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it upon himself to excuse Ted by explaining that the King had the feast wrong; and if they went ahead and had the other feast, and Randolph had not actually been so foolish as to poison the cup Ted had upset, then Randolph could do his murder after all.
    But nothing happened. Matthew was asking the King if he knew of any learned and accomplished musicians in the Castle, and explaining about the fire-letters in Shan’s journal. Apparently Shan’s journal was not a touchy subject, and the King knew something about fire-letters. This conversation occupied the King nicely while a few other lords also found their proper seats, and Randolph poured everyone’s wine.
    Randolph was beginning to look a little strained, which alarmed Ted until he realized an innocent reason for it. All of the preparations for this feast were wrong now. The feast the King thought it to be was much more elaborate. It was pure luck that both feasts began with wine. Most of the feasts did not: Ted and his sister and cousins, having more taste for sweets than for wine, had created most of the feasts with three desserts, one at the beginning, one at the middle, and one at the end.
    Randolph came around behind Ted and poured his wine. Ted looked at him, involuntarily. Randolph looked back with so fierce a gaze that Ted was impelled to say something.
    “Are you going to be able to manage?” he asked, and did not know if he had intended the double meaning he saw as he said it.
    Randolph’s smile was not so radiant this time. “The preparations will serve the need,” he said.
    He took his place behind the King’s chair. The King had already proposed one toast, which Ted had missed. He drank some wine anyway, and grimaced. It made his tongue fur up. Well, they had decided that it must be strong enough to disguise the taste of the poison.
    People were beginning to relax a little. Matthew stood up and flourished his goblet at them. The red wine and the blue glass caught the candlelight and sent it reeling around the room in sparks of purple.
    “My lords,” said Matthew, “to the King. Both glory and length of days.”
    Everybody echoed him, and drank. Ted looked over the smiling King’s shoulder at Randolph, and froze. Randolph looked as if he were going to throw up.
    King William shook his head and put down his goblet with a thud.
    “My lord?” said Matthew into the hush.
    Ted got up, words from the warning labels on all the bottles of poisonous things he had ever seen going around in his head.
    King William put both hands to his throat, and in the hideous light of the candles his staring and contorted face looked like a gargoyle’s. Matthew knocked his chair over backward and took hold of the King.
    “Fetch Fence!” he shouted.
    Several people stood up, getting in Ted’s way.
    “Randolph,” said Matthew. “Where’s Fence?”
    “Atop that tower of his, I’ll warrant,” said Conrad. “Give him wine, Matthew. My prince, fetch Fence.”
    “No; the wine’s at fault,” said Andrew. “Randolph, where is Fence?”
    Andrew drew his dagger; Conrad took hold of Andrew’s wrist. Randolph shook his head.
    Ted knew where Fence ought to be.
    “I’ll go,” he said, but no one heard him; they were all clustering about the King, doing this and that, and talking until he wanted to hit them. The room swam and shuddered before him. He put his hand to the heavy door, and was caught from behind by someone who closed both arms around his shoulders and held on. Ted kicked backward, and was dodged. He bit at one of the imprisoning arms and got a double mouthful of gray velvet. He shook it out and opened his mouth to yell, when there was a thud behind him.
    The arms let go of him. He turned and bumped into Lord Randolph, who looked at the King, and neither moved nor blinked.
    “Randolph,” said Matthew, leaning on the table with the King in a heap at his feet. Well, they had said it would be a quick poison.
    “So swift,” said Randolph. He looked calm