That he was unaccustomed to arguing with minstrels and other riff-raff was becoming evident, as his neck (which was nearly as wide as his head) was slowly turning pink.That he was unaccustomed to arguing with minstrels and other riff-raff was becoming evident, as his neck (which was nearly as wide as his head) was slowly turning pink. My hunger notwithstanding, I would gladly have discussed the matter with him for the rest of the morning, purely for amusement, but at that moment we heard steps on the stairs behind him. "Who is at the door, Chumfers?" "Milady," said Chumfers, turning and bowing, "It is a minstrel who doth claim to bear a letter for Milord, but the ruffian doth refuse to surrender it." "Until," I added swiftly, "I am assured of a meal in payment, as is customary." Milady had reached the top of the stairs which led to the apartment below. I could see that she was small and pretty, but I dared not look too long at her: had Chumfers' eyes been pikes, he would have transfixed me where I stood. "Thou mayst come and join me at my luncheon," said Milady. "Where is the letter?" I handed over the letter and followed her down the wide stairs, conscious of Chumfers' eyes boring into my back. The apartment was deliciously cool after the cruel sunny streets of Soskermo. |