Trapped with a Way Out

by Jeffery Martinez

  Victor whispered to Vincent, "Shouldn't we alert the guards of an Assassin in the castle? We must evacuate the area."

  "No!" Vincent choked as he nearly tripped on the next step, "No, we mustn't attract any attention to the matter. We wish not to startle the Assassin. If he catches on our scent, the consequences could be drastic. We have to get Ladislaus to the apothecary first, or else The Regent's lineage could be done in."

  "Don't you have another, younger child named Matthias?" Victor helped Vincent over the last step.

  "Yes. We must make sure that he is safe too," Vincent coughed as he paused to lean on one of the stone walls of the hallway, "I need a moment."

  Victor balanced Ladislaus on his shoulder and winced, "As long as you won't take more than a minute."

  Vincent caught his breath and closed his eyes, "Let's think. Where would the Assassin want to strike?"

  "We're assuming he's even here," Victor added with a dubious streak to his voice. "We really have no solid evidence that he even is present, and if he is, he could be anyone."

  Vincent made a disgruntled noise, "The messenger who tipped us off to Bagamér was one! The man supposedly warned The Regent of an uprising and protest in that village, but when we arrived there, the bodies of the villagers had been long since dead. Then when Ladislaus and I inspected the place, not only did we find an infested, dead animal in the center well of the village that had been slowing poisoning the inhabitants with its rotted flesh, we also found that scrap of cloth with the lion of Ismail. No sooner had that happened when we were ambushed by the assassins who then killed all of our men. We are the sole survivors!" Vincent jabbed his swollen thumb at his chest, "So don't tell me that there is no one on this end manipulating what fallacious information gets through and what does not!"

  "Alright, alright," Victor hushed the man, "Stow it. You don't want to get everyone's attention. Agreed. I believe you. Now where would the Assassin want to strike next. He is outnumbered by all of the guards, so he is hoping that he will slip by amid all the chaos, using that as his leverage."

  "Or…" the Wallachian looked at the noble with impending dread, "…or he does not plan on returning home." Vincent took Victor's free arm once more as they began to walk again and count the doors, "He would want…he would want to strike the heart -just as the poison they inflicted upon us does the exact same," he felt his strained heart continue to beat, though it was slowing. Vincent ignored a sudden rush of panic and looked out at the setting sun, "My guess is that he will attack from inside. The Regent will have already entered the room to greet his guests. All it takes to tip him over is one swig of a 'guest's' seemingly harmless and specially brewed mead or spiced wine -one swig, and in minutes he will fall."

  "Indeed," Victor counted door number five, "I must get to the Knight's Hall where they are all gathered and tell The Regent privately of what is happening. I promise I will be discreet, so as to not attract any attention," he read Vincent's troubled face and assured him.

  Vincent counted door number eight, "No, Victor. My doubt is not embedded in the idea that you will not be discreet, it is that you cannot do this alone. I am joining you," Vincent tripped, not watching the stone floor in his fervent assertion as he fell to his knees with a thud, letting go of Victor's arm before he fell as well.

  "Don't you see? You can barely walk. What if the Assassin sees us escorting The Regent out of the room? What then? We both may have to act quickly and run. You will slow things down, and you will be a liability to the performance of this mission."

  Vincent seethed for a moment in his own stew of murderous rage, and if it weren't for his failing body he would have hit Victor over the head and ran to the hall himself. Such as it was, all he could manage to do to agree with Victor was slightly tilt his head into a strained nod.

  "A-alright. Fine."

  Victor smiled encouragingly as he passed door nine, "Fear not. This will be resolved."

  Vincent tightened his grip on the other's arm hard enough that the noble looked back at him, "Victor…promise me that after The Regent is safe you'll return for his children. His lineage must be preserved."

  Sensing care, concern, and even slight affection in the Wallachian's voice, Victor was tempted enough to ask his motives, "Anyone is particular I should grab first, Sir?"

