“Félipe!” Shouted GarGar from his bed. “FELIPE!”
Throwing off his covers, GarGar hopped out of bed and inspected the spot on the floor where his valet usually slept. This morning was supposed to be devoted to giving his servant a lesson in archery. “Even a weakling like you can carry a bow,” he’d said to Félipe, his voice tinged with disgust. GarGar opened the door to his antechamber and to his horror, he found Félipe curled up on a divan with his blanket pulled over his head. Aghast at this breach of protocol, he gave the leg of the furniture a kick. “Get up, you scoundrel!” He shouted. “You know you’re not allowed on the furniture!”
“Damn you,” muttered Félipe under his breath.
“What’s that?” Said GarGar. “What did you say?”
“Not a thing, my lord. Not a thing.” Reaching under the divan, Félipe pulled out a chamberpot. Bursting himself, he listened to GarGar’s pee as it splashed into the receptacle. He prayed (not for the last time) for patience. My God! He thought. How much must I endure?