Silence fell around the dinner table. Most of the guests were paralyzed with fear over what had just happened. None were willing to speak out and possibly draw their leader's ire.
There were two exceptions. One was the unfortunate target of the event, who held his hand over his right eye socket. The pain was tremendous, and blood poured out from under his hand...but he had been so shocked by the speed and severity of the act, he couldn't even scream.
The other was Reginald Wingate, whose calm expression was betrayed by the white-knuckle grip he held on a piece of silverware. Wingate held the utensil in front of his victim's face, giving him the unpleasant experience of staring at his own eye.
Reginald's voice was calm and cold as always, as if he didn't even notice the blood spattered all over his face.
"Tell me, young man. Does this look like a salad fork?"
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