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“Fick dich, du schwuler Sau!”

Ezekiel shook his head slowly. This was ridiculous. A perfectly good cash register, destroyed… Well, true, it still technically functioned, but he couldn’t have random German profanity being shouted throughout his shop! Who would’ve thought that half a mug of coffee could do such mechanical damage?

It could be considered humanoid in shape, though it was closer to a metal sphere sitting atop mechanical legs. The bulbous ‘head’ was covered in wire bristles, arranged almost like hair, to channel static away from the parts of the robot that human hands would touch. It had some semblance of eyes, in the form of a blinking display. The machine was vital to the smooth operation of the bakery. The drawer under the eyes not only held but measured the day’s profits and neatly divided them into appropriate salaries for each of the workers. Now it was ruined. Not only was it offensive, obscene, and irritating, but it was now refusing to allow Ezekiel to withdraw the money. Each time he tried to so much as touch the little android, it grew violent and began to perform some sort of kickboxing.

Bruised and bewildered, General Sweeting dropped back into a chair. Hm… He’d have to call a repairman. That could wait until morning, couldn’t it? The workday wasn’t over and he couldn’t afford to lose any customers. His business was slowly improving, and he wouldn’t let the opportunity for expansion fade away. It seemed that almost daily, new residents were appearing in Saltaire, and Gray’s Bakery was the only shop of its kind. Still, he wouldn’t let himself become complacent.

He tried to drown out the robot’s awful shrieking and busied himself with arranging the trays of food in the display case. It had been specially made to trap the natural moisture of the products, keeping them fresh and soft.

A baker’s dozen may have been thirteen, but for Ezekiel it was at least fifteen, and had become almost a standard of measurement in the town. There were few who didn’t know the meaning of the term ‘Sweeting’s Dozen.’ Sweeting himself sold a variety of baked goods. His pastries were popular; many were traditional. These included apple tarts, treacle tarts, Battenberg cakes, bread and butter puddings, Eccles cakes, and canelé. Other options were more unique and consisted of his personal creations, the most famous of which was the Santiago tart. Inspired by his childhood in Chile, it looked simple enough, almost like a cream puff. However, when broken open, non-toxic chemical crystals reacted with the sudden rush of oxygen in the air and exploded gently into tiny, brightly colored fireworks that were flavored like exotic fruits. Since their creation, only two had ever burst into flame.

He sold breakfast pastries like croissants, crumpets, muffins, scones, mince pies, coffee cakes, cinnamon rolls, Danishes, and hot cross buns, and breads without rival: rye, sourdough, banana bread, pumpernickel, and even pretzels. Though coffee and tea were not things that he technically sold, he offered them freely to customers, and always encouraged his patrons to stay and chat while they ate. Ezekiel was a kind and friendly, if rugged and slightly gruff man, and enjoyed company and conversation a great deal.

This day, however, was dull. Hardly anyone had come in, and those who had had bustled off in a hurry. Ezekiel sighed, never understanding why people rushed the way they did. Wouldn’t their job still be there when they got there? No matter how fast they ran, they couldn’t outrun time… Perhaps he was simple minded, but it made little sense to him.

He leaned back in his chair to listen to the profane robot with some amusement, wondering what he would do with it if customers came.

Ezekiel’s eyes flicked up to the woman as she entered. Immediately, the impertinent little robot began to tease and taunt her mercilessly in coarse German. Ezekiel leapt to his feet, attempting to shoo away the offender. It was partially successful and after slapping repeatedly at the android with a rag, he was able to corral his cash register into a storage closet. The door only muffled the curses, and Ezekiel moved calling the repairman a little higher on his priority list.

“Normal? Nay, I spilled a mug o’ coffee on the bugger.” His soft, rich baritone was a stark contrast to his coarse manner of speaking. Ezekiel shook his head, returning to his place behind the counter. He looked the guest over, realizing that she was a first time customer. A gentle smile cracked his stony face.

“General Ezekiel Sweeting. I’m the owner o’ this fine establishment. How can I ‘elp you today? Bread, cakes, pastries, anything you like. Or perhaps you’d like a spot o’ tea?” He nodded towards a self-heating titanium kettle that occasionally hummed and bounced. To welcome her properly to Saltaire, he reached into the display case to fetch on of his latest creations. It was a cube shaped pastry, its exterior dipped in white chocolate. Inside was a carbonated and fizzing mint jelly. The concoction was cool and fresh tasting, the chocolate providing just enough sweetness to balance the earthy, herbal taste of the fresh mint from his garden.

“’Ere you are, try this. Free o’ charge. Just made them up this morning. They ‘aven’t even got a name yet. Imagination isn’t me strong spot.” He chuckled softly, passing it over the counter at her. He himself thought that the little pastries were decent enough, but sweets weren’t really to his taste to begin with. Once, Ezekiel hadn’t minded them, but they were his life now. As much as he loved his job, he’d had quite enough of sugar.