Get up, you arrogant bastard!" the jailer said to the resident of the dungeon. The man in the cell, slowly pulls himself to his feet, being careful to dust off some of the dirt and filth common to his current locality.
"And good morning to you, fair Innkeep. Does the Queen require my services today?" the redheaded man said with more grace that one would think possible in the dank bowels of the castle.
"You swine's son, dontcha dare be speaking foully of my queen. A good and right honororable queen she be." The jailer responded.
"Oh, my good man, the tales I could tell you about your dear Queen would curl your toes, of that I am quite certain. But you did not rouse me from my rest to share, with you, tales of the past. How may I be of service to you?" The brash nobleman replied, a small twinkle of mischief in his eye.
"Shackles for you, your grace. Seems the Queen be wanting your audience today." Pulling out a pair of arm irons, the guard reaches through the bars and secures the prisoner's wrists. Once done, the jailer opens the cell door and the scruffy nobleman steps out and heads up the stairs to where he used to freely roam.
"My good man, one of these days you will learn to offer your guests a clean tub of water and a decent meal. Oh the food is dreadful." The redhead begins his list of observations about the facility and the way it is run. There are four hundred and forty two steps to the top of the floor that the Queen is on. There two hundred and twenty one "observations". This is not the first time in the last six years these two men have had this conversation.
Arriving at the throne room, "And dearest Innkeeper, the other denizens, and by that I do mean the rats you keep, really must be kept on another level. Their raucous frivolity is more than one can stand, as one must get one's beauty rest. Ah, I see we've arrived. You must take down my suggestions, I think".
"Shut it. You'll have the same story on the morrow, no need for fancy writings, 'bout got the list memorized now. Come to collect you 'bout an hour, your Grace." the Jailer turned to leave the anteroom and was taken aback by the change in the normal ending to their almost daily conversation.
"I'm afraid not, my good man. I fear our time has grown short and this shall be our last conversation." With that, the disgraced Ambassador strode confidently into the Queen's throne room.
Placed squarely high atop a dais, the Queen held court as the Ambassador glanced over to where his former seat stood, still unoccupied.
On his chair sat a scroll. A scroll sealed three times. A blue wax seal, a black wax seal, and a red wax seal. The Ambassador did not even have to see the Book, the Skull, nor the Dragon pressed into those seals to know who had sent the scroll. With a deft and practiced movement, the shackles unlocked and slipped from his arms. At the sound of the shackles hitting the stone floor, all hell broke loose. The members of the court began to scream at the site of a newly freed prisoner. The guards standing around the perimeter began to move in to apprehend the very dangerous man now standing a few dozen feet from their Queen.
The fugitive, more sensing then seeing the threats, breaks into a run towards the west wall of the room. Ducking and weaving between pole-arms and pikemen, the nimble young man gracefully slips between the sergeant's legs and is up and running again.
The Queen sees her men surround the former noble, but impossibly he slips through her forces and throws himself through a window.
A moment later, a loud splash is heard from the river below and the guards begin shouting out the newly formed hole in the glass, to arrest that man.
Under her breath, Queen duClarque says "Goodbye Dar Benedict, I hope this works."