"And who is this Timshel who seemed to think there was no more need for performers?"
"Timshel?" He looks over his shoulder back up at you. "Aren't you from Port Covens?"
"No, I'm a vagrant."
He frowns. "Timshel's been at it for years in these parts. Duke Ruffino's fool."
Your feet catch on an uneven part of the stone floor. "His Magnificence already has a fool?"
You think the footman nods, but he largely refuses to look at you so it's difficult to tell.
If the Duke already has a fool…why cast such a net for novices like you? You try not to let the unexpected news rattle you.
Your footsteps echo oppressively. You consider how else to fill the space.