The assistant presented this reply to the magician with certain trepidation.  The magician was not an intemperate man but it seems that physically punishing a servant for the disappointments or discomforts suffered by a master did not violate any rule of Chivalry or Natural Law.  The assistant could only dream of a better day for his ilk. 

"Harumph," was the magician's only reaction.  He turned to his table and scattered the fire that was burning under an iron pot that contained several bats, a mouse, various herbs and a volume of table wine that had begun to turn to vinegar.  There was no need to continue brewing the potion intended to re-animate the court at Camelot.  The king was awake but simply not inclined to discourse.  The magician slumped back into his chair.  The assistant having waited long enough upon his master's wishes returned to the opposite corner of the chamber and resettled himself in the musty clump of furs that was his bed. 

"I can only imagine" the magician thought to himself, "what manner of difficulty the King and his Court are silently brewing in their own pot of conceits and ambitions. It is hard enough to undue the damage to man and beast caused by their self-absorbed carrying on, but when allowed to simmer and steep into one of their pungent brews of mayhem, even a magician of my abilities is at odds to find a remedy."

'Will it be a woman again?" he wondered.  The Ladies of the Court had long ago tired of overwrought declarations of devotion.  Such declarations inevitably emanated from the gaggle of Princes and knights following one of their indulgent visits to the castle wine closet.  The Ladies were not averse to compliments, but a pledge of honor and service from the same knight three times in the same week, well, that perfume loses its charm.  Disentangling all these commitments was the work of a Papal Legate, not a magician.

"Or would it be another fire breathing dragon?"  The last one turned out to be a tired old milk cow that had disturbed a carelessly unattended lantern, setting fire to a small barn and out building.  But that was not the story repeated with flourish and copious amounts of fermented liquids at the "victory" celebrations that followed the demise of the poor cow.

"Or would it be a quest?"  Quests were the inevitable follow on to the habit of profligate spending that was the hallmark of the court at Camelot.  Once the bottom of the coin purse became visible it wasn't long before some imagined slight of honor by a neighboring kingdom would lead to a great clamor for the return of that honor along with the spoils of some retributive invasion.  Was it ever thus with rulers?

The magician realized that the sooner he learned the details of the court's current endeavors the better for him.  "Where the hell is the Lord Narrator?  I need to know what they are up to."