We left the alehouse later than I expected, but I stayed my hand from the ale with steel reserve, in anticipation of a night’s work.
Seton stumbled drunkenly out onto the quiet streets. He had not taken the same course as I.
“I am a musician in the court of an animal!” he shouted crazily.
I rushed a hand to his mouth. “You are mad shouting such things. Be glad the streets are empty or you would be hung for treason with such talk.” Thankfully, a stray dog set up a howl, and Seton’s words were eclipsed.
“No, listen,” he continued, lowering his voice dramatically. “Listen, we are both in the hands of a mad animal. True, we are all animals, but he, this king, he is a special kind of beast.” He pitched forward but I grabbed him to stop him from falling. “I have come so far to end up in such
