Florian smiled modestly from behind his heaped platter. “Oh, ’twas nothin’ really. Y’see, I’d spotted what was goin’ on. Those frog chaps looked rather peeved an’ I thought they might harm my troupe. I had the jolly old pail full of water, with the blackberries in it—they’d gotten messed up a bit an’ looked rather mushy, but still jolly tasty, wot. So I comes trundlin’ up, pullin’ the drippin’ blackberries out o’ the water pail an’ scoffin’ ’em by the pawful, shoutin’ out loud in a fearsome voice. Tadpoles! Haharr, tadpoles (says I), nothin’ nicer for lunch than a perishin’ pailful o’ tadpoles except a nice juicy green frog or two! I say, you chaps, hello there! Saved some frogs for me, wot wot?”

Elachim shook with laughter as he recalled the incident. “Hohoho! You should’ve seen those frogs scatter. Some of ’em leapt clear over big bushes. They thought ole Florian was comin’ to scoff ’em! Hahaha! An’ there he stood, cool as y’like, shovin’ wet blackberries down ’is face an’ pretendin’ they was tadpoles!”

Florian mused around a spoonful of trifle. “Hmm, maybe some of ’em were. That stream was full of all manner of small black wriggly things, blackberries, tadpoles, who could jolly well tell? Silly bloomin’ frogs. Fancy takin’ a perfectly respectable cove like m’self for a cannibal frogscoffer. Tchah!”

Winking broadly at Nutwing, Friar Butty shook his head sympathetically. “Indeed, how could they have made such a dreadful error?”

The lively meal progressed into the evening, with the Wandering Noonvale Companions Troupe rendering one of the songs from their repertoire in three-part harmony, with the hedgehog Runktipp acting as conductor. Log a Log watched Abbey lamplighters illuminating the candles and lanterns around Great Hall as daylight’s last gleam deserted long stained-glass windows. Rising silently from the table, he nodded to his chosen group of Guosim. Quietly they checked their rapiers, slings and stone pouches, then slipped off into the gathering night, with the melodious strains of the singers echoing around the hall after them.

“I paint my face or wear a mask,

For I’ll be anybeast you ask,

As I wander on my way.

A skillful tumbler bounding high,

A pitiful mope who’ll make you cry,

My actor’s part I play.

And what care you if I am sad,

Or if ill fortune I have had,

’Tis just a clown, you say.

Aye, just a droll who plays a part,

Who travels in a painted cart,

From dawn to dusk each day.

An actor can be young or old,

Figure of fun or hero bold,

From tears to laughter without pause,

I strut the stage to your applause,

Then I look in my mirror and say, ’Hey,

What fool shall I play today?”’

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