Duplicity. Charming. Epicurean. Ruthless.
“Come, come, Lord Kranergaum.” It always throws him off when I address him as nobility. After all, what street urchin wouldn’t like to be a noble for a day? “You know quite well that there are baboons that shit silver and spit gold—I’ve seen them. So these clothes can’t be so bad. Besides,” he said, pointing to a bale to his left that contained garments of the finest quality—my garments, of course—“take those. I’m sure the shipment will be to your baboon-lady’s liking, and she’ll succumb to your charms more eagerly than ever.”
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