Ideals

Wandering eyes that passed the alchemist’s shop fell onto Fulcher as he sat in the mud outside of the building. He had been grinding the three reagents together now for about ten minutes when he heard the approaching clanks of Vardia.

“Sir! You are sitting in the mud?” Vardia huffed, his visor slamming shut as he stopped before Fulcher.

“It’s just mud,” Fulcher said, focusing on mixing the reagents together. “Did you get the scraps?”

“Aye Sir!” Vardia declared, presenting a clattering sack. “But why did you pay for this?”

Fulcher looked up at the sky, now darkening with the beginnings of twilight.

“Fill the empty jars I bought with the scraps. We’re going to break the beast pens,” Fulcher said.

“Sir? But won’t your father be angry?” Vardia said, kneeling down to drop some of the metal into the jars. Fulcher stopped his mixing, looking at Vardia with a hard stare.

“Not a single one of those people locked in there are any less than you, or me. We are the same,” Fulcher said.

“But, Sir…” Vardia began. “You are royalty, no-”

“No!” Fulcher declared. “We are equal in death, we are equal in life! None are above another.”

Vardia’s eyes shone, his wonder obvious as he looked upon Fulcher. The scrap metal clattered over the rim of the jar he was pouring into as he stared.

“Sir, it is truly an honor to serve such a kindhearted man!” Vardia said, his visor clattering shut. He lifted it awkwardly as he picked up the spilled scrap, hastily filling the jar.

“I can see it now Sir! Your tapestry on the wall! Fulcher, Equal to all Man they’ll say!” Vardia continued, puffing his chest proudly. “Your rule will be just and pure, of that I have no doubt!”

Fulcher returned to mixing the reagents until he could hardly tell they had been separate less than an hour before. He began pouring the mixture into the jars.

“Maybe. But for now, let’s focus on the beast pens,” he said. Vardia held the jars one at a time as he poured.

“So what is this Sir? Some kind of gift?” Vardia asked.

“It’s called gunpowder. When you ignite it, it burns. With enough force, it should explode,” Fulcher paused. “I think. Maybe. Anyways, the scraps of metal should shoot out and break the chains keeping the doors to the pens shut,” Fulcher took out a small dagger, punching the top into the jar lids to create holes wide enough to push the small rope through.

“If you say so,” Vardia said with a shrug. “This isn’t like any alchemy I’ve ever seen before.”

“That’s because this is called science!” Fulcher said, standing and picking up a jar. “Grab the other two. Come on Arrow!”

While they had been working, Arrow had been enjoying the mud. He had since coated himself in a thick layer of it, looking more brown than grey as he suddenly stood up, tongue dangling.

The trio traveled back to the beast pens as dusk came, clouds above working in tandem with the time to diminish the light more than usual. As they rounded the corner of the stable, they noticed only two guards standing around a small fire in the center of the pens. Fulcher looked at Arrow, now noticing the mud covering his form.

“Oh, this is perfect. Arrow, I need you to distract those guys!” Fulcher said, pointing to the backs of the pen guards. Arrow tilted his head and wagged his tail. The mud-coated wolf ran into the camp before sneaking up on the distracted men. Fulcher could hear them conversing, but was too far away to make anything out.

Arrow walked up and leaned over to the nearest guard, biting him firmly in the hand. The guard recoiled and howled, leaping back and drawing his blade.

“Ow! Stupid dog! I’ll skin you!” he shouted. The other guard drew his blade as Arrow barked loudly and bounded off into the darkened town.

“Get him!” the guard yelled. Both men ran after Arrow with their swords held high.

“Now, go!” Fulcher said, pushing Vardia forward. The two entered the pens, met with the confused stares of dozens of captives.

The pens were clustered in several groups, with the chains keeping all the doors shut wrapped around a central point. Fulcher and Vardia worked fast to set the jars in place, settling them as close to the anchor of the chains as possible. Fulcher looked around suddenly.

“Shoot, I need fire…” he muttered. He jogged to the nearby stable and peered inside. He noticed a shelf holding several horseshoes and snuck in to quickly grab one. Running back he settled near the jars as Vardia looked on.

“Alright, when these light, you need to run,” Fulcher ordered.

“Run where?” Vardia asked.

“Anywhere, man! Away!” Fulcher huffed. He struck the horseshoe against the chain, creating a few sparks.

He nodded to himself and gathered the three ropes they had stuck into the jars. He held their ends together near the chain as he again struck the horseshoe. Over, and over until one of the sparks landed on the ropes and caught. He cupped the ropes with his hands and breathed gently to ensure the flame would stay lit. Then he dropped the ends and stood, turning to run.

“Go go go go!” he shouted. He sprinted back to the stable, hearing only the clattering of Vardia behind him. Reaching the building he turned to watch, the flames illuminating the chains as they crept closer and closer to the jars.

As each rope reached their respective lids the jars burst in a unified boom of shattered glass, sending metal shrapnel through the chains holding the pens closed.