“A gallon of milk!” demands the king.

“In your name, Sire!” shouts Kennedy, Knight Errand, and she’s mounted and pelting within a hare’s breath.

She liberates the milk from the back of the cooler at the corner store. “You have to pay for that!” scolds the owner (but he’s a Saracen, and Kennedy runs him through).

“Yea,” says the king, “verily, this milk is God’s own favor! A boon for Sir Kennedy! What would you?”

“Perhaps,” she asks, “a sharp new pencil?”

The king nods. “Who among ye will fetch the good knight her prize?”

“In your name, Sire!” shouts Kennedy.