Alphonse Maria Mucha Fruit

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had raised taxes and burned a few villages on general principles, just to show everyone who they were dealing with. It didn't seem to have any effect.
And then there were these witches. They haunted him.
'Fool!'
The Fool, who had been having a quiet doze behind the throne, awoke in terror.
'Yes!'
'Come hither, Fool.'
The Fool jingled miserably across the floor.
'Tell me, Fool, does it always rain here?'
'Marry, nuncle—'
'Just 'Let me entertain you, my lord, with many a merry quip and lightsome jest.'
'Try me.'
The Fool licked his dry lips. He hadn't actually expected this. King Verence had been happy enough just to give him a kick, or throw a bottle at his head. A real king.answer the question,' said Lord Felmet, with iron patience.'Sometimes it stops, sir. To make room for the snow. And sometimes we get some right squand'ring orgulous fogs,' said the Fool.'Orgulous?' said the duke, absently.The Fool couldn't stop himself. His horrified ears heard his mouth blurt out: Thick, my lord. From the Latatian orgulum, a soup or broth.'But the duke wasn't listening. Listening to the prattle of underlings was not, in his experience, particularly worthwhile.'I am bored, Fool.''I'm waiting. Make me laugh.'