You scarcely have time to identify it before the pair of them level their crossbows at the globular gourd and let fly with thick black bolts. One bolt sinks deep into the pumpkin, while the other carves a line into the tough flesh before bouncing away.
"Your Grace is notably merciful today," Malodoro deadpans, cranking the next bolt into place.
"To pumpkins and to saucy stewards both," His Grace grunts with good humor.
The reedy Duke's dark skin is set off by the shimmering braid and medallions that festoon his jacket, and the satin pinstripes lengthening his legs.
Onward