What Might Have Been

Chapter II

Before she was six in Midgardian years, Jane had a macro-impact on the economies between realms.

It started with pancakes. 

For too long she had been without butter, syrup and sweet batter delights and Jane would have no more of it. Waking up early was difficult without an alarm and Asgardian time befuddled her more than their lack of pancakes. Jane had to go to an artisan shop and describe her wants, wait a few days and then be given a device of wooden beauty. Bells for the most part told the juncture of the day. Aesir live thousands of years; the idea of boiling time into days or hours, let alone seconds was preposterous. Nevertheless, the grizzled artisan was happy to tinker and Jane got her alarm clock. A little wolf sculpture tottered out at the desired hour and howled to bright pearl-blue moon. Apparently royals paid for nothing in this city (though they had tabs everywhere) so Jane gave him only what she could: a sketch of the stars. He was kind enough to take it albeit skeptically.   

The wolf tottered out and a melody likened to the howls of wolves jostled her awake. The sun wasn’t yet in the sky but a white-blue paled darkness on the horizon. People would wake soon enough. Jane tripped her way into a cloak—she was getting very fond of commoners’ tunics for their effortless style of dress—and had her boots on soon than later. Not unusual, Fenrir slumbered outside her door; he had ditched Loki again. Jane could understand why. Loki didn’t do tummy rubs. The pup yawned and hugged her heels until the kitchens where he abandoned her for scraps. 

Odin may not believe in opulence, not like the elves of Alfheim, but he was a king and some manner of splendor was expected. Domestic hands were already kneading dough and chilling milk and cider to break the morning fast. Jane found what she was looking for. Markl was the head cook’s apprentice and nephew and he liked anyone who liked his cooking. Jane tugged on his apron. 

“Did you find it?”

“You tell me,” he said. He nodded off to the pantry—do not be fooled, this pantry cold feed the castle under siege for quite some time—and told Jane to look at the color-tagged bags. Five different cereals stared back at here. Two were corn-like, another oats, but fourth’s time the charm, it tasted like flour. She stole a bowl and cup and filled it, losing count at three, started over (dumping none of it back) and walked back to the counter. She had seen her foster parents do this a few times so she knew what was required just not the amounts. 

Details.  

A few egg-like things, something that was definitely milk, melted butter, and the flour-like substance. The first batch rolled out like stiff dough and burned. Second batch was all liquid and produced only paper-thin wafers. Jane was sulking in the corner when her sixth batch burned, again. Markl tried to cheer her up.

“There, there, little one. You can have Chef’s breakfast today and try your own next time.” Curious, Jane looked into the pot. Oatmeal. 

“I’m going to try one more time.” 

Seventh times the charm. 

“Wait! I need syrup! Where’s the syrup!” No one knew what syrup was and Jane thought she might cry. “Y’know, syrup. Sticky, really sweet, comes from trees?” Markl paused his fruit dicing, hunted through the pantry and return with a small, glass bottle of umber. 

“You put this in drinks—“ he tried to tell her but Jane had snatched the bottle with a rushed thank you and was now drizzling it over her creation. A couple helping hands snuck glances; it smelled good. It tasted even better. Jane gave a piece to Markl and Fenrir. The apprentice was mildly more eloquent than Fenrir. “Odin’s throne! What is this scrumptiousness?” 

These people peacock about their kingdom and they don’t know pancakes?  Jane felt sorry for them and made sure to educate them thoroughly on the philosophy and artistry of flapjacks. Breakfast was a little late to the royals that morning.