  Vincent hesitated, but his lips had already formed her name, "Lady Richard." The abrupt drop of her name confused him as he, for an instant, thought Victor had said it instead. Vincent should have instantly thought of Matthias, the heir if Ladislaus perished, yet his thoughts snapped to her instead -those golden-spun curls that she always tossed defiantly to the wind, the pair of sea-blue eyes that hardened to ice-encrusted glass shards as he continued to frustrate her, and that inescapable unison of a frown and grin adorning her face, while he felt her body tense and relax at the same time under his touch, that supple waist begging, nay, yearning to be- "Stop it."

  "Beg pardon?" Victor questioned.

  "…Nothing…" Vincent grumbled and helped him open the tenth door.

  A wave of dark musk filled with the smell of knowledge from old books smacked them in the face as a subtle tangy scent followed. The potions and poultices of the apothecary were all laid out on the top counter and along the side shelves of the dusty room. Particulate matter was visible through the cracks of the walls and window in what little rays of sunlight made it through. Both men sneezed, which caught the attention of someone in the back. Victor and Vincent heard the rustling of papers and footsteps nearing.

  "Who comes?"

  "Two men who are injured," Victor answered, keeping their identities hidden to temper any anxiety.

  "I'm afraid this man might remember me. I've spoken to him on occasion," Vincent grated out as he clutched his chest in pain and hobbled in, "Show yourself."

  A relatively clean man in what looked like monk's robes walked out of the shadows. He was round and balding strictly on the very top of his head. His face had long since wrinkled into small folds of skin that patterned his face like a road map. A tiny, insignificant wisp of a beard dotted his chin, but it was barely visible under his dark brown cowl. Small, inquiring, beady eyes looked over Vincent and the unconscious man on top of Victor's shoulder.

  "Ah, Vincent. It's you," he stated with cloaked sentiment, then turned to Victor, "Name's Zargo, castle apothecary. I formulate and dispense materia medica to various people, including the few surgeons we have here, and give it to the patients that we collect."

  "Is there a problem?" Vincent asked, sensing his passive aggressive behavior.

  The old man ignored the question as he waved them inside and closed the door, "The servants are everywhere trying to sneak in and steal poultices and other ingredients. I apologize," he walked Victor to the back of the room, passed the myriad of book shelves, to a slab of rock that had been lifted up to form an operating table, "What have we here?" the man hummed as Victor placed Ladislaus on the slab gently and rested his head underneath a rumpled piece of cloth.

  "H-hemlock," Vincent answered quickly.

  The apothecary's eyes lighted up in interest, "Really? This man here?" he pointed to the blanket-covered Hungarian, "How long has his exposure been? I assume not more than a few minutes…"

  "Two days," was Vincent's curt answer, "I was poisoned as well. My entire right side has numbed."

  "How did- you there! Noble!" Zargo shouted to Victor, "Find me a book called Poisons and Medicine. Go!" the apothecary shooed him off and tended to Ladislaus with a cup of water, "We must keep him hydrated. How in the world could he have survived? Two days, you say? He must have an incredibly high tolerance for poison, drink like a fish, or be just plain lucky."

  Victor rushed around the library for a minute until he realized that they were all alphabetized. Groaning in anger at himself and the wasted time, he trotted over to the 'P' section and traced his fingertips on each as he walked by. The old spines of each book smelled of leather, ink, and parchment. It reminded him of the vast libr
ary he often spent as a child in, but the shelves reached three times his grown self's size back home, and his servants would often have to use a stool to reach for a particular work. Focusing back to the present, his eyes caught the word 'poison' and his hands picked up the large weighted novel.

  Strange, he thought as the pages opened easily to him, it's been looked over many times-

  "Noble!"

  Victor shut the book and returned to the back room. Vincent was explaining that he knew the symptoms of hemlock while the apothecary looked on, astonished.

  "I cannot believe you actually read Ibn Wahshiyya's Book of Poisons, that you read a copy of it, that you actually held the pages in your hand and witnessed his genius unfold with each continuing chapter. You know he- Oh, here comes the noble, here to grace us with his presence. At his leisure, of course," the old and impatient healer scoffed, "I'm well past my prime, and I could have walked quicker than you."

