After the meeting was over, Bertha took them back to the bakery. He demeanor was just as disagreeable as ever, and hearing about God didn't help at all. But it did help Horatio; who, like many that day, came to believe in Glory. Bertha stopped at the bakery's large oven.
“Come here, there's a job to do.” she said, “I need the oven cleaned before tomorrow.” The oven itself was large enough for an elephant to easily fit inside. The door was decorated with an engraving of a grate, which resembled the parting teeth of a beast.
Pipes and poles emerged from the sides and top of the oven giving it a monstrous appearance. There were times when Horatio thought it would come to like and burst from is fixated position. It was also cover with blackened soot and grease that has collected over the years. It gave off a smell of burned charcoal; even the floor was beginning to be infected by the black grime. Bertha opened the oven door.
“I want you to clean the inside starting from the back. Here, use the these tools.”
“But I don't have hands,” said Horatio.
“Then scrape the oven with your beak!” she said disdainfully, “Now get in there.”
Bertha was still angry--very angry from having to listen to her slave's sermon. There no way to explain the hatred that was germinating inside of her. Nor is there any logical way to defend her thought of closing the oven door and burning all three of them, but the thought came to her.
She waited until they were working. At first she held the door open, swaying the door back and forth as if debating if it was right or wrong. For her debating was pointless. Sin has already won; so she slammed the door and locked it. Phigaro, Revel, and Horatio scrambled back to the front in the dark beating the door mercilessly. Bertha began to prepare the oven for work.
“BERTHA WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” shouted Reiach, “OPEN THE DOOR!”
Dials, levelers, cranks, and pulleys were activated to start the oven's heat. Phigaro could feel the temperature rising. Outside, Bertha was turning the crank that controlled the oven's temperature.
“Just a little more and the fire will begin.” she said with eager anticipation.
A small flame emerged next to Reiach and then another appeared beside it. Suddenly hundreds of tiny flames emerged inside the oven. Hanging from the top, Horatio spotted the oven's main torch ready to ignite.
“We've got to stop that thing from lighting or we're goners!”
“Don't worry,” said Phigaro in a heroic tone. “I know what to do.”
The aye-aye took a deep breath and started blowing out the little flames to prevent the torch from igniting. Reiach and Horatio; finding the idea silly but probable, joined in running around the oven putting out any flame that they could. The main torch, however, could not be dispelled. It sparked once and then twice. On the third try it ignited: engulfing the oven in an inferno. Bertha heard the oven start and backed away nervously. She was quite unsure of herself and hoped that no one had seen or heard what had happened. She looked out the shop window: no one was in the street. The fire in the oven was over five hundred degrees, but the three occupants; who should have been burnt to a crisp, were very much alive. They know that there was someone else in the fire with them. Reiach who was prostrate on the floor found that a hand lifted him up to his feet.
He opened his eyes and saw Kleos there smiling.
“Now that you are here,” Reiach said.
“I’m always here.” said Kleos.
Kleos went over and helped Phigaro and Horatio who were in awe of their Lord. It was good to have God around, but like He said, He always was. The fire flowed over them like colored wind. Phigaro skipped around the over enjoying amazing scene as Glory smiled over him.
“My Lord, how are we to get out?”
“But she's the one who put us in here.” said Horatio.
When all three blinked, Kleos vanished. Bertha was still paranoid. She was cleaning the bakery to hid any evidence of criminal activity. If the governor ever found out that she burned three slaves she would be imprisoned for the rest of her natural life. While she cleaning the counter, she heard a tap on the oven door (Horatio's beak). At first she ignored it, believing her mind was playing tricks on her, but again the tapping resumed. The wolf cautiously walked up to the door placing her ear close enough to the oven without burning it. The tap came again and she jumped back in a fright.
“Wh--whose in there?”
“Its us,” came Reiach voice, “We want out and now.”
“Alive?” she said to herself, “It can't be.”
“Yes it can,” said Phigaro, “Now are you going to turn off the over or not?” Shaking her head to break her stupor she spoke at the door.
“No, in fact I think the oven isn't hot enough for you.”
Back to the crank she went turning it until the temperature was seven times hotter than the oven's recommended amount. Inside, the fire swirled in a whirlwind screaming in a blaze of orange-red.
“I think she turning up the heat.” said Horatio.
“What,” said Phigaro hardly able to hear, “You think she wants a beet? That's not going to help us get out of here!”
“Hang on!” said Horatio shouting.
“The oven's going to blow.”
“ What?“ said Phigaro still struggling to hear, “Sing a song about a fish named Joe? This is no time for games!”
The oven roared like a wounded beast, smoking and shaking in uncontrolled vibrations. Pipes swelled; pipes bent under the extreme heat. The floor, ceiling and surrounding area gradually burned. Bertha tried to reduce the heat to save her bakery. Her hand went for the thermostat, but the instance she touched it the device singed her palm. She fell backwards in a scream and ran out the door.
“HELP! HELP!, “ she screamed running into empty streets.
“I NEED WATER! I NEED ANYTHING! WILL SOMEONE GET OUT HERE AND HELP ME!”
Her tirade was answered by the governor: the last creature she wanted to see. “What's the problem?”
“My bakery is on fire! The oven is out of control!”
“How did that happen?” said the moose trying to get all the facts, “Start from the beginning.”
“I don't have time!” she cried, “I need water and I need it now!
Suddenly the first story of Bertha's bakery exploded in a barrage of glass and wood. Knocking both Champ and Bertha to the ground. Bertha petrified, but Champ came to his feet immediately. A mound of fire soared into the air consuming the whole building as it did so. Instantly the streets were filled with curious bystanders. Champ, with excellent command, organized a chain of citizens passing buckets of water to fight the fire. The first bucket of water was tossed in, but instead of hitting the fire it manage to dose Reiach in the face. He shook the water from him like wet dog and came from the blaze with Horatio and Phigaro. All work came to an halt, and rightfully so, it's rare to see three creatures emerge from fire in a non-crispy manner.
“Back to work,” ordered the governor, “Let's finish that fire off and quickly!” Rieach, Horatio, and Phiagro walked right over to Bertha who was still in shock. “I'm ruined,” she said with tears in her eyes, “Everything I've worked for---poof!” Crowded together just a few feet away, the trio was debating of whom should address Bertha first.
“Kleos told you to ask her, Rieach.” said Phigaro.
“I'm not saying anything.”
“I got hit with a rolling pin the last time I was in front of her.” the otter said crossing his arms.
“Well let Horatio do it,” said the aye-aye, “He's the expert on being a slave to a master.”
“Forgive me for my grammar,” the rooster said giving them a look of reluctance, “But I ain't moving.”
Bertha eyes locked on her three slaves. “Still alive?”
“Yeah, no thanks to you.” said Phigaro.
“What do you want,” she said, “Vengeance? Freedom? A hug!?”
“No,” said Reiach, “I want you to take us to Gosha.”
“Over my dead body.” she said gritting her teeth. “I left that rotting corpse of a land: I'm not going back!”
“Fine,” said the otter turning away, “I'll just let Champ know all the details about the fire, I think he'll really enjoy the part about you trying to murder us.”
“Wait, wait,” she said softly, “I'm sure we can keep this between the four of us.”
“Then Gosha it is?” replied Rieach.
“Yes,” she said frowning, “Gosha it is.”