"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."
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