"You've no idea how this complicates things!"

His words echoed through the cavernous drawing room as he paced from one end to the other.

"Without the fibula, we lack the most significant ingredient to the potion!" The swirling liquid could be seen precipitating in the background. "And it's too late to extract blood from that blasted witch!"

His ruddy face inflamed crimson with anger causing it to look like porous leather. He raked a hand through his receding hairline as he descended into what looked like utter madness.

Meanwhile, MacNair remained on the chaise in wary concentration as he smeared the thick orange Burn-Healing paste across his arms and along his face and neck. He winced as the ointment met a markedly charred segment of skin along his jaw. "What about that other witch? The one the ol' hag bound herself to?" he offered up, his attention never diverting from his wounds.

The other man snorted in derision. "She's been as elusive as that bloody flower!" He paused his pacing to stand over the bubbling cauldron lost in thought. After a moment's pause, he added under his breath, "Although now that she's dead, it might be easier to ascertain her whereabouts."

"What's that sir?"

"I said, now that she's dead, she may be easier to find." He enunciated his words to allow them to be understood by his simple-minded lackey.

"How do you figure, my Lord?"

"The morgue," he stated matter-of-factly. "They'll be looking for her next of kin and just when they think they've hit a dead end, we'll show up and claim the body." A Cheshire grin spread across his face.

"That's brilliant, my Lord."

Walking now with a slight lilt to his step, the man toiled to formulate a more comprehensible plan. "Where is the most likely place you'd find a forgotten Egyptian maidservant?" he asked, as much to himself as to MacNair.

Still immersed in the laborious task of healing his fiery burns, he replied with the most obvious answer his trifling brain could provide. "Egypt, my Lord?"

"Egypt," he echoed, pausing to allow the idea to marinate on his tongue. "I do have highly effectual contacts at the Egyptian Ministry who can hand us the information we require. If there is an unclaimed body in their morgue, they will undoubtedly know about it."

MacNair shifted to recline on the chaise, allowing the Burn Paste to macerate his skin. His face wore a mask of both pain and pleasure as he basked in the blueprints of their prospective endeavor. Staring up at the ceiling, he muttered, "Always one step ahead, my Lord."

Like a sentry, the man continued his enthusiastic pace of the drawing room. "Now that the British Ministry is fully aware of our identities, it is imperative we relocate to somewhere they won't think to look. We must leave tomorrow," he declared, stopping to look down at the heaping orange mess that was MacNair. Annoyance creeping up his neck at the decubitus figure in his disheveled state, he gave the chaise a forceful kick shouting, "Get up you dim-witted pillock! I said we leave tomorrow! This cauldron won't pack itself!"

MacNair shot upright, hissing in pain with the force of it. "Yes, my Lord. Right away."