The dryads took to the idea like bees to flower nectar in the springtime.

Alex fetched trays from the kitchen, piled them high with his best samples and gave them to the beautiful forest dwellers to hand out. Using the Mark, he noted their reactions, altering his approach as needed, and in minutes, he’d taught them the best words to describe the bakery, and how much they sincerely loved the food.

The dryads were quick and eager learners, and soon, they were fanning out over the city, tracking down as many sham customers as they could find. And, it was no surprise that they found lots of them: whoever wanted to shut him down—whether it was Govert Beerensteyn or someone else—had spared no expense.

They counted at least a dozen paid fakers spread throughout the district, all sewing seeds of ruin against the Roth Family Bakery. But, since they were grifters, and not prophets, they wouldn’t have expected that mystical forest dryads would appear with samples, park their alluring selves real close to them and start singing the praises of Alex’s bakery.

Crowds began to form: after all, a morning spectacle tended to draw the eye of both the bored, and the curious.

And it was quite the spectacle, people claiming to be sick from a bakery’s wrongdoings stood on one side of the road, while—on the other—beautiful dryads praising the food of that same bakery. Even in a city as vibrant as Generasi, these things didn’t occur every day.

Instead of rushing by the ‘nauseated’ in disgust, people slowed, taking in what had become a battle of public opinion all over the district. Rumours began to fly.

Some thought the dryads’ presence was just a desperate ploy to distract from distressed customers, but those opinions were few. Most began to think the entire thing was some sort of clever publicity stunt: an act of guerilla marketing by a new and hungry business.

And that small kernel of rumour was enough to stoke curiosity and—eventually—bravery.

Some, even those who simply wanted an excuse to talk to a pretty dryad, came over, asking questions.

“What’s with that man across the street?” someone would ask. “He says your store’s goods made him sick.”

And the dryads simply spoke the truth. “I’ve never seen that man before in my life, and the food is good. Here, look,” and they would take a bite of one of the samples, clearly enjoying the wonderful flavours.

Soon people began mustering the courage to try a few small bites. The very first was a young worker out on his break, egged on by his mates to chat up a beautiful dryad.

One bite, and he was a convert. “Listen, you’ve got to try this, boys. It’s like a party in my mouth!”

All across the district, the same story unfolded, with different people stepping up to try a sample or two, then excitedly proclaiming how good they were. Some folk weren’t keen on them, but the vast majority were completely taken.

As the tide was turning in the Roth family’s favour, those claiming to be “food poisoned” began ramping up their distress, retching even louder, but still not having the desired effect. The crowd now seemed to be leaning in the direction that all the drama was some big show of clever marketing.

Which meant?

That the tasty food and all the excitement had aroused enough curiosity that people started heading to the bakery to find out for themselves.

And that was how a massive crowd now filled the street in front of the Roth Family Bakery in the late-morning sun. A fine looking facade—a far cry from the rundown vermin palace that had been there for years—greeted them.

Out front, a beautiful dryad, a muscular young wizard with an enormous eagle on his shoulder, a minotaur, a towering golem, a young girl, a powerful human female, and a cerberus stood before the refurbished building, offering samples to passersby and inviting them to stop in for a bite.

Alex watched from beside the door, measuring the growing crowd. By now, even neighbours in adjacent buildings were opening their windows, wondering about the commotion in the street below.

Yet, no one seemed brave enough to actually go inside.

But, they were starting to waver, and all it would take was one push to send the curious, risk-takers in the crowd stampeding straight into his grasp.

Eventually, an old woman stepped from the milling crowd and walked up to Selina. “Well, hello, young lady. You seem to have a big job.”

Selina smiled up at her. “Welcome to the Roth Family Bakery, Mrs. Would you like a free sample?”

“Well, I would, if the food’s good. But, you see, I worry because I brought my son here some time ago, and the food he had made him terribly sick. You wouldn’t be trying to trick an old lady into getting terribly sick, would you?” She smiled uncertainly.

Selina shook her head. “The man who did that is long gone. We only sell good food here. Won’t you try some?”

And so the old woman reached out.

And it was all over from there.

“By the gods, it’s just as it used to be. No, even better!” she cried, turning to folk she knew in the crowd. “You have to try it.”

Someone else came forward.

Then another.

Soon, dozens were streaming toward the sample trays and—as each one exclaimed their delight—more were convinced to give the food a taste.

But just as they were ready to step across the threshold and into the bakery, a hysterical voice cried out. “Poisoner! I demand my gold back!”

Alex saw the crowd part around a man in a vomit-stained shirt. He was wet with sweat and shaking like a newborn calf. “You poisoned me! Don’t let them fool you! Their samples might be good, but what’s inside is foul! Rat droppings and roaches everywhere!”

And that’s exactly what Alex had been waiting for.

Claygon stepped in front of the menu, blocking it from view.

The young bakery owner moved in, making sure to spread his arms and attract as much attention as he could, while giving the ‘distressed’ man a broad smile.

“My friend, I am so sorry for any inconvenience we might have subjected you to,” he called. “If any food you’ve eaten here was foul, I’d be happy to give you back your coin and even a bit more.”

“That won’t be—”

“What did you have?”

“...what?”

“I asked what you had?” Alex gave him that broad smile tinged with innocence again, while he watched his mannerisms.

The signs of a liar appeared as plain as day: a slight wilting of body language, the darting eyes, the shifting of weight. All told the story of a man snared, desperate to recover before his lies were exposed to all.

