A soft knock at the door interrupted him in the middle of spreading the articles out on his desk. He looked up to see Tillaume in the doorway holding a tray of tea and a basket, the handle over his arm. “Tea, my lord?” “That would be wonderful.” Tillaume strode forward and set up a small stand beside the desk, getting a cup and a sharp white napkin. “Do you have a preference?” Tillaume could manufacture dozens of varieties of tea from the simplest of starting points, blending and making what he considered ideal. “Whatever.” “My lord. There is great importance to tea. It should never merely be ‘whatever.