The Audacious Apothecary Robbery

A Griswald Grimm, Fleet O'Feet Story

By Bob Liddil 

The sun rises cautiously over the street of dreams. So quick and professional are the thieves who live there, that its very light would be in danger if there were haste in the dawn. So dangerous is this place that even heroes tread cautiously. The city guard never comes in. And the residents handle their own problems, as witnessed by the occasional violator of peace and dignity, found strung up by his thumbs in the outer bazaar. There are dangerous men dwelling on the street of dreams: assassins expelled from The Guild for excessive cruelty and violence, adventurers burnt out in the dungeons of the North, spending their last gold rounds seeking elusive peace. And Griswald Grimm, who knows more ways of dealing pain and death than any other man in The World.

Fleet O’Feet, a fresh bowl of his mother’s thick gruel resting warmly in his belly, walked cheerfully down a residential side alley which led into the street of dreams. To an inexperienced observer it might seem that the boy would be in terrible danger by this very act. After all, the street of dreams was a sometimes slave market, where an inexperienced lad might suddenly disappear, never to be heard of again. But young Fleet was apprentice to Professor Doctor Griswald Grimm, a man no being of any intelligent species would ever cross. There were more watching eyes in The World owing their lives to the master alchemist, than there were who owed him nothing. So his apprentice’s travel in this most foreboding of places was should have been safe.

But the black shadow stalking his steps cared more for coin than for Doctor Grimm or his reputation. There was a job to be done and he was about it with enthusiasm. The five hundred gold pieces he’d been paid were stashed safely and the task was straightforward enough. All he had to do was fetch his masters Fleet O’Feet.

The boy had good instincts. He knew he was being followed and he casually brought his hand into an inside pocket of his cloak. He quickened his step just a little and began to whistle a particular tune. The footsteps behind him fell a little heaver as the man, taking longer strides, sacrificed a measure of stealth to keep up.

Abruptly, he stopped, knelt to one knee and made an adjustment to one sandal. As he did, the stalker made his move, prematurely, as it turned out, for as he reached the boy, Fleet stood, turned to face the attack, and doused the would- be kidnapper in a cloud of white dust which immediately began to harden, forming a shell around that unfortunate.

Seconds later, Fleet and his new statue were surrounded by a group of some of the nastiest, most scurvy scum ever coughed up from city sewers.

"Are you hurt, boy?" A tall bearded swordsman growled, speaking for the lot.

"No sir, thank you," Fleet replied politely, "but I think this one might need help."

"Gods, lad, what did ye do to him?" This came from a one armed thief with scars all over his face and visible body.

"Plaster powder." Fleet said nonchalantly, "You throw a handful of it at an enemy and it gives him a new coat of armor. . ."

". . .without any joints for walking or moving." Finished a voice from away from the crowd, which instantly quieted laughter, comment and talking of any kind. The speaker was Griswald Grimm.

He stood like a tall dark thundercloud, an imposing figure, at once frightening and commanding of respect. He was dangerous when he was calm and just now, he was angry. It could be read in his eyes.

" W-w-we just answered the call, D-D-octor Grimm," stammered a tall thin beggar, "w-we would n-never hurt the boy. . ."

". . .or any boy for that matter. . ." added the swordsman, but quite unnecessarily, for Griswald Grimm knew quite well that the scum on the street of dreams held two principles above all others, no harm to innocents and a deathly fear of himself.

"You, lad, go on to the store." Grimm said, not unkindly. " I’ll deal with this one myself." Fleet excused himself and broke into a jog which would see him to his destination more quickly.

To the boy’s rescuers the alchemist said, "I am grateful to you." Which meant literally that each of those standing there could name his price and Doctor Grimm would pay it. They excused themselves as well, knowing full that the fate of the captive would be too gruesome for human observation. There would be time aplenty, later on, for collecting any rewards. Inwardly, each shuddered, relieved that it was someone else and not they who would be receiving the wrath of Griswald Grimm. They faded back into the street, leaving the stalker to his fate.

Grimm removed a pouch from his potion belt and extracted a vial. Removing the cork, he sprinkled a few flakes of red onto the head of the frozen figure. There came a frying sound, and a desperate gasping for air of a man who’d been holding his breath for an impossibly long time, followed by a squeak of pure terror when he recognized who’d freed him enough from his death shell to accommodate breathing.

