Answering the Oldest Question in the World                                         

by Jon Chan

Beads of sweat formed on Egbert’s brow.  The air was still and stifling, and flickering shadows taunted the meager light his waning torch provided.  Sunlight had not pierced the depths of these caverns since the world was young.  He steadied his steps on the uneven ground by leaning on his spear.  At least his pack was light—because he was running low on rations and water; if he did not turn back by day’s end, Egbert risked starvation.

But duty made the path clear.  No true knight could turn away, not after witnessing the butcher’s handiwork. Rollan massacred an entire village with a summoned plague.  Left behind scrawlings on vellum suggested the Alchemist killed everyone, down to the last infant, just to see if his own laughter could stave off their demise.  Those innocent people died in agony listening to the madman crackling at their suffering.  By all accounts, Rolland had the means to poison more wells with the Sweating Sickness.  He needed to be stopped.  Egbert would either return with Rolland the Mad Alchemist in fetters or not at all.   

A glint ahead caught his eye.  Egbert’s nose told him what it was before his eyes could discern the shape.  What was left of a man-at-arms’ armor, weapons, and body lay slumped over on the side of the tunnel.

Even though the shadow cast by the nasal plate obscured most of his visage, Egbert could tell the face was bloated and had clouded eyes.  The corpse grinned.

No lips or eyelids.  Perhaps the rats got to him?

Egbert saw no obvious wounds, no tears in his surcoat or mail.  Perhaps Rolland poisoned the man with a foul concoction or miasma.    

He picked up his shield and ran his glove over the surface to scrape away dust.  The heraldry depicted an eagle with a red line down the side.

Poor Sir John the Boneless, trying to wipe the stain from his honor, ends up like this.

Egbert said a silent prayer and vowed to return in order to retrieve Sir John’s remains.  He may have lied to his liege, but his family deserved to know his fate and lay him to rest. But first, duty called.

The path ahead split.  One way slanted upward and had a stream trickling down it.  The other led further into the darkness.

Egbert thought Rollan would want to tread the lower path; it led closer to Hell after all.  But then he changed his mind.  The stream must have come from a larger source, and even murderers and poisoners needed to slake their thirsts.  

The jagged walls gave way to smooth ones.  Egbert allowed himself a tight smile of satisfaction.  Rolland’s first fortune had come from inventing an alchemical mixture that could dissolve stone, but not gold.

At first, Egbert was unsure of why Rolland would go through the effort, but it became clear the Mad Alchemist wanted a canvas.  Geometric patterns started to cover the walls, floor, and ceiling.  The way they weaved into one another made the world appear hazy, as his eyes told him the world was off kilter while his feet did not.  Egbert tried not to focus on them.  The sight of them put him ill at ease and threatened to give him a headache.  He took heart that he must be closing in on his quarry.  Near the end, carvings replaced the shapes. Egbert spotted a fish, then a frog, a lizard, a mouse, a monkey, and a man.

Up ahead, the passageway opened up into a large chamber.  Pale sunlight streamed through a massive hole.  The light was welcomed, but everything it illuminated was not.  

Egbert had found the madman’s workshop.  He gently placed his torch on the ground, unslung his shield from his back, and readied his spear.  

Tables lay scattered about the open space.  Offal stained one table red.  The knight couldn’t tell if the off-cuts belonged to a human or a beast.  A collection of jars crowded another.  One contained what looked like a worm, which stirred as he passed.  Then, he saw her, a flaxen-haired woman sprawled out on a straw mat on the far side of the cavern. He was drawn to her, but a thought prickled in the back of his mind.  This could be a trap.

Even so, Egbert could not stop himself from rushing to her side, every thud of his boots echoed against the stone floor.  When he saw her stomach rising and falling, he breathed a loud sigh of relief 

“My lady,” said Egbert, in a harsh whisper.  “My lady, please wake up.”

Egbert’s eyes frantically searched the room, looking for a clue to a possible cure.  Next to the sleeping woman stood a lectern.  Upon that, a grimoire was opened.  He stood and laid a hand on the open page, and a searing pain jolted through Egbert’s skull when he tried to make sense of the arcane script.  This was heresy inked on vellum, and perhaps something more.

Could this be Rolland in disguise?  Or bait left by him?

A voice called out, seemingly from every direction.  “Who might this be, this fly that walks willingly into the spider’s web?”

Egbert hefted his spear and lifted up his shield.  He turned around and around, but could not spot the source of the voice in the darkness.

“I am Egbert of Bitter Water.  Come out and face me!”

The voice responded with a genuine chuckle.  “Yes, the scry was accurate, and you are just as I expected.  My prayers have been answered.”

“Prayers to the devil are empty words,” said Egbert through clenched teeth, as he surveyed the shadows between the shelves cluttered with artifacts and jars filled with decayed specimens.  The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

He turned once more, and an old man stood before him, wearing fine black robes.  His long, greying beard matched his talon-like, unkept fingernails, and the man’s appearance matched the description the Lord Marshall gave.  This was Rolland the Mad.

The alchemist opened his mouth.  Egbert would not allow him to utter another spell.  The knight hurled his spear.  The tip struck in the middle of Rolland’s chest, and his quarry grunted, but instead of falling, he burst open and brackish liquid spilled everywhere.  

What were you?

“I am the truth God saw fit to forget.”

Egbert turned again, but somehow another image of Rolland remained.  The knight drew his sword again, but this time, he kept his distance.  Perhaps, if he could get the alchemist talking, the secret to his demise would be revealed.

“And what truth is that?” 

“All knowledge is holy, every thought divine.”

Egbert continued to circle.  “You said your prayers were answered.  What did you pray for?”

“That the most famous Egg in the world would come to me.  And he would help me answer the oldest question.  A question that everyone asks but no one can answer.”

“Only my friends call me Egg.  You do not have that privilege, monster.”

Rolland’s face brightened.  “Would a wife be allowed to call you egg?”

“I have no wife.”

Rolland gestured at the sleeping woman.  “What about her?  Would you like to marry her?”

What perversion is this?

“Wake her from whatever spell you have her under, let her go, and I vow that I will try to sate your lust for knowledge.”

“That can be arranged.  I will wake Hen and let her go—in a manner of speaking.”  

Rolland reached into his robes, removed an orb and tossed it at Egbert, who instinctively raised his shield.  On impact, the orb disintegrated, turning into a noxious cloud that enveloped the knight.  He tried to raise his sword to strike, but darkness took everything away.

***

Hen snapped her fingers.  “Eg, I asked you a question.”

Egg looked up from his empty plate.  The sunlight coming through the window, shining off Hen’s golden hair, nearly blinded him.  “I’m sorry.  What?”

“Will you be home before sundown?”

“Do you need me for something?”

 “Yes.  The wise woman told me tonight is a very auspicious time to conceive.”  She got up to clear Egg’s plate.  But before picking it up, she bent over to brush her lips against his.  “Will you do this for me? I promise it’ll be fun.”

“I will tell the Lord Marshall that I have other oaths to fulfill tonight.”

Hen looked over her shoulder as she placed the plates in a basin.  “It’s good to know that I come first.”

Egg thought he heard an echo of a cackle.  He drove the idea from his mind as he got his cloak.

John Chan

Jon Chan is a writer of all sorts. His journalistic work has appeared in places like USA Today and The Guardian. However, he also possesses a passion for speculative fiction. You can find his work in places like High Tower Magazine, Poetry Quarterly, and Redacted Tales. When he’s not writing about wizards and robots, you’ll find him wandering around his native New England.