sturdy piece of parchment from a chest of drawers and obtained a quill and ink. Writing feverishly, she toiled for an hour over the essential dispatch, and sealed it with the official royal seal when she had finished. Summoning for a servant, she gave orders to him such that he was to deliver this letter by way of a lone messanger who would be waiting at the bottom of the castle steps. He was to tell no one and do this as quickly as possible. She would await his return and deliver his payment as soon as the task was completed.
             Quietly, the Duchess stole into the west corridor that led into the Duke's bedroom chamber, to retrieve his master key. Below, her husband was entertaining the nobles by way of his usual extravagant masquerades. Carrying through the ducts in the high cathedral ceilings, the Duchess listened to the blithe percussion as it thumped rhythmically, accompanied by laughter as clear and carefree as sleigh bells. To be expected, the duke, pompous and self-assured would be perched upon his ruby-laden thrown; his sharp features and protruding chest reminded her of the arrogant peacock; always one to boaster his bright feathers. Her expression darkened. She imagined him adorned in his lavish costume, pretending to be generous and cordial to his guests. He would refill their goblets with his most potent and matured French wines until
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