[Zoidberg]

Synopsis: An alchemist speaks to a Duke about a new weapon.


I walked up the stone stairs of the castle and onto the third floor and surveyed the corridor. At one end there was a large wooden door guarded by two spear-wielding men. On the other end was a large window. I walked towards the guards, slowly though, because the sack I carried on my back was very heavy.

"State your business," one guard said.

"I'm an alchemist, here to see the Duke of Dresden about a new weapon."

"I'm sorry, but I will need some verification."

"Oh, yes, of course," I said, and pulled out a letter from my pocket. I handed it to the guard. "That's the letter the Duke sent me. See? He signed it."

"Very well," he grunted. He opened the door to the Duke's study chamber. It had many bookshelves, and had lavish furniture such as a mahogany amoire in the corner, a large wooden framed mirror on the wall, and a beautifully crafted oak table as its centerpiece.

"Thank you," I said to the guard as I walked in. He closed the door behind me.

"Hello, sir," I said to the Duke as he sat at the table, reading.

"Yes?" the Duke answered, not looking up from his book.

"I have a weapon you may be interested in," I replied.

"What is it?" he said, looking up at me. He was a clean shaven man, and better looking than some of the Dukes I had met.

I opened the bag and took out a small vial filled with a blood-red liquid. "It's a highly potent dose of a substance that was created by Archimedes about a thousand years ago. I found it in the ruins of an ancient study of his in Greece."

"Well, what does it do?"

"It is specially designed to increase the viscosity of a liquid about ten times. I know what you are thinking, what purpose would this serve on a battlefield? Well, sir, imagine putting some of this in a vat of burning oil or boiling water. Imagine pouring it on an enemy soldier. Not only will it burn his skin, but it will stick, causing an excrutiatingly painful experience and almost guaranteed death." I knew this would be a very brutal thing to do, but these were brutal times.

"Doesn't that seem a bit cruel?" asked the Duke.

"Well, doesn't it also seem cruel when those Scandanavian savages lop off the heads of your people?" I said

"Well I suppose, but..."

"Ahh, well, sir," I interrupted, "Whether you accept this offer or not, please at least have some of this wine," I pulled a bottle of wine and two glasses out of my bag.

"Where did you get that?" the Duke said, admiring the dark red bottle I held.

"I stopped in Italy on my way here." I said.

"Well," the Duke said greedily, "It would be rude to refuse a guest's hospitality."

I poured both of us a glass. He took a sip of his first. "Mmm, this is exquisite!"

I smiled smugly as I lifted the glass to my lips. Then I watched as his eyes grew wide with fear. The poison I slipped him was working.

The Duke stood up and held his throat. He began to wheeze and gasp for air. He tried to speak as I sat there, watching him. He managed to point to me with a shaky hand and choked between gasps, "You!"

I smiled and laughed in my chair. How stupid could he be?

He started to cough up blood on the floor. Afterward he started to convulse, then he fell over onto the floor. He didn't stop trembling for about a minute. When he did, I knew he was dead.

I put my glass on the table. I stood up and walked over to a large mahogany armoire. I opened and searched for some valuables on the shelves. I found a few gold necklaces and rings. Then my heart stopped. I ducked down quickly. I had to get out of there.

In the armoire, sitting on one of the shelves amongst some pearls, was a Scrying Stone. I had to kill the guards and get out of the castle before they were alerted. The Scrying Stone had been listening and watching our entire conversation.

I pulled a dagger out of my back pocket. Good thing those guards didn't check me for weapons. Shame for them, though.

I slowly opened the door to the corridor. I kept my dagger concealed in my sleeve. Both the guards had their back to me. I decided that they weren't alerted to my true identity yet. I eased past them, shutting the door behind me. As I reached the entrance to the stairwell, a third guard emerged from it. He was almost out of breath.

"Hey, you, stop!" he shouted.

It looked like I would be running out of here. I swiftly pulled the dagger from my sleeve and threw it. It was a direct hit to his throat. He fell over, gurgling on his own blood.

The two guards behind me gasped and charged at me, spears sharp. I sprinted to the end of the corridor and leaped blindly out the window. Mid-fall I gave a sigh of relief. A cart filled with hay was directly below me.

I landed not with the hard thud of ground, but with the soft rustling of hay. I unhooked the dark brown stallion attached to the front of the cart and rode off down the dirt path, away from the castle.

Another lucky escape, I thought to myself as I headed down the road. I was heading for France; I was late for an appointment with the Duke of Belfort.