  "Perhaps for the reason that you know this room better than I," Victor stated softly and held a retort in. He handed the book to the elder who then snatched it rudely out of his hands.

  The apothecary thumbed a couple of pages in and turned a few more until he came upon what he wanted. Humming a tune, he looked at Ladislaus, then at Vincent, and started to nod, "Yes…yes, these are the symptoms. Paralysis. It paralyzes the organs and then finally reaches the heart and stops it," he buried his aquiline nose further into the text, "The problem is that there is no antidote."

  "What ever do you mean?" Victor gawked in astonishment.

  The book was shoved heavily in his direction by the Zargo. "Read."

  Victor's impatient eyes scanned the page.

  -Who-so hauyth y-dronke poyson other venym - Take dragance

  other glandyne [Iris pseudacorus, yellow flag] and mynte, of

  all y-lynche moch and stampe hym and tempere hym with wyn and

  drynke hit.

  For each manner venym and poysonn - Take the mylke of a goote

  and sethe it with the seede of chaune [Cannabis sativa] to the third

  dendell and drynke it thre dayes and vnder heuen is none betere

  medecyne ne none se goodee.

  For poysonn and venym also - Take the iuys of morell and

  herhoune and drynke it with old vyne; so he shal caste oute

  that venym and fro the poysunn be saued.-

  "It also says that for henbane or hemlock, he recommends the bark of the mulberry tree, boiled in vinegar to induce vomiting, followed by milk," the apothecary stood up and rustled around his poultices, clanking and clattering the glasses, "The problem is that the best course of action in most cases of poison is to remove as much of the toxin from the body as quickly as possible. Having the victim vomit, then washing the stomach or treating with emetics or purgatives, while unpleasant for the patient, is often found to save his life. But it's been two days for you and your friend, and I'm afeard that time has run out. While certain medieval antidotes are supposed to counteract the poison of their own properties, the best remedies purge the victim. Unfortunately, nothing purges hemlock -nothing that we have discovered yet."

  Victor faked illness and adeptly left the room, but only after making eye-contact with Vincent to exchange a knowing look of what their secret plan was. Vincent nodded to him and kept the apothecary distracted with questions.

  "Oh, my word," Zargo covered his mouth as he lifted the blanket off of Ladislaus again, "This is…I didn't even recognize him…He is so pale…"

  Vincent put an index finger over his mouth, "You will remain here and treat his wounds. There is no need to worry; Lord Victor is already retrieving The Regent to come in and see him," he lied. Partially.

  Stirring a concoction of ground up bark from the mulberry tree, Zargo reached for an already boiling small pot over his fireplace and added a large cup of vinegar to it. The old man poured the chunks of bark into the pot and churned it like butter as the wood soaked up the liquid quickly.

  "You don't fare well either, Vincent. But you already know this, don't you?" the reflected candle light danced brightly across his aged eyes.

  Vincent smirked, "Trouble has a way of finding me. You could call it a…deadly attraction. However Her efforts in attempting to steal me away, I do not intend to die today."

  The apothecary managed to smile weakly, "None ever do."

  This made Vincent's confident expression wash away with a worried and troubled frown in its wake.

  "Here," Zargo offered the first swig to him, "Drink it. It won't do much, if anything, seeing as how you are already exposed and it is in all four of your humors," he then jutted his chin at the open gash on Vincent's leg, "Seeing as how that is a wound from an arrow, it's already in your blood."

  The Wallachian smiled and took a sip and instantly felt his stomach retch it back up his throat. Reaching for a bucket that was fortunately passed to him immediately, he puked into it.

  "Ugh, it's vile," he wiped his mouth and grimaced.

  The old man grinned, "More?"

  "Please," Vincent reached for it and watched his conversation partner begin to clean his wound. After retching into the bucket again, he sighed happily, "I don't know what it is about this mixture, but my stomach seems to be working."

  "I was hoping I'd see it come back up. If it didn't, I knew you'd be seeing Christ soon," Zargo's old voice cracked.