"You and I must talk," said Grimm. "You talk, I’ll listen. But I should tell you . . . talk fast, because even as you speak, the covering over your body grows hotter and is contracting. If you are not swift of tongue, you will be the most heroic hollow statue of jelly on the street of dreams."

Five minutes later, Grimm knew everything concerning the plot to kidnap Fleet O’Feet and ransom him to Doctor Grimm. That it took five hundred in gold to bribe the snatcher was silent testimony of his fear of the great alchemist. Even as he poured out all he knew, he could feel Grimm’s diabolical powder squeezing him tighter, growing hotter and hotter . . .

Grimm sprinkled the remaining contents of the vial on the shell. With a hiss, it dissolved, leaving the trembling rogue standing drenched in his own sweat, waiting for the inevitable deathstroke. Instead, Grimm spoke to him once more, saying, "What is your name?"

"Shaker," came the reply, "they call me Shaker."

"Well, Shaker," Grimm said darkly, "your life belongs to me, now. Shall I end it, or loan it to you for a little while?"

Shaker just gulped. He did not reply.

"Take the five hundred in gold you were paid," instructed Grimm, "and deliver four hundred fifty of it to the Friar’s Orphanage in Northlock. Do you know where that is?"

Shaker nodded.

"Use the other fifty to get yourself there and back. And Shaker . . ." The alchemist’s voice grew ominous. "I am loaning you your life. Use it wisely . ." There was no humor in Grimm’s manner. ". . . lest I come to collect it."

For fifteen seconds there was no movement on the part of Shaker. Then Grimm barked, "Be off!" Shaker vanished as if demons were chasing him. The alchemist allowed himself a private chuckle and started home.

The street front of The Little Shop of Poisons and Potions was deep and wide in onlookers. Grimm pushed his way through the crowd and topped the steps in a single stride. The door was ajar and he could see from the porch that the inside was a shambles. There were jars and vials scattered everywhere, some few of them shattered. The guardserpent lay stretched out dead on the floor and beyond that, the study alcove had been ransacked.

Grimm cautiously remained outside. No way to know what all had been scattered asunder. He reached into his belt and fetched out a white pouch of powder. Untying the strings, he slung the entire contents into the room, turned away, waited thirty seconds and looked in.

From behind the alchemist, some of the crowd could see into the interior of the shop as well. While he was turned away, a bright flash silhouetted Grimm in the doorway. Then, as he turned back, there seemed to be movement inside and they pressed forward until a hand motion from Himself stopped them.

Inside, the flash powder was doing its work. It was a unique formula designed to play back in shadow figures, any movement which will have taken place in an area ten feet square, for fifteen minutes prior to the time when it is disbursed. Grimm watched, set-jawed in increasing anger at the scene which played itself out in reverse before him. There had been three intruders. The smallest of the three was the one who’d killed the snake. The largest had completed Shaker’s aborted job of kidnapping Fleet O’Feet. The average sized one seemed to be directing; there was a lot of arm waving going on and the other two were looking for something, a thing they did not find—there was grudging satisfaction in that. They had entered separately, Fleet had greeted each of them and tried to handle them individually. Then the effect of the powder faded on the image of Fleet just entering the room at the beginning of the sequence.

Now Grimm entered. He knew it was safe. One of the side effects of Flash Powder is to neutralize the effects of other materials. He closed the door behind him and changed the sign in the window from OPEN to CLOSED. Retreating into his study, now unobserved, he sank into a chair and allowed himself a moment of quiet to collect his thoughts. Then, he sat straight up and slid his hand under the table until a finger touched a slight nipple in the wood. A little pressure and the secret panel popped open dropping its contents into the other hand. Young Fleet never had been told about all the secret places in the little shop. He would not be able to reveal what his master was working on because he’d not been made privy to this particular experiment.

Grimm unrolled the scroll and studied for a moment. Untested physical magics were dangerous in the right hands. In the wrong hands, they could be devastating. Still, there were twin debts to be paid and a good field test was needed before delivery. The alchemist popped the cork on the vial which accompanied the scroll. He poured half the contents of clear liquid into his left hand with which he then spread the potion all over his right. Reversing that, he placed aside the used vial, and stashed the scroll in his vest, after adding a single line to the text.

