Act II, Scene IV — The Royal Kitchens
Enter MASTER QUINCE, flustered, with a scroll tucked under one arm. LARIA stirs a pot with theatrical flair. A disguised nobleman, “SCULLION TOM,” scrubs turnips nearby.
QUINCE:
The Queen demands a feast to silence dissent.
A roast of unity! A pudding of peace!
And by the gods, no onions—lest the court weep anew.
LARIA:
No onions? Then what shall I flavor the truth with?
Rosewater and regret?
SCULLION TOM (aside):
They plot with ladles what lords dare not with swords.
QUINCE:
The Duke of Marshfen is allergic to almonds,
The Countess of Vire won’t eat anything that casts a shadow,
And the Bishop insists his stew be sanctified.
LARIA:
Then let us serve them air and call it divine.
Or better—let them eat the menu and argue over the font.
SCULLION TOM:
If unity be cooked, let it simmer in satire.
For nothing binds nobles like shared indigestion.
LARIA ladles soup into a goblet and hands it to QUINCE.
LARIA:
To peace, my lord. May it taste of compromise.
QUINCE (sipping):
It tastes of turnip and treason.