“I cracked the joint.”
“Why?”
“It feels good, Sire.”
His Majesty curiously regarded Christopher’s feet. “It must be a large joint,” he said.
Christopher stood in gentle silence. The king turned to me, and found me docile.
“That look of rebellion was the white blood in you,” he said.
“Only for a moment. Your Majesty may trust me.”
Nevertheless, he was troubled, and shook his head.
“He won’t no more, Sire,” said Christopher.
“How do you know?”