"Doctor Grimm?" A voice from the door interrupted him. It was one of the men from earlier, the swordsman who’d been among those who’d gone to Fleet’s rescue.

"Come in," Grimm called, I’ll be with you in a moment." The alchemist closed the secret door to the underside of his desk and rose. He knew what the swordsman would have to say. He was the message bearer from those who would ransom Fleet to him. He moved out into the shop area.

"I had no part of this, sir. . . " began the swordsman.

"No need, I already know. What is the message?"

"I am to conduct you to a storage house in the Thieves’ Quarter. They demand the formula to something called - uhh - Firedamp. They will exchange the boy for that formula."

"Shall we go then?"

Most of the milling throng, curiosity seekers who had been attracted to the little shop by word that Griswald Grimm had been robbed, grew silent as Grimm emerged, the swordsman a few steps behind him. The rest quieted as the alchemist raised his hand, indicating that he wished to speak.

"There is nothing that any of you can do, " he said, "except listen and observe." There was a low murmur of response. "Guard your children," Grimm added, "These villains have no morals at all."

The crowd parted to allow them to pass through. Those who were close enough to be able to see Grimm’s eyes knew there was about to be Hell to pay.

Fleet O’Feet stood flush against a post securely wrapped by twenty turns of stout rope. He was gagged, hungry and very very scared. One of the three who’d taken him from the shop had threatened to cut his throat if he so much as blinked the wrong way. He believed it. The way the little one had handled the security serpent. The boy had never seen anyone as fast.

Just from listening, he had learned much of the three’s plan. It was simple. Lure Doctor Grimm to here (wherever that was), and in exchange for freeing the apprentice, the alchemist would turn over to them something which they called Firedamp, which is what they weren’t successful in finding at the shop. Then, they would kill the boy and the doctor and take the Firedamp to an unnamed fourth person, to exchange for more gold than they could carry.

Only yesterday Fleet O’Feet had been complaining about the lack of adventure in his job as clerk-apprentice in the Little Shop Of Poisons and Potions. It seemed to him now, tied, gagged, threatened with death and trying very hard not to wet himself, that maybe the dull life was not so bad.

The merchants in the bazaar stalls which front the alley leading to the street of dreams are quite used to seeing all manner of men and notmen entering and exiting. None of them, however, could remember the last time Professor Doctor Griswald Grimm had come this way in broad daylight. So when this actually happened, a buzz of rumors was set in motion, as each of those in the square speculated as to why so dangerous a man — and accompanied by a swordsman to boot — would be marching toward the Thieves’ Quarter with such a fire in his eyes. Slowly, the truth of the matter became mixed with the fiction and a number of inconspicuous men moved out of the bazaar in the same direction, known thieves, fighters, and at least one rogue magic-user, one who’d been known to turn a dishonest coin in the past, all keeping discreet distance behind the gathering storm which was the master alchemist. They moved in unison toward the Thieves’ Quarter and what would surely be a confrontation.

It took an hour of walking to get there, and by the time they arrived, the swordsman and the doctor were flanked by more than a hundred not inconspicuous steel swingers, thieves and sometimes adventurers ranging from dedicated Law subscribers to some of the worst scum in the city. They formed an outer circle of protection around the two, creating a safety zone some three hundred feet in diameter, a good five time larger than the perimeter of the building. Nothing or nobeing would penetrate that zone while Doctor Grimm negotiated for the release of Fleet O’Feet.

Motioning the swordsman to stay behind him, Grimm opened the door to the storehouse and stepped inside. Prior to that move, he had stopped for a moment and squeezed a drop of something into his eyes. Now, the interior of the building, which was pitch dark to the swordsman, glowed green to the alchemist’s eyes. He could see the three malefactors, hiding. He could see Fleet O’Feet bound and gagged - the detail was that sharp - and he could see three crossbow traps on tripwires, all three weapons trained on the boy.

"I’m here now," Grimm called, "you can let the boy go, he has no more part in this."

On hearing his master’s voice, Fleet began to struggle against his bonds and scream warnings about the tripwires into his gag, all to no avail, for the bonds were secure and the gag well tightened.

