The old man hung his head and merely nodded. The board conversed quietly for a moment, then the member who had risen first stated flatly,

"Disposal."

A door in the far wall opened and the old man turned in fear to see two large, bare-chested men with black hoods over their faces enter the room and head toward him. He spun like a frightened rabbit, looking for help or an escape, but there was no place to run and the men each took one of his arms and dragged him quickly from the room. The door slammed shut behind them.

The board members quietly shuffled through their paperwork.

"Next."

Another man entered, somewhat younger and much better dressed than the previous creature. He approached the board, doffed his cap and gave a gracious bow. "Good day, your majesty," he said, ignoring the board members entirely.

The king sat up with some interest at this specimen. "Pose the question," he ordered, some life returning to his voice.

A member rose. "What is it that you do to make the realm a better place?"

"I write, my lord," the man replied, seeming rather smug and somewhat sure of himself.

"Indeed," said the king. Not being overly literate himself and like many of his ilk, the king secretly admired people who could do things that had little patience for. "And what is it that you write, good sir?"

"Sonnets and humorous plays, your majesty."

"Are they well received?" asked the king, who had never seen a play in his life.

"Indeed, sire. I have published five books of sonnets and have written three plays these past two years."

"Ah, well done, sir. Accepted, I am sure," the king stated with a flourish."

Several of the board looked up at him with mild distaste for usurping