26

The day is a whirlwind of making ready. You prepare your final pieces, freshen up your motley, and groom Brute as thoroughly as you're able to without having your fingers nibbled off. (You decided that bringing Brute, whatever unpredictability it might lend to the evening, is worth it for the novelty it will lend to the festive occasion.)

Finally the night is upon you, and you're skulking in the shadows of the Great Hall as Lady Gramercy and her retinue file up the stairs to the feast hall two by two, stiff-necked like bantam chickens in their ridiculous collars.

Stars on high, you think, lend me good luck in my efforts tonight. And if my fooling fails, make my feet quick enough to 'scape the lash. "Amen," you say aloud, ducking over to the servants' stairwell.

Onward and Upward