"Would anyone," Sir Humphrey calls, swinging partially around in his saddle — a manoeuvre considerably complicated by armour — "know the correct protocol for jousting a goat?" He gestures, broadly, at the goat. "Specifically one wearing a judge's hat." The forty-three spectators exchange looks. Several looks are exchanged back. A man raises his hand and then lowers it. Reginald the herald opens his satchel with the expression of a man who knows there is no form for this, and yet must check anyway. Goodwife Thripp adds fourteen stitches in the time it takes everyone else to decide not to speak. "I have," Reginald announces eventually, from somewhere within the parchment, "the full schedule of events that took place." "Tremendously helpful," says Humphrey. He turns back. The goat has not moved. The judge's hat remains askew. The spectators, having been directly addressed, now feel uncomfortably involved. "I shall need a second," Humphrey announces to no one in particular, "and someone to count the passes."