The Chemist

It was time for Sir Balbanes's medication… again. Laliss Carigad, age 29, walked the rather long corridor to his room lightly, her padded slippers bought specifically for quiet footsteps. As the house Chemist, she'd learned that it didn't do well for the ill to be jerked out of slumber by the slap of a leather shoe. Normally, it would have been her husband who'd have gotten out of bed to take care of this, but alas, he was in Goug to help with the many miners' injuries and otherwise from traversing all the deep mines and such. He'd sent her a few gifts back, though, so perhaps it wasn't all sad. Every once in a while he'd send some odd bit of jewelry or perhaps a particularly helpful bit of equipment from ages past.

One of them she kept with her always. It was what he termed a 'gun', which didn't at all give reference to the sound it made. It was a loud thing, and slower to load than a bow though it was far more accurate and the stopping power alone kept her feeling safe even though her dear Cildrik wasn't in a day's travel on chocobo. Though Laliss hid her grey-eyed, blonde-haired, slender-yet-endowed beauty conservatively in a simple brown dress reaching from her neck to her ankle, she was never without a little protection from the whims of the lusty with that perilous projectile weapon hidden in the white sash around her waist.

She padded gently down the long hall, careful not to wake the sleepers behind each door. She was careful not to be clumsy with the red medicine-filled vial in her hand, either. One had to have quite stable hands, to mix the ingredients necessary. It was strange, though. From her analysis and minor magics, she'd found Sir Beoulve to be suffering not of a virus, or any sort of bacteria, but instead he was being overwhelmed by mosfungus spores. She'd advised that his room be changed three times, and they'd not refused her, but that hadn't stopped the spreading. The gardener said that he'd not been growing the mushrooms, either, and Laliss had gone to have a look herself (To no avail. The gardener had a strict outlook on keeping a good garden, and had criticized Laliss on her windowsill plants many times.) Miss… or was it Mrs., now? Surely there was a five year grace period before you got so old, so deep in the marital relationship that you became a Mrs. One year wouldn't be long enough to make the shift, particularly if you only manage to see your love every other week. Even if it was, she would insist on the Miss.

As Miss Carigad came closer to the noble's room in question, the door was closed. That in itself was strange, as Sir Balbanes always liked the door open, to let himself fall asleep from the noises in the hallway. One tender hand turned the knob slowly, silently, only to find it locked. Locked? Why would Balbanes lock his door, let alone close it? Lady Alma still ran crying into his room from time to time, from nightmares she'd had. For Sir Beoulve to lock his door was like God himself saying 'you're on your own'.

She took her hand away from it, feeling slightly bewildered. Of course, perhaps she was being stupid. One man loved his privacy as much as the next, she supposed. Perhaps he'd gotten a servant to close and lock it for him as he himself were bedridden. Wait. . . No, that in itself was wrong. Why would Balbanes ask a servant to lock a door he himself could not open or unlock? The handle clicked, and Laliss put her back against the wall. Balbanes surely couldn't feel well enough to open the door on his own! He was vomiting green when last she saw him. Could it be. . . a poisoner? Laliss reached behind her, pulling out the sleek steel tube. It was always loaded, and all she had to do was pull the lever back to cock it, and she did so. The door opened quietly out into the hallway. But Laliss knew that beard. . . that orange hair. . .

"Sir Dycedarg! Why are you up so late?"

He startled, dropping a beaker of green powder on the hardwood floor, which promptly broke. What had he been doing in there? There was green powder on his hands, as well. "Miss Carigad, what an interesting surprise. Were you about to give my dear father his dosages? Go back to bed, I'll take care of it myself.

"No. . . I don't think so. I am the chemist, I must take full responsibility, if I have mixed something the wrong way."

"But Miss Carigad, I insist. It is the least I could do for taking care of father. Here, let me take that from you."

"No, I-" That smell. . . It was on his hands, as he reached out for the red vial. There was no mistaking it, as she'd smelled it every night for the last two months. Mosfungus!

"You. . . you BASTARD! How DARE you? He's your father!"

"Dear me. And to think I thought you better than to be so stupid."

"Stupid, yes! To think it was under my nose the whole time! How you always passed me on the way here, every night! I should have suspected it. GUARDS! GUARDS! Poisoner! Poisoner!"

"You silly bitch. Did you think the Hokuten would believe you? Not only am I higher in their trust, I am also in command under my father. They will take my story over yours."

"Really? And what story do you have, Dycedarg? I just found you with mosfungus caked on your palms!"

"Ha, ha. You're so naïve. It doesn't take any evidence for the castle guard to kill a poisoner. . . what makes you think you'll be able to tell your side?"

"I'll. . . I'll. . ."

"You'll DIE, Miss Carigad. You have no weapons, no story, and above all, no CHANCE."

"You're WRONG!"

Laliss whipped her right hand out from behind her skirt leg. She'd had next to no practice with the gun, but at point blank it wouldn't matter. It was too bad she'd counted on being able to aim before Dycedarg would act. Instead, it was the work of a moment for him to grab her arm and pull her forward onto the knife that had almost magically appeared in his hands at chest height.

"The guards will say they heard a woman calling, but who knows how a voice may sound after being heard from down a flight of steps?"

"I... No... Bal.. banes..."

"It's too bad, Miss Carigad. Really, too bad that such a young, pretty girl has to be an assassin for Sir Beoulve."

Laliss's last motion was to pull the trigger, hoping that her grabbed hand would hit something useful, perhaps even a toe, but this last act of hopeful justice went uselessly, and the last thing she felt was Dycedarg drop her to the ground like a lifeless doll.