"Certain fooling customs are held dearly by these nobles and their licensed fool, a scamp named Baggage, whom Hotfoot favors well. These customs, youth, will catch thee unawares; thou wish'st to look a fool, and not an ass, correct? Then you must mark me when I say that, as the champion of Good King Saul's honor when thou tak'st the wicked stage, you'd do well to learn what thou wilt face."
He adjusts the buttons of his coat. "My knowledge of these customs I will share," he says casually, "so long as you agree in courteous style to learn what King and Hotfoot do discuss and share the sense with me."
You feel the confines of the room tightly, as if the world is tunneling in on this moment. You surprise yourself with the steadiness of your breathing as His Lordship continues to regard you, fingers patiently interlaced.