Fool!

“You tell Master Farthingsworth,” said the Duke behind his desk, pointing his quill menacingly at the distraught page before him, “that eighty-thousand gold crowns is highway robbery, all I’m asking him to do is fix a bloody door. You tell him that.” The page nodded nervously, though visibly relieved that the fifteen minute tirade concerning the downfall of an “Honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay” and the decidedly dubious heredity of the Duchy’s chief stonemason was nearly at and end. He let out a squawk, however, when the door to the office burst open and a wizened figure stormed in with a flurry of violet robes. “OUT!” the figure (who seemed to the page to be at least eight feet tall and breathing fire) roared, and out the page...