The great loaf tucked carefully under one arm, HE parted from the Bakery the next morning just as the first rays from the sun began to pierce the horizon. Tired and shaky, for the baking of the special bread had meant forgoing sleep, he walked with quick steps through the darkened alleys of a city not yet awake, fearful of the sharp shadows and hazy darkness that obscured each twist and turn.

If there were to be no more packages it would mean a return for the Bakery to the cash-strapped state of the past few years. No, he corrected - ten times the gold meant more than enough for the new oven and its maintenance. Thinking only of the oven and the Bakery, he wove his way down to the sea.

The sun had started to creep up over the blue waves when he arrived at the ancient stone staircase down to the seawall below. As he started down the steep steps he saw a small white ferry in the water, its dilapidated decks already filling with groggy passengers. Horrified at the prospect of being late, he stepped up his pace, the Bakery fixed in his mind and the loaf in a death grip under his arm.

That was when the voice called out from the shadows:

-Stop there, old man.

It was a stern, barked command. Turning in horror, he saw the tan uniforms and strong profiles of militiamen disengage from the dark edges of the stairs. Frantic, he tried to run down the steps to the dock below, where he thought he could make out the limping profile of the captain. Reaching a hand out towards the ferry, he whistled at the top of his breath.

The captain, hearing the noise, turned to look up the stairs. He was silhouetted momentarily by the rising sun as he saw his contact, and he took a limping step towards the staircase. But then he saw the pursuers and froze, foot in midair. Turning, the captain shoved his way, cursing, to the front of the line. Without looking back he boarded the ferry.

The quarry stopped running. He watched as, with a blow of its tinny whistle, the ferry pulled away from the dock. He did not look behind him - he could hear the heavy footfalls of the militiamen coming down the steps towards him. Slowly, he placed the defiled loaf on the ground, then bent down and lay on the stairs next to it, watching the rising sun. A pair of strong hands fell on his shoulders.

The Bakery lowered its head and cried.