'And, er,' said the head assassin, 'when did the king last, er, eat?'
'I'm sorry to say it hasn't eaten properly ever since it came here,' said Wonse.
'Oh.'
'You must understand,' said Wonse, fiddling desperately with his wooden cutlery, 'that merely waylaying people like some common assassin…'
'Excuse me…' the head assassin began.
'Some common murderer, I mean — there is no ... satisfaction there. The whole essence of the king's feeding is that it should be, well... an act of bonding between king and subjects. It is, it is perhaps a living allegory. Reinforcing the close links between the crown and the community,' he added.
'The precise nature of the meal…' the head thief began, almost choking on the words. 'Are we talking about young maidens here?'
'Sheer prejudice,' said Wonse. 'The age is immaterial. Marital status is, of course, of importance. And social class. Something to do with flavour, I believe.' He leaned forward, and now his voice was pain-filled and urgent and, they felt, genuinely his own for the first time. 'Please consider it!' he hissed. 'After all, just one a month! In exchange for so much! The families of people of use to the king, Privy Councillors such as yourselves, would not, of course, even be considered. And when you think of all the alternatives ...'
They didn't think about all the alternatives. It was enough to think about just one of them.
The silence purred at them as Wonse talked. They avoided one another's faces, for fear of what they might see mirrored there. Each man thought: one of the others is bound to say something soon, some protest, and then I'll murmur agreement, not actually say anything, I'm not as stupid as that, but definitely murmur very firmly, so that the others will be in no doubt that I thoroughly disapprove, because at a time like this it
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