Turn the cream out into an ample, fairly deep dish, spread it to a thickness of about 2 cm (3/4 of an inch), and let it cool completely.
Cut the cream into diamonds. Lightly beat the remaining egg whites, dredge the rhombs of cream in them, and then in breadcrumbs, and fry them in butter until golden. Drain them on absorbent paper and serve at once.
The circus wagons had been parked for hours, and the players were growing bored. People were strolling about, although none ventured very far, peering over the edge of the chasm, sitting atop their wagons reading, playing games, or watching the sunset.
It was a breathtaking chasm, surrounded as it was by magnificent mountains, which were washed purple and orange by the light of the setting sun. A fierce river could be heard roaring by somewhere in the shadows below, the sound booming upwards from between the sheer rock walls.
A poet would have taken one look at it all and dashed off something about the stark grandeur of nature, the quality of the light, the glory of all things, and still had time for dinner.
Luckily, around fifteen hundred years ago, a Roman engineer had taken a look at it and decided that it would be a good spot for a bridge. He had been a good engineer, and the bridge was still there.
A few of the circus members were stationed strategically, keeping a wary eye out on the surrounding countryside. They were the ones who first saw the two small figures rounding the turn of the road they had come up, and trotting (unsteadily in one case) up the slope towards them. But as things were pretty boring, the two were soon the center of attention.
When they reached the near end of the bridge, they stopped. Zeetha clapped her hands once in dismissal, and Agatha slid to her knees, panting.
Pix strolled over. “So, you two finally caught up.”
Agatha glared up at her. “You left without us!”
Pix raised her eyebrows. “Zeetha said you’d catch up.”
Zeetha laughed and tousled Agatha’s hair. “That’s right! Nothing spurs a good run like fear!”
Pix’s mouth quirked upwards. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”
Zeetha grinned. “Oh yeah.”
Agatha climbed to her feet and vainly attempted to pull the hem of her small outfit further down her thighs. “Humf. If you thought you’d been abandoned in the Wastelands in this thing, you’d know what fear is.” She looked around for the first time and frowned. “Why are we all stopped? You weren’t waiting for us, were you?”
Pix shook her head as she led them to the cook wagon. A small, fat cauldron sat strapped in place in a sand-lined cooking box. Pix lifted the lid and a savory aroma wafted out. It was a pork goulash, thick with wild garlic, onions and spicy paprika. She handed Agatha two bowls and with an enormous iron ladle, scooped out a pair of generous servings. Zeetha reappeared with a loaf of dark break, which she twisted in half, releasing a puff of steam into the chilling air. She handed Agatha one of the half loaves, and the two dug in.
Agatha swallowed and sighed happily. A thought struck her. “I was so tired and hungry I forgot to ask. Why is everyone stopped here?”
Pix stole a chunk of Agatha’s bread and nibbled on it daintily. She waved her hand to indicate the far side of the bridge. “The next town is Passholdt.”
Zeetha interrupted. “Hey! That’s the town that makes those fried cream things[30]!”
Pix nodded. “That’s right. They’re also the earliest open pass through the mountains.” Pix looked troubled as she absent-mindedly wiped down the pot and ladle. “We should have been there by now.” She looked at the now rapidly setting sun and frowned. “But Master Payne stopped us here, and he won’t cross the bridge until Lars and Augie come back. I don’t know why he’s being even more cautious than usual, but I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.” Her face made it plain that she wasn’t sure at all.
On the bridge itself stood Master Payne and his apprentice. Master Payne was on the roadway. He’d strode over almost every centimeter of the bridge at least twice, minutely examined every block and seam, and finally deciphered and translated every ancient line of chiseled graffiti with an ill-concealed temper. Abner, on the other hand, had stood motionless atop one of the wide stone railings for up to an hour at a time, a quietly ticking copper and brass telescope trained upon the far road.
Payne strode over to where the younger man stood and sternly addressed his feet. “As master of this circus and your employer, I demand that you give me the telescope.”
“Of course, sir. You just climb up here to this superior vantage point and I will tender it to you immediately,” Abner replied without moving.
Master Payne glared up at Abner, glared at the meter high railing, considered his dignity and muttered vile implications about Abner’s family in Estonian. Abner ignored him. This tirade was cut off by one of Payne’s pocket watches beginning to chime the hour.
“It’s getting late,” Abner said quietly. “They should have been back hours ago. I know it’s still a bit early in the year, but at the very least we should have seen somebody.” He stamped his foot. “This is the only bridge for fifty kilometers, but we haven’t seen anybody coming from this direction.”
Payne grimaced. “Yes. This is looking worse and worse.” He breathed deeply. “There’s something odd in the air.” Abner took a deep sniff. Payne waved his hand impatiently. “I’ve been watching Moxana’s game. I don’t like what I’m seeing. Something is going to happen.”
Abner continued his slow pan of the countryside. There were signs of civilization. Stacks of wood, a small shrine by the side of the road, but it all had an air of neglect to it. “Here in Passholdt?”
Payne shrugged. “Soon enough that I want to know the status of the town before we cross this bridge.”
“A sensible precaution,” Krosp remarked casually. Both Master Payne and Abner started violently, which almost resulted in the younger man pitching over the edge of the railing. Despite his new bright red and gold coat, Krosp had proved annoyingly good at sneaking up on people. “I thought I’d met everyone in the circus by now,” he continued. “So who is this Moxana?”
Payne and Abner stared at each other, and then simultaneously broke into chuckles. The younger man returned to his watching. “Heavens, it must sound odd.”
Payne grinned. “Oh my, yes. We’ll have to introduce you to Moxana as soon as possible.”
Krosp studied them. There was something strange here. “Yes. I’d like that.”
Suddenly Abner froze. “Whoa,” he exclaimed. “Is that them?”
Through the telescope, he now saw two figures had emerged from the tree line and were riding furiously towards the bridge. The horses were galloping full out. As they came into sight, one of the figures reared back in its saddle, took the reins in his teeth, and began waving his hands furiously.
“What the devil is Lars doing?” Abner muttered, “The damn fool’s going to fall off his horse.”
“Can you see any pursuit?”
Abner swung the telescope across the horizon. The ticking sped up as the focus mechanisms desperately tried to adjust. “I don’t see anything. But they’re riding so hard—” Abner lowered the scope. “We’d better pull the wagons back.”
Payne turned and almost tripped over Krosp, who was staring fixedly, not across the bridge, but back at the wagons.
30
While mercantile trade was common within the Empire, there were certain local specialties that simply didn’t travel well. For the best Viennese pastries, for example, you had to go to Vienna. Every town had a local beer, seasonal fruit, wine, fried dough recipe or scam for cheating tourists that the locals were proud of.