CECIL



Like a shark scenting blood in the water, like a wolf sensing prey in the night, like an archer in mid-pull, mind and body and soul focused on the target, Cecil turned and his attention dialed to a white-hot intensity on young Lady Caelia.

Two quick steps brought him before her and, if there was any thought that he had reached his pinnacle of hat-sweeping before, well the grandiosity and complex eloquence of this hat-sweep-bow set all those thoughts to shame.

He bowed, leg out, hand to heart, while the other took the hat from atop his head and swirled down and around, feather rippling in the breeze, and then he stood, keeping the hat in one hand, pressed to his chest.

He took the young lady's hand and bowed over it and offered it the very soul of a polite, chaste kiss.

"Lady Caelia. Surely the endless rumours of your beauty and skill and competence are but the errant shadows of reality. Allow me, please, to introduce myself, if the sound of my common voice does not offend the tender sensibilities of your finely formed ear."

He stood. Smiled. And if his previous smiles were bright, this one was the very sun.

"I am Cecil Sicilia, called Cecil of Song, Cecil of Sword, Cecil of Lute and Flute. I am Cecil the Stupendous, Cecil the Superfluous, Cecil the Superior Swain. And if, by my life, or my death, I may offer service to you, however humble, you need only ask, and indeed it shall be done."

It was a little much, even for Cecil. But it had been almost a whole day since he'd gotten to make a spectacle of himself in front of a young noble lady. And he had to make up for lost time.