"You are going to be fine, lad, " Grimm assured him, not wishing to tip the hand of the enemy concerning his vision. To the three, he said, " I’ve brought you what you’ve requested, the spell scroll to Firedamp. What shall I do now?"

Amazingly, at least to the swordsman, the doctor’s voice did not betray any of the white hot rage he was feeling. He continued to move forward until he was squarely in the center of the storehouse, while the swordsman had been forced to stop moving in any direction as soon as the door closed behind him.

For the first time, one of the kidnappers spoke. "How do I know you have brought what we want?"

And Grimm pulled a glass ball from is belt and dashed it upward against the wooden roof of the storehouse. Immediately the whole room burst into a green glow, the most intense of which was above and slightly behind himself. Then he raised the scroll above his face and read, " Hellfire, Come To Me ! Obey My Command! Genire Accendre Incendre, Excitaire ! Incitaire Scintilla Ignicullus Accendre Faciaf! Come to me now!!!" The air fairly shook with the thunder in his voice.

In the center of the room, swirled a tiny bright spot of light. It grew bigger geometrically until it was about as large as the head of a man. Feeding it were streamers of fire which were being drawn from the outstretched right hand — flat palmed toward the light — of Griswald Grimm. The threads of flame wove themselves into the light, until it became a fireball, but such a fireball! Looking closely, it had the features of a man, eyes, nose, a mouth, a twisted, hideous flame mouth which now spoke. "What shall I do?" It hissed and crackled.

"What indeed shall it do?" Grimm directed the question to the kidnapper in charge.

"Destroy it." he said flatly, ordering the tallest kidnapper into combat.

"Defend!" Barked Grimm, and the fireball’s glow changed from yellow to red. The crossbow bolt which had been loosed upon it burst into flames, the metal head melting in flight.

"Destroy it!" he said again, this time addressing the smaller of his minions, who whipped a slashing sword from its scabbard and closed in for a kill.

He got within twenty feet of the red ball when it changed to blue, melting the blade of the sword as it dropped from his hand, and scorching him as he backed away in pain.

"Free the boy," demanded Grimm.

"First, the scroll," responded the kidnapper.

"Free the boy!" This time, the order was directed toward the flaming apparition which hovered expectantly before him.

The color of the fireball immediately changed to yellow-orange and it moved toward Fleet O’Feet.

"Get the scroll," came the order and the tall one, moving respectfully around the fireball, came foreword, warily, and snatched the still outstretched scroll from Grimm’s hand.

The swordsman, meanwhile, had moved from behind Grimm, and into the shadows along the wall, where he worked his way unnoticed to within ten feet or so of  the kidnappers and Fleet O’Feet. He drew three throwing daggers and took aim, waiting for a chance or a signal from Grimm.

The fireball changed shape slightly so that a finger of flame no wider than a dagger blade emerged. The ropes parted the instant this fire blade came into contact with them and Fleet, who had been straining against them burst free.

Several things happened at once in that instant. Grimm shouted, "OUT!" extinguishing both the fireball and the green light source, plunging the entire room into blinding darkness and then, "Fleet, FREEZE!" which was instantly obeyed by the boy. A dagger sank hilt deep in the chest of the smaller kidnapper and into the belly of the taller. Then there was a silent explosion of white light, a thunderclap, the smell of burning spell smoke, and Grimm, who could see in the blackness and who wasn’t blinded by the momentary light, watched as the third kidnapper vanished in the swirl of a magical cloak.

A second glass ball burst against the roof and in that light, the swordsman, on Grimm’s directions, fetched Fleet O’Feet out of the kill zone of the three crossbows. The boy wriggled free of the swordsman’s grasp and ran pell-mell into Grimm, hugging him and talking at the same time. "They were going to kill us and they wanted this spell and they wrecked the shop and I tried to stop them but . . ."

The alchemist calmed his apprentice as best he could, eventually succeeding, then turned his attention to the two henchmen, one dead, one dying, and being interrogated by the swordsman. Then that one slumped over dead as well. Extracting himself from the still excited apprentice, Grimm moved over to where the swordsman was retrieving the last of his daggers - the one which missed - from the wall. "Were you able to find out anything?" he asked.

"No sir," the swordsman replied, "He claimed he’d never been told his master’s name, only that a wagonload of gold would be split by thirds if they succeed."

