desk out of the way, gave me a sorrowful look.
Each of my friends took their turn, in solemn silence. Bunny, with a little more foreknowledge of the culture than the rest of us, did better at all the rituals. I admired her skill so much that I didn't feel bad when Bunny got to the only empty chair ahead of me to win that game. Hermalaya oversaw everything with an austere eye, guiding us with a little magik here and there.
When it was all through, Hermalaya gave me a small box she had wrapped in colored paper. It contained a pinch of the sprinkles that had been on the cake. I felt as if I had been given a treasure chest.
"Thank you," I said.
"Thank you for coming," Hermalaya said, formally, urging us out into Bunny's foyer.
Came back in again, Hermalaya sat exhausted on the lone chair. Bunny and I started to clear up. There was little in the way of leftovers, but Chumley crammed the remaining half of the Cake in his mouth with every evidence of
Trollish enjoyment, and I only wished I had thought of getting to it first. Nunzio carefully took down the dragon tapestry, now well pinned, and I gathered up all the glitter and spilled sprinkles with a handful of magik. The swamp vixen didn't protest at all until I reached for the silver server. She swooped down on that and her ice-cream knife.
"No one touches the tools of a Cake Master," she said apologetically. She cleaned them off and placed them in a small fitted case covered with mother-of-pearl. "I'm sorry to seem discourteous."
"Not at all," I said. "I'm the one ignorant of your customs."
"That was beautiful," Bunny said. "I'm so moved. I never saw the real thing."
"Few have," Hermalaya said, with a shrug of her narrow shoulders. "There are pale approximations all through the dimensions—you alluded to one yourself. It's a shame, because I think it's so uplifting?"
The mental candle that had been trying to light itself over my head finally burst out in a flare of brilliant flame.