Cathay/RP/Propaganda

Duke Galiard sat in his tent, preparing to enjoy what passed for dinner in the army. His chief lieutenant, Ser Ulwitt Dodd, sat opposite him.

"Here we are again," started Galiard.

Dodd looked up. "Ah," he said, "M'lud is going to ruminate."

Galiard obliged. "I hope things go well for us this time."

"M'lud has brought several new friends," Dodd observed. "It's astonishing, really. I didn't think m'lud was capable of having so many friends."

Galiard scowled.

"Embarassing if we lose, though," added Galiard.

"Indeed," agreed Dodd. "I should think m'lud would expire of shame."

"That reminds me," brightened Galiard. "Summon the Ducal linguist. I want the term "victory" to be expanded to include such scenarios as 'almost got it,' 'just barely defeated,' and 'extremely messy draw.'"

"That may be more the department of the Ducal propagandist," suggested Dodd.

Their discussion was interrupted by the arrival of the cook.

"Percy?" Galiard arched an eyebrow and then looked accusingly at Dodd. "Didn't I fire Percy?"

"Mmm," hemmed Dodd, "Turns out we had a bit of an issue with some leftover bureaucratic statutes last year when we had that business with the militia unionizing. We've actually fired Percy six times, but every time I put in the paperwork, I get something back about "collective bargaining" and "severance" and it turns out that, in order to actually and completely fire Percy, we would have to bankrupt the entire Duchy of Ossaet."

"Then bankru--" Galiard started.

"--including m'lud's personal stable of ponies," said Dodd.

Galiard stopped short.

"Hullo, Percy," said the Duke, defeated.

"Hullo, m'lord!" said Percy brightly.

"I understand that you are the cook," observed the Duke.

"So they tell me!" exclaimed Percy.

"It is my most fervent hope," explained Galiard, "that you are a better cook than you were a siege engineer."

Percy's eyes widened. "Oh, aye, m'lord," he nodded. "I hope so too."

"...and stablemaster."

Percy agreed.

"...and chief of finances."

"I wasn't very good at that at all," said Percy.

"...and Court Astrologer."

Percy giggled.

"...and Master of Poisons." Dodd winced at the recollection.

"I think I've got it covered!" Percy rolled in the dinner cart.

"What are we eating?" asked Galiard.

"Wing, m'lord," burbled Percy, dishing out bits of meat onto the table.

"Wing of...?" Galiard trailed off.

"Wing," declared Percy.

"I don't suppose you might be more specific," said Galiard.

"You know as much as I do!" Percy shoveled the last bit of Wing onto Galiard's plate and uncovered a mysterious-looking container. "Sauce, Your Grace?"

"What sort of sau--" began Galiard.

"If m'lud will pardon me," said Dodd, excusing himself from the table, "I had best go make preparations for what to do about the army if and when m'lud dies of Wing and Sauce poisoning."

"I understand," said Percy excitedly, "that it's the largest army in the history of people forming armies in the Far East!"

"I will be sure to mention that in m'lord's eulogy," replied Dodd, to Percy. "Pray you will be alive to hear it. Alive ... but without thumbs."

Percy blanched.

"Perhaps," said Percy, "I'll just sample the Sauce for you..."