Without another word, she strides out of the room, her business transacted and none of you warranting another heartbeat of her time.
"And off she goes," says Timshel, putting his hands on his belt and grinning. "Yes, marm!" he barks, throwing a ridiculous salute after her with both hands.
The other young entertainers titter dutifully, but you notice that the older hands barely react to Timshel's clowning. You regard him closely, never having spent time in the company of a bona fide fool before. At least, you think, not a professional.
Onward