‘You’re probably going to pick something from one of those trays,’ Alex thought. ‘We didn’t advertise the menu before the Grand Opening, so there’s no way you had time to make up a story earlier. Go on, try it now—’

The man’s eyes fell on a piece of almond pastry. His mouth opened and Alex struck.

“Oh, right, when did you say you came in?” he asked innocently. “Just for my records. If I did sell you bad food, I’ll need to know which supplier those ingredients came from.”

The man froze.

Just as he began to answer the first question, Alex hit him with a second. The man dripped sweat. A vein on his forehead throbbed—no doubt his pay was on the line—he was already off-balance and now, he had to answer another question before he’d had time to process the first.

It was clearly enough to rattle the scammer.

If he was telling the truth, he would have answered both questions then told Alex to piss off for badgering him.

But if he was lying, his mind would be spinning, leaving him grasping for words.

“Well, it was—” the man stuttered. “I—”

He was struggling, and now the crowd was taking notice.

Alex moved in for the kill.

“Oh by the way, that vomit on your shirt looks bone dry,” Alex said. “So you would have had to come in a long time ago. You would’ve been one of our first customers, considering this is our opening day... Yeah, you had to be one of the first; your shirt needed enough time for all that stuff to dry on it.”

He chuckled, pointing at the stains. “I notice it doesn’t even smell anymore. Must have been real early this morning.”

More and more people were frowning, turning on the man, their eyes looking increasingly suspicious.

Now that Alex was punching holes in his story, people were noticing inconsistencies. His growing panic certainly wasn’t doing him any favours either.

“Well, just—” he started.

“Hey,” another member of the crowd shouted. “You know what, you were supposed to be collapsed on that bench, heaving your guts out…but I didn’t see any vomit on the ground, or on the bench now that I think about it.”

The man paled.

Murmurs swept through the crowd in a wave.

His story was collapsing, and another one was forming in the imaginations of the onlookers: one of sabotage. Alex could hear it on peoples’ tongues as they whispered to each other.

And with that new scenario worming into their minds?

All it needed was a villain.

“You know, I don’t know how much Govert paid you, but he really should have coached you better,” Alex sighed.

The man froze, stunned, and the crowd looked from him to Alex.

The young wizard continued. “Oh, right, I guess a lot of you wouldn’t know, but Govert was the owner of this place after his father died. He cheaped out and re-used ingredients. An absolutely disgusting man who ruined this place. So, I got the bakery from him at a price that…let’s say he wasn’t too pleased with the deal.”

And with one statement, Alex had provided both a motive and a villain. And what was perfect about this villain was that he wasn’t around to defend himself.

And his hireling’s sputtering had already given away much of the tale.

“Well, I—” the man stuttered, but even he could see that the crowd had turned on him. After all, who would they be more likely to believe? A sweaty, untrustworthy fellow who looked like everyone had just found out he was a liar?

Or the young baker who’d just fed a lot of happy guests free samples, and who’d also just provided a plausible explanation as to the truth of the situation in a clear, calm voice. Speaking with confidence went a long way to convincing people of a point.

Alex’s opponent had lots of things: fake vomit, a fake story and whatever coin he’d been paid for the job…but right now, he was dearly lacking in confidence.

“I…look, I’ve never heard of this Govert before!” the man insisted, “I have no idea who you’re talking about, all I know is that you gave me food poisoning!”

“What…gave you food poisoning?” Claygon’s voice boomed, as fierce as Yantrahpretaye’s. “When did you get this…food poisoning? Tell us!”

The demonic voice completely shocked the man, and as his eyes met the towering golem’s, his line of thought fled.

The crowd now started doing Alex’s work for him.

“When did you get the food, mate?” someone asked. “Look, I’m in the alchemy business, and I recognise mercantile sabotage when I see it, when did you get the food?”

“I’m trying to answer, I was at the bakery early—”

“He’s lying!” a voice shouted from above.

The crowd turned, looking up at Toraka Shale calling down from an office window. Windows along the upper floors of the golemworks were wide open, and the entire morning shift was leaning out, glaring down at the treacherous man.

“We were all in that bakery almost as soon as it opened and the food was perfect! Do any of us look like we’re dying of food poisoning?” Shale shouted, pointing at the man. “And I didn’t see you there! Not once!”

The muttering of the crowd grew louder.

Folk turned angry, suspecting they’d been tricked.

Others grew excited at the public spectacle.

Still others began to laugh at the situation.

But one thing they all had in common; control of everyone’s opinion had shifted away from the liar.

And he seemed to realise it.

His mouth opened and closed, his eyes darted back and forth, he stumbled over the few words he managed to form.

Around him, people grew louder.

“I was food poisoned too!” someone shouted from down the road.

A woman was approaching, vomit staining the front of her dress. “The Roth Family Bakery—”

“I saw her a few streets away!” someone else shouted. “She was telling the same story as this man, here, but she didn’t have any vomit anywhere on her bench either! These liars didn’t even bother changing their story!”

Snickers went through the crowd, and the woman paused.

‘Things can’t get any worse for you,’ Alex thought.

Until they did.

“What’s going on here?” a new voice demanded from above.

Gasps went through the crowd, and they looked skyward.

Floating down was the Chancellor of Generasi, flanked by four wizards in robes that looked to be worth more than Alex’s entire building. One of them was a woman with six arms.

“I was just coming to support a young friend, bringing some friends from the city’s ruling council to have a bit of a meal, but what is all this, I wonder?” His stony gaze swept across the crowd. “Complaints? Treachery? Lies? Who is responsible for this?”

Without hesitation, Alex jerked a thumb to the man and woman who’d been paid to discredit him.

Baelin slowly turned to them.

They gulped loudly.