You can see some of the nobles looking at each other. There are seconds before the next items come flying at the frozen old fool, and odds are there will be more than bread hurled.
"What are you doing?" the illusionist hisses at you as you get down on all fours. You grit your teeth. Not now; you're on a mission.
You crawl at a fairly brisk pace into the periphery of Timshel's right eye. It doesn't take long before he turns to notice you. It helps that virtually all the audience is looking at you as well.
"Then in the brindled," you hiss up at him as he gapes down at you.
Timshel eventually stumbles his way into comprehension. As he finishes out the poem, you crawl your way backwards to the spot behind the screens where you started. Aitoko has his face in his hands, and you can see the rest of your company members are similarly agog. [-Company]
You start to defend yourself—you helped Timshel, did you not?—but realize with a pang that perhaps your long slow crawl was a greater distraction still than the old man's shaky memory. [-Surety]
You do your best to deaden your expectations for the rest of the performance. Simple survival will be the only goal.
Onward