To His Grace, Regarding Cake

To His Grace the Duke of Lumbridge, on the occasion of his birthday. Not sent.

Your Grace. Your cook had no milk, no egg and no flour. I gave the matter two hours, as is proper for a birthday. I was finished in five minutes, which is less proper but did happen.

I bought a bucket from the general store. A cow filled it. She bore it. I do not hold her responsible for what cows have done to me in the past, though I have not forgotten either. The chickens gave up an egg without argument, which was suspicious. I bought a pot, put grain in the mill's hopper, worked the controls and filled the pot from the bin. The flour came down three floors in my hands. It did not spill. I mention this because nothing else happened.

At seventeen minutes past eleven your cook received a bucket of milk, an egg and a pot of flour. He did not thank me with any ceremony. Cooks never do. Your cake is now his business.

There was no death, no detour and no squire. One hour and fifty-five minutes were left over. I return them to the Realm with my compliments. Your Grace may use them to eat slowly.

I sign this as the one Who Saved the Duke's Cake. I sign it once. It is not the sort of title a man repeats.