"Do you shoot, Bandochel?"
His Grace looks briefly at you over his shoulder as he reloads his own crossbow. In this exalted company you're hard-pressed to know what to do.
"Mostly gamecocks instead of flying pumpkins, truth be told," you admit, "but it'd be my honor to loose a bolt with Your Grace."
His Grace acknowledges you by handing you the loaded crossbow and waving you over to the balcony. You peer over and see a trio of laborers manning a quarter-size trebuchet, its siege engine sling already cradling another pumpkin. They blink up at you in consternation.
"Pull!" bellows His Grace.
You've fired a slingshot and a shortbow every now and again, but not nearly often enough to consider shooting in your repertoire. Still, how difficult can it be? you think, squeezing one eye shut as you track the pumpkin.
Not only does your bolt miss the pumpkin by two horse-lengths, the fierce recoil from the weapon sends you teetering back into His Grace. You apologize immediately and return the crossbow, but you can tell Malodoro is utterly scandalized that one of the great unwashed like yourself should have brushed bodies with the Duke. [-Malodoro]
For his part, His Grace waves away your concern with a brief smile. "You tried," he says, seeming genuinely pleased.
Onward