When Mayor Kaspar looks down between petitioners, between his mayoral thoughts, he will see a full plate of food, tasteful in every sense of the word. Balanced portions, a proper understanding of color theory, a nod to the various historical food groups, that no one may think his palate immature. Yes, and a cup filled just so with a perfectly paired beverage

The only pans and instruments allowed are those currently in use. It adds a, how you say, [i]rustic[/i] air that contrasts magnificently with a creature of high office. Cookware left empty and/or dirty are sent to join their fellows in the street. A teakettle will not whistle, but a pleasant sizzle of oil is permitted.

Dolce works a big pan of sauteing vegetables, sprinkling in spices that will delight the tongue and stimulate the appetite. They will be ready in time for next refreshing of his plate. A dense focaccia cools on the rack, and in four refreshes it will make its debut alongside a small saucer of oil and cheese and herbs for dipping. Pots are kept full of ever-evolving, ever-hearty stews. At his professional discretion, a dollop of mousse, made with only the heaviest creams, to provide both sweet and cold for contrast. Court is tiring enough without missing dessert. 

Every dish will be to the Mayor's taste. He will hardly be able to keep himself from idly snacking on food so fine, so rich, so filling. On a chair so comfortable. In the cool of the shade, with a warm breeze flowing from the two windows, carrying the cozy aroma of home cooking.

Before the fall of evening, he will be half asleep already. A nap. Court will be in recess for a nap. His guards will carry him back home, to his proper bed. Dolce will give him an artful basket of goodies, to thank him for gracing his humble kitchen, and the Mayor will have nibbled on most of it by the time he reaches his manor. Court will not resume today.

Three. Maybe four petitioners, if he's lucky. Up to four petitioners will have their cases heard tomorrow, instead of today. Up to four cruel judgements will be postponed for a few hours.

In the meantime, Dolce will ferry the piles from outside his two kitchen windows back inside. If they are still there by morning, he will receive a citation for littering. He'll grab a new chair from the attic; not one of his nicest, not when there's a chance court may be back tomorrow. Vasilia will be back sometime in the evening, and the work will go much faster with an extra pair of hands. He'll be able to keep the stewpots on heat, so that anyone working a long shift will have a chance for a proper dinner. And when the streets are quiet, and the brushstrokes of the Royal Architect flicker into the night sky, in order, he will go to bed, and Vasilia will hold him until he stops shaking.

But now, he is working a big pan of sauteing vegetables, sprinkling in spices that will delight the tongue and stimulate the appetite. The rest will come later. The rest will be a matter for a future Dolce. He’s got enough to handle as it is. And as he waits, and watches for his moment to refresh the Mayor’s plate, he imagines a sheep standing first in line. He doesn't know how he ought to sound. Sometimes, the voice is far, far too loud to be sensible or his. Sometimes, 20022 gives him a quiet nod, for courage. Or perhaps solidarity? Sheep solidarity.

And he asks, [i]Mayor Kaspar, what is so wonderful about blue skies that we live like this?[/i]

[i]What do you see up there that's worth more than anyone down here?[/i]

It would be nice if he could imagine a good answer. But there’s only so much he can do.