  "How do you mean?"

  "Organ failure. It is one of the symptoms of hemlock. Clearly you were not as severely poisoned as…" he looked over at Ladislaus, "I fear that boy will be catatonic for days. Except he's unconscious, but also completely unresponsive. I believe he is in a slight coma."

  "You should not give him this concoction. His stomach might not be able to wake him enough to throw it up, and we do not wish for him to choke on it, should it become stuck in his throat," Vincent wiped his mouth again and watched the apothecary lift up Vincent's leg onto the small wooden table at which they were sitting.

  "I was not planning to give this to him," Zargo set the half-empty bottle down, "...Who could have done this?" he asked rhetorically, but then his gaze wandered out to Vincent who made eye-contact but remained suspiciously silent, "I need to know," the elder insisted as he tightened Vincent's bandages and felt him wince slightly in pain.

  But suddenly a loud explosion was heard and caused the walls to convulse and crack under the shock wave. Vincent and the apothecary were both pushed out of their seats and to the floor in an instant as the walls and doors continued to rattle with the window. Tubes and jars filled with poultices were knocked off of their designated shelves and shattered on the ground in an array of glass and liquid. Zargo shouted in pain as his old bones hit the ground with a thump. Vincent propped himself up by his working elbow but shielded his face in the event that anything more was to drop.

  After a moment of silence and as the dust settled back onto the ground, Vincent grabbed the chair leg, then the top of the table, and hoisted himself back up.

  "NO!" he argued to the ceiling, "I have to get in there!"

  "Where?" the apothecary shouted as his shaky arms tried to hold his own weight up. Zargo hobbled over to Ladislaus and exhaled in relief that he was still laying down on the operating table.

  "Where The Regent is! The Knight's Hall!" Vincent cringed as he fell back into his seat, entire side still numb. It was too late. Who was he kidding? The damage had been done, and Vincent already sensed there were casualties. He only hoped that it was not anyone he thought of in the first five seconds.

  Walter wiped the rivulets of sweat from his brow as he moved from the simmering boar to the vegetable station. He was preparing the delectable small tomatoes and carrots. Rare fruits were placed on another tray in a lovely assortment that was aesthetically pleasing to the eyes. He looked on in pride as each of his works of edible art made it to the floor of the hall, and consequently the looks on each of the guest's faces as they were beginning to sit down for the meal that was to come.

  "Walter.
"

  He turned around to face a flustered maid, "Wey're runnin out o' sugar."

  Walter took a moment to organize his thoughts, "Be less generous when sprinkling the sweets and use fruit juice instead. I doubt the nobility will mind."

  She curtsied and scuttled back to her station of spices, sugar, and salts. Walter had just turned around to rotate the boar when another maid screamed in terror. He jerked back around to the commotion and rushed over. The spectacle forced a tired grin to curl up his lips.

  "W-Walter! Do somethin'!" she screeched as a small child munched away at the hardened candy.

  The little boy had made a small fort out of table cloths underneath her station and was snatching sweets while she was talking to Walter. He would deftly reach up and grab one, only to disappear within the folds of the fabric once more.

  Walter crouched and lifted up the flap to expose the little tyrant, "Hello, my boy. How fares the candy? Good, I hope."

  Matthias laughed maniacally and licked the remaining sugar from his mouth, "Deliciously appealing," his dark blonde curls bouncing as his head nodded.

  Walter's eyebrows rose, "Impressive vocabulary, young man. I'm elated to know that you are paying attention in my lectures during which I tutor you."

  Matthias stifled another laugh and put his hand on the manservant's shoulder for balance as he crawled out of hiding, "Walter," he grunted, "…don't make me go back out there. I wanna stay here with you and eat snacks. All they do out there is talk, talk, talk! There's no eating involved! My mom scolded me in front of them and and and they all laughed at me. She went to get the ladies-in-waiting to watch me. I don't wanna be treated like a child anymore! 'm not a baby!" tears grew into fat droplets as they streamed down Walter's coat.