Yrax massages his temples, keeping his eyes tightly shut.
“What is he bellowing about now?” he asks quietly.
“I haven’t the faintest, my lord,” his seneschal replies. Ceseer, head bowed, remains silent.
“Let him in,” Yrax finally says, waving one hand toward the door. Wordlessly the seneschal crosses the room and opens it. Iantor bounds in before the door is even fully open, sending the seneschal sprawling. He’s chanting one word over and over; which, after a moment, Yrax identifies as circus.
“Yes, Iantor, yes. Circus. I understand. Now could you please—” His words fall on deaf ears, as his unruly child continues to bound excitedly about the room.
“Iantor, calm yourself!” Yrax shouts. Iantor’s chant is cut off with a gulp, and he falls noisily to his haunches. “Now, please,” Yrax continues, “tell me what this is about.”
Iantor grins. “There’s gunna be a circus tomorrah!”
“Uh huh! In the fairgrounds.”
“Where in all the frozen hells…” He looks toward his seneschal again. “Where would a circus have come from?” The seneschal shrugs mutely.
“Perhaps the locals have arranged it?” Ceseer offers up. Yrax grunts in reply.
“Kin I go, dah? Kin I go to the circus tomorrah?”
Yrax sighs. “Yes, fine.” To the seneschal: “Go with him, keep him out of trouble.”
The seneschal frowns. “As you say, my lord.”
Iantor bounds to his feet again and prances around the room, and then out the door, chanting “circus circus circus!” the entire time.