“Well, that should just about do it,” Tim remarked as he finished prepping a small side closet he had found near the archive break room. The closet itself was large enough to fit a few people and some alchemy equipment and would hopefully work well enough for Tim’s plans. “Philbert, any news on the volunteers? We’re kind of running on a time limit here.”

“They shall be here soon, soon enough,” The rat whispered as he poked his beady little head out of his home in Tim’s shirt pocket. “Is the equipment ready, my good friend?” Tim looked down at the rat. Something was different. Was it becoming wider? Best not to mention it.

He ran his eyes over the modifications he had made to the door, mentally checking off each wooden board nailed into the closet door and each damp cloth hanging over the opening, all in an attempt to lesson any fumes that might waft out of the room. “It’s as ready as it can be. As long as your volunteers follow my instructions to the letter and we stand back as far away as possible, it shouldn’t kill us. The volunteers, probably. But not us. Unfortunately, this is the best we can do with the time and materials we have. We don’t have any better ways to seal the room aside from magic, which is something that I can’t do, and something Dimitre assures me that his leader wouldn’t be able to help with anyways. Something about only learning combat magic.”

A faint squeak of assurance drifted toward Tim’s ears as his ratty companion sunk back into his pocket. Behind Tim, another rat brushed up against Dimitre’s leg, letting out a squeak of greeting and extending its ribbon-wrapped neck for the demon to inspect.

“Tim, more news from the others,” Dimitre rumbled as he unfolded the tiny letter. “Lord Mavier brings tidings that your men are nearly finished hiding the weapons at that accursed fortress of stone.”

“Excellent.” Tim hissed as his eyes narrowed with glee, “Were there any complications en route?”

“Nothing of note. Lord Mavier did mention a few bandits trying their luck, but they were cut down by a few of my brothers that were dispatched to ward away that very possibility.”

“Good. While I’m sure Bert and his boys could have dealt with them alone, it always pays to not have to take any chances. Anyways, send word back to Mavier. Since we don’t have to worry all that much about keeping those volunteers alive, I estimate the gas will be done in three or so days, assuming little goes wrong with the mixing processes. Once Bert hauls it to the Bastille, we’ll be good to start the next step of the plan.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Several hours later, and any casual patron of the library of Drassington would be met with the rather strange sight of four expressionless guards, all clad in full plate armor, stiffly knocking on the engraved doors leading down into the archives. A few minutes of constant knocking later the door opened suddenly and two of the guards fell inside with a clatter. The other guards were dragged into the now-open archive doors by an odd fellow wearing suspiciously ragged scholars’ robes.

Most strange indeed.

“Follow me, boys.” Tim ordered as he marched back down the familiar dim paths of the archives. Behind him the four men shuffled forwards, making not a single sound other than the clanking and clattering of their plate armor that echoed all across the unending aisles and stalwart bookshelves. The odd group made their way deeper and deeper into the archives, until they were eventually met by the warm light emitted from the breakroom.

Tim turned to the four guards. “I hope you lot know what you’re getting into?” He questioned, raising his eyebrows when none of them attempted to reply.

“Tim, Tim, there is no point in questions,” Philbert whispered from his pocket, “they cannot answer.”

“Alrighty then, as long as they can follow simple instructions, I can handle a bit of silence. You lot, split into groups of two. One group needs to prep the pesticides, and the other needs to move the alcohol in place. Pesticide group, I assume that Philbert gave you the rundown, but I’ll repeat myself just in case: be careful with that shit. We only care about it because it has something called ‘organophosphorus’ in it, but I don’t want to be forced to buy more if you spill it.”

The guards silently nodded and split up to complete their respective tasks. Hm. Decent enough, Tim thought as he observed their actions. Their movements are a bit… jerky, but not too much as to cause risk to the mixing processes later. The real question is how long they can last during that process. According to the books, sarin is a silent killer, and it almost looks like it puts its targets to sleep. Sleep, and then death. Philbert did assure me that wouldn’t be a problem, and he hasn’t let me down yet, but it’ll be interesting to see how he plans to work around the fumes.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Tim turned his focus to the demon hiding in the shadows. “Dimitre, it looks like one of my friends gave those guards a through talking-to. There shouldn’t be any issues that pop up if they see you. Just make sure to keep an eye on the archives doors and guard this area well. If anyone ventures too close to that closet or the break room, I’ll have to trouble you to deal with them.

Though it grated his nerves, Dimitre could endure following Tim's direction. The madman was very useful, and after what his brothers had been through to get to this point, the demon could tolerate anything for his goals. He briefly stepped out of the shadows of a bookcase, nodding his head and tightening his sword-belt. He almost hoped that someone would try to investigate. After all, how else would he be able to test out his repaired scimitar before the battle began?