you want.”
As he slipped out of the banquet hall, he saw Sir Phineal also get up from the table. Attendees familiar with King Norrimun’s feasts probably understood the need for a mid-banquet intermission.
Cullin left the heady smells of multiple courses, the buzz of conversation, and the tragic yet pragmatic lyrics about the unromantic fisherman. He wandered down the corridor looking for Sir Dalbry in the hallway. (The two words really did not rhyme at all, he realized.)
Torches guttered in wall sconces, shedding a smoky orange light. Half the torches remained unlit; with the kingdom’s budgetary concerns, King Norrimun had instituted energy-conservation measures.
He found Dalbry coming out of a side corridor, looking confused. “I found the ladies’ garderobe, but not the lords’. I went into that one by accident—do you know the women’s privy has sofas, makeup benches, and mirrors?”
Cullin was amazed at the extravagance. “All we ever get is a splintered seat with a hole underneath it.”
“That’s all a man needs,” Dalbry said. “As a knight, I’ve suffered worse hardships.”
Cullin pointed down another dim corridor. “Let’s try this way. You’d think they’d have signs.”
They bumped into a wide-eyed and fidgety Sir Phineal, who hurried toward Dalbry. “My dear knight, I b-beseech you! I require your assistance.”
Dalbry squared his shoulders. “A knight is honor-bound to offer assistance wherever it is necessary. You must be familiar with the demands of chivalry, Sir Phineal.”
“Yes, I’ve read the Knight’s Manual . . . but at the m-moment I require utmost discretion. As a d-dragon slayer, I’m not quite as experienced as you. I haven’t had the opportunity, you see.”
Dalbry nodded. “Judging from your demeanor, I can tell your monster-slaying experience is limited. I take it you’ve killed fewer than, say, ten dragons?”
Cullin barely restrained a snicker.
“Substantially f-fewer than that,” Phineal said.
Dalbry remained cool. “But surely you’ve slain at least one dragon?”
“Um, I’m afraid not. This has been a p-peaceable kingdom with a marked lack of dragons—until recently, alas.”
The older knight nodded. “Alas.”
“And it is r-rather late in my c-career to change my focus. D-dragon slaying is a specialized skill.”
“Indeed, it should only be attempted by a professional. Considering the size of the beast plaguing your kingdom, which can be accurately estimated by measuring the claw separation distance on the footprints, I would suggest you not attempt it yourself.”
The skittish knight looked both nervous and relieved. “I c-couldn’t agree more! But King Norrimun has put me in an awkward p-position.” He glanced back down the corridor as if he expected spies to be peeping through tiny holes in the stone walls. “And that is why I require your discretion.” He narrowed his eyes at Cullin. “Is your s-squire trustworthy?”
“He would no more tell a lie than I would.”
Cullin tried to look as honest as possible, and Sir Phineal took heart. “You see, my life story has not t-turned out the way I imagined it.”
“Many of us could say the same,” Dalbry said. “But is this a long story? They’ll be expecting us back at the banquet. I believe the turnip course is next.”
“I can tell an abbreviated version. The g-gist of it is that I never wanted to be a knight. Most boys dream of it, but I was railroaded into the career. My parents had several sons who all became doctors and lawyers, but Mom and Dad always wanted a knight in the family. So I got my suit of armor and became a knight, thanks to a technicality.”
“A technicality?” Cullin hadn’t known the option existed.
“In jousting matches, I was adept at dodging, though I never m-managed to strike an opponent. The ‘Phineal Squirm’ became an acknowledged move on the jousting lists. I could b-bend my body away from any oncoming spear with such proficiency
As he slipped out of the banquet hall, he saw Sir Phineal also get up from the table. Attendees familiar with King Norrimun’s feasts probably understood the need for a mid-banquet intermission.
Cullin left the heady smells of multiple courses, the buzz of conversation, and the tragic yet pragmatic lyrics about the unromantic fisherman. He wandered down the corridor looking for Sir Dalbry in the hallway. (The two words really did not rhyme at all, he realized.)
Torches guttered in wall sconces, shedding a smoky orange light. Half the torches remained unlit; with the kingdom’s budgetary concerns, King Norrimun had instituted energy-conservation measures.
He found Dalbry coming out of a side corridor, looking confused. “I found the ladies’ garderobe, but not the lords’. I went into that one by accident—do you know the women’s privy has sofas, makeup benches, and mirrors?”
Cullin was amazed at the extravagance. “All we ever get is a splintered seat with a hole underneath it.”
“That’s all a man needs,” Dalbry said. “As a knight, I’ve suffered worse hardships.”
Cullin pointed down another dim corridor. “Let’s try this way. You’d think they’d have signs.”
They bumped into a wide-eyed and fidgety Sir Phineal, who hurried toward Dalbry. “My dear knight, I b-beseech you! I require your assistance.”
Dalbry squared his shoulders. “A knight is honor-bound to offer assistance wherever it is necessary. You must be familiar with the demands of chivalry, Sir Phineal.”
“Yes, I’ve read the Knight’s Manual . . . but at the m-moment I require utmost discretion. As a d-dragon slayer, I’m not quite as experienced as you. I haven’t had the opportunity, you see.”
Dalbry nodded. “Judging from your demeanor, I can tell your monster-slaying experience is limited. I take it you’ve killed fewer than, say, ten dragons?”
Cullin barely restrained a snicker.
“Substantially f-fewer than that,” Phineal said.
Dalbry remained cool. “But surely you’ve slain at least one dragon?”
“Um, I’m afraid not. This has been a p-peaceable kingdom with a marked lack of dragons—until recently, alas.”
The older knight nodded. “Alas.”
“And it is r-rather late in my c-career to change my focus. D-dragon slaying is a specialized skill.”
“Indeed, it should only be attempted by a professional. Considering the size of the beast plaguing your kingdom, which can be accurately estimated by measuring the claw separation distance on the footprints, I would suggest you not attempt it yourself.”
The skittish knight looked both nervous and relieved. “I c-couldn’t agree more! But King Norrimun has put me in an awkward p-position.” He glanced back down the corridor as if he expected spies to be peeping through tiny holes in the stone walls. “And that is why I require your discretion.” He narrowed his eyes at Cullin. “Is your s-squire trustworthy?”
“He would no more tell a lie than I would.”
Cullin tried to look as honest as possible, and Sir Phineal took heart. “You see, my life story has not t-turned out the way I imagined it.”
“Many of us could say the same,” Dalbry said. “But is this a long story? They’ll be expecting us back at the banquet. I believe the turnip course is next.”
“I can tell an abbreviated version. The g-gist of it is that I never wanted to be a knight. Most boys dream of it, but I was railroaded into the career. My parents had several sons who all became doctors and lawyers, but Mom and Dad always wanted a knight in the family. So I got my suit of armor and became a knight, thanks to a technicality.”
“A technicality?” Cullin hadn’t known the option existed.
“In jousting matches, I was adept at dodging, though I never m-managed to strike an opponent. The ‘Phineal Squirm’ became an acknowledged move on the jousting lists. I could b-bend my body away from any oncoming spear with such proficiency
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