14 Keith Laumer
"Certes, milordўuntil an hour since, I eked
out a few coppers as third assistant pastrycook
in the inn yonder, assigned to the cupcake
division, decorative-icing branch." He sighed.
"My specialty was rosebudsўbut no need to
burden Your Grace with my plaint."
"You lost your job?" Relief inquired.
"Aye, that did Iўbut forsooth, 'tis but a
trifling circumstance, in light of what I o'er-
heard ere the hostler bade me hie from the
premises forthwith!"
"Let's see, your name is ... ?"
"Prinkle, milord. Ipstitch Prinkle IX, at your
service." The Twilpritt turned as a slightly
plumper, grayer version of himself bustled up,
bobbing his head and twitching his ears in a
manner expressive of effusive gratitude. "And
this, milord, is Uncle Binkster, in the flesh."
"Your sarvent, sir," Uncle Binkster squeaked,
mopping at his face with a large striped hand-
kerchief. "Wouldst honor me by accepting a
cooling draft of pring-lizard milk and a lardy-
tart after milord's exertions?"
"In sooth, Uncle, he needs something stronger
than whey," Prinkle objected. "And in sooth,
the Plump Sausage offers fine aleўif Your
Grace can manage the approaches," he added,
comparing Relief's six-foot-three with the
doorway.
"I'll turn sideways," Relief reassured the
Oberonian. He ducked through, was led across
the crowded room by a bustling eighteen-
inch tapman to a comer table, where he was
able to squeeze himself onto a narrow bench
against the wall.
RETIEF OF THE CDT 15
"Whatll it be, gents?" the landlord inquired.