"Hmmm," Grimm mused, "well, it’s no matter. We have the boy and he’s what we came for. Let’s go."

They emerged from the building to a hundred or more onlookers, who raised a cheer at the sight of them safe. This went on for a moment or two, then Grimm waved them into silence. Speaking loudly enough for all to hear, he said,  "Each of you has earned my gratitude. I shall not forget how you helped me . . and young Fleet O’Feet here, this day. Thank you all." Again came a cheer, then they began to disperse, like smoke into winter’s air.

Grimm looked around for the swordsman, so as to thank him as well, but that worthy also was nowhere to be seen. He had vanished along with the rest of those who’d come to help.

Meanwhile, Fleet O’Feet was hopping around, making faces and generally acting as though there were bees in his trousers.

"Boy, what is the matter?"" Grimm demanded.

"I have to go ! " Cried Fleet.

"Gods," exhaled Grimm, gesturing him to follow, "come on then." And he turned to walk away. But he heard the patter of running footsteps behind him and turned quickly enough to see his apprentice disappear back inside the building.

"What the . . " he started, then heard the tinkle of water against a wall and a boyish sigh of relief from just inside the door. Finally, it dawned on him. He waited a moment then shouted, "Let’s go, or you walk home alone!" That drew an instant response.

Night falls carefully across the street of dreams, lest some rogue suddenly decide to have himself a pocketful of stars. In the Little Shop of Poisons and Potions, Fleet O’Feet was just now finished cleaning up the mess left by the robbers. Something had been puzzling him, all afternoon, but with all the work he had to do, he didn’t feel comfortable asking Doctor Grimm about it. But curiosity finally got the better of him, as the work was now completed, so he hazarded the few footsteps to his master’s study, peeked around the doorway and, seeing the doctor not heavily engaged, spoke.

"Uh. . .excuse me, uh . . .Sir?"

"What is it, lad?" Grimm lowered the manuscript he was reading.

"I just have a question, sir."

"And that is . . ?"

"Why weren’t you angry?"

"Eh?"

"Why weren’t you angry because the one guy got away with the scroll?"

"Oh . ." Grimm almost smiled. "Well, come see for yourself."

Rising from his chair, Grimm conducted his apprentice out to the stoop of the shop, where they both sat down on the top step.

Grimm pointed. "What lies in that direction beyond our neighborhood?"

Fleet answered, "The Thieves’ Quarter."

Grim pointed again. "And there?"

Fleet answered, "The Merchant’s Quarter and beyond that the Royal Hill."

Then Grimm indicated a third direction. "And there?"

Fleet, now puzzled by this geography quiz, answered, " The Necromancers’ Bazaar, and on the hill above that, the Wizards’ Quarter."

As he spoke, the sky over the last direction he’d answered suddenly burst into white light, brighter than the sun and a yellow ball of fire bigger than a rising moon engulfed the horizon, swirling upward and outward until it lit the entire city as if night had suddenly become day. It dissipated in tongues of crackling flame which covered the entire city at a height of about ten thousand feet, then gradually faded into darkness again. A crash of thunder followed by several seconds, shaking the street of dreams and every building on it. It was a spectacular explosion the likes of which exist nowhere else in recorded history.

"Well, lad," Grimm said, "I expect that the association of wizards who were in possession of Firedamp just now, have no further taste for that or any other thing gotten from me without payment just and true."

"Gods!" The boy exhaled amazement with the exclamation. "What happened?"

"I added one word to the summoning chant on the scroll," Grimm said with a twinkle in his eye. "The word was Comburere, which means to burn up or, a more literal translation would be to consume with fire. The addition of that word to the power phrase breaks the control the user has over the fireball, allowing it to run freely amuck. From the size of that fireball, there must have been twenty wizards in the spell circle, no doubt scorched ones now."

" So that answers my question," said fleet O’Feet, completely impressed.

"And that answer is. . ?"

"You don’t get mad . . you get even!"

Griswald Grimm thought about that for a moment. "That’s pretty catchy," he said and joined his apprentice in a nice long laugh.

Sitting amidst the rubble of what used to be thirty square blocks of magic-users’ quarters, workshops and venues, a particular senior wizard of the outlawed Necromancers’Guild was shaking his fist and cursing.

Griswald Grimm had a new enemy.