“Vengeance! Plague! Death! Confusion! I fear I have been struck down with the second, with the third in pending. The fourth abounds; who can I pin vengeance on?”

“Whoever has been in and out of this castle in the last fortnight, I suspect. What paper were you reading?”

“This.” He produces the paper with a flourish. “My sickness grows upon me, so first let me talk with this philosopher. He may find a cure yet.”

“Sir, you speak nobly. Men of weak virtue would rather pass on without fight. ‘Away, and let me die.’ And so forth.”

“True, my good boy.” He pauses to cover his mouth with a handkerchief, huffing mightily. “Look, sir, I bleed. Make haste.”