Shave and a Haircut

Fred consented to have his hair cut, and in addition, requested a shave. It was a brave act, exposing his throat to a criminal with a straight razor, but the request did require that Bob have access to warm water and the razor, which were not available to prisoners. They would have to go to a special room for that, which would get Bob away from his cell and Fred away from those horribly tacky furnishings. Once they had arrived, Reaibn excused himself, and went to tend to Princess Astra, to see if she needed help in picking out a good excuse. He made a cryptic statement as he left. "Poor Astra is upset. Prenuptial jitters, I suppose. Maybe if I showed her the marble, she would understand that there is nothing to fear."

Fred sat down on an chair of a strange design. It was made entirely of strands of wood, woven together into a mat. The base of the chair was cylindrical, like a large stool. There were two curved wings of matting attached to each side of the base, where Fred could rest his arms. On the right wing, there was a little hole with a little pewter mug. Another section of mat between the stool portion and the wings came up to the middle of his shoulder blades. He was surprised at how comfortable he was.

Bob prepared his tools meticulously. He was indeed a professional, whatever his literary crimes. Fred appreciated that he washed his hands thoroughly in a very mild rose water bath - most barbers had hands that stank. Bob soaked Fred's hair and stubbly beard with warm water, and used a hog's bristle brush to prepare the cheeks for shaving. Fred remained quiet while Bob whisked the beard from his cheeks and chin with the straight razor. Bob started the conversation, with Fred saying nothing "Uh, huh" and "Um" while Bob wielded the razor.

"Well, Lord Fred, I am glad that you are going to be King. I figure that you have a level head, and Reaibn says you are square, then we should be all right. I don't know quite what to do with my freedom. I enjoy being a barber, but I always kind of wanted to be a troubedour. You know, tour the kingdom, eat pheasant and truffles, perform after the patter of whatever stand-up jester or mime that they have in the local burg or manor, look into the glistening eyes of the pretty young ladies of the court... Yes, I have dreamed of becoming a troubedour."

"Uh, huh."

"So why don't I do it, you ask?" Bob continued, although Fred did not ask. "Well, the first problem is that I cannot carry a tune. The second problem is that I never learned to play the lute. I can write a good tune though." Bob was working under Fred's lip, and Fred dare not speak. "And I can tell a good lively story, as long as I know my limitations. In fact, in my cell I was thinking of a good one. You want to hear it?"

"Mmh, hmh," replied Fred, not wanting to risk getting cut by the sharp razor.

"Great! It is a little tale, but I liked it. It is the tale that I called

1. "Behind the Music: The Scandals and Triumphs of Percival the Troubadour."
2. "The Second Winecask: A Shocking Tale from the Cellars of Lord Bellephron's Manor"
3. "Hilda and Sammy: A Heartwarming Tale of Gnomish Romance"

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