The arrival of the 10K legion seemed to stupefy the castle residents. What was supposed to be good news somehow turned into yet another quandary. The castle’s physicians ordered the whole lot quarantined and no one could find out why. “It is something that starts with E that is what I heard.” “I heard it ends with E.” “I heard it is a form of sleeping sickness.” “Nothing to do but hold till the dust clears.”
Still it was seen as one more excuse to lash out at the Dark Slovenian Prince. “It is all his fault. He has attempted to poison the legion all along.” “He is a proven fraud and a liar.” “He is the short bastard son of Slippery and the whore of the Naked Short.” “We have hired the bounty hunter Bob’s your Uncle to find him and bring him to justice.”
In the square a magic show demonstrated the folly of believing what was right before your eyes. Where only just a minute ago a lone dove was pulled from hat now 6 doves circled. Mad raucous applause rose up from the crowd. At the opposite end of the square a short edited version of the goose that laid the golden egg ended with loud demands of encore encore.
Spirits at the Manor had improved noticeably. The impotency of the 10K Legion received more than its due share of mockery. Jokes about cuckolds and over stuffed cod pieces rolled off every tongue accompanied by wild laughter and a few gallons of fermented grapes. Prince Rufus himself was the but of many a jibe. Mocked not only for his inability to perform but also for the ridiculous hyperbolic schemes he concocted to impress the Cult of the Clueless.
With the abbey closed for repairs the Bishop had taken up temporary lodgings in the rectory at the Cathedral. From there he communicated with his bankers by cell phone, though he was forced to step outside to get good reception. He fended off demands for more wool by sending partial shipments with promises that the fleecing would be finished soon enough. No need to worry.
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