Leaning back in the high, sculpted chair of carmine cobal, he rested his armored chin against one massive fist and brooded. After several minutes, the two servants exchanged a glance. The one who had lost the wordless debate took a step forward. His voice was deferential and suffered from only a slight quavering.
“Lord, if you are finished, should we clear away the dishes?”
He waved an indifferent hand. “Yes, yes, take it away. Take it all away!”
Bowing obsequiously and repeatedly, the man and his companion began to remove the masses of food and flatware. Hymneth sulked in his chair, contemplating aspects of life and death to which most living creatures were not privy, until a loud crash penetrated his pondering and brought his head around.
The second servant, a well-built and comely youth of some twenty and four years, was kneeling over the fragments of a shattered enameled tray. Muffins and sweet rolls, breads and breakfast cakes were still rolling away in several directions. From his crouch, he looked up to see the helmeted head staring down at him. The look on his face was one of sheer paralyzed terror.
“L-lord, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I—I will pay for it.” Hastily, he began sweeping the larger fragments into a pile, not caring if he cut himself on the fractured ceramic.
“Pay for it? It would take six months of your wages, lackey. I wouldn’t think of taking that from you. It would be cruel. In the absence of your salary I am sure you have loved ones who would go hungry. Besides, it’s only a plate. In this castle there are hundreds of plates.”