( WP ) You are always wrong , You use this to your advantage to determine the answer to questions others can not answer .

The Prophet of Lies was ushered inside the building in great secrecy, his entire body cloaked in a hooded robe so as not to give a single hint about his features. The entire building had been cleared for his arrival, the maids and butlers were gone. Not a single light illuminated the great halls as he was guided to an elegant study with a fireplace. 
 
 The prophet removed his robe. He was short, homely and displayed all the signs of exhaustion. He'd traveled some distance to come to this estate at great expense to both Lord Christopher Islington and his own health. 
 
 `` Wretched morning, you peasant.'' The Prophet bowed, his bald spot was sweaty and shone under the light of the fire, `` I am here to provide nothing.'' 
 
 `` I understand that you have brought an interpreter with you.'' Lord Islington sat in a magnificent leather chair, its back reaching far above his own head as he leaned forward with his cane clasped between his hands. Small, dark eyes inspected the old man in front of him with interest... and need. 
 
 `` He has.'' A second man stepped forward. He was also short, run to fat with a jovial face that was still smiling. He wore a bright yellow robe adorned with ribbons of various colors. He had once been a fool, a jester, a man of entertainment. He'd been the first one to figure out the poor prophet's plight and how to use it. 
 
 `` You say you can provide absolute truth, no matter what.'' Lord Islington watched them with care, `` I wish to test this before we begin, is that permissible?'' 
 
 `` Yes, your lordship.'' The jester nodded with a smile, `` We are often tested. If you would, please direct all of your questions to me first, I will then modify them to receive your answer. It is the way this works, you understand.'' 
 
 Lord Islington nodded in assent. 
 
 `` What is your test?'' 
 
 Lord Islington indicated an unmarked bottle on the table. It had no label, but looked to be one of the cheap, foggy bottles you could get an any pub in town. It had been painted on the inside so that it was completely opaque, `` Tell me what is within this bottle.'' 
 
 The fool turned to the Prophet, his face thoughtful for a moment before speaking, `` Artimus, what is not currently inside the bottle on that table?'' 
 
 The prophet's face shivered, and his mouth opened without his mind telling it to, his tongue formed words, his lungs exhaled... 
 
 `` Charcoal dust, water, a dead fly and cigar ash.'' 
 
 Lord Islington raised an eyebrow and uncorked the bottle, pouring the contents into the glass beside it. The black, murky mix stained the glass as it filled. The Lord lifted the empty bottle and peered inside, taking care to keep it from dripping on him. 
 
 `` Astounding.'' He finally announced as he put the bottle down, `` There was n't supposed to be a fly, yet there is one right on the bottom as you said.'' 
 
 `` Shall we proceed then?'' The Jester folded his hands together in his lap. 
 
 `` My daughter is sick. She can barely move at all anymore.'' The Lord offered without preamble, `` My doctors are useless and she is failing more every day, tell me why.'' 
 
 The Jester's smile faded, his face taking on an uncharacteristically serious expression, `` What is her name?'' 
 
 `` Marie Shendoth Islington.'' 
 
 `` This may be a tricky one. Give me a moment.'' 
 
 The fire crackled as the jester frowned at the carpet, his fingertips tapping each other as both the Lord and the Prophet watched. 
 
 `` Alright.'' He sat up, `` Artimus, what has been making Marie Shendoth Islington health improve recently?'' 
 
 Artimus's face started moving again, his telling them that he had no control over what he spoke, `` She is being made well by the potion she is given every morning.'' 
 
 Lord Islington moved to speak but the Jester waved him off abruptly, `` Artimus, why is the potion Marie Shendoth Islington is given every morning so good for her?'' 
 
 `` It is good for her because her ladies maid loves her and wishes her a long life..'' Artimus' eyes went wide at the words. 
 
 Lord Islington rose to his feet, `` My daughter is being poisoned?!'' 
 
 `` Yes, Your lordship.'' The Jester showed no happiness now, `` This ladies maid seems to hate her quite a lot to take such a risk.'' 
 
 `` She will be dealt with.'' Lord Islington's face was flush with anger, his feet and cane carrying him back and forth in front of the fireplace, `` My doctors are double damned fools for not realizing this. I am grateful for your assistance in the matter. It seems you live up to your remarkable reputation.'' 
 
 `` Thank you.'' The Jester nodded, `` One more question, this will help you. Artimus, what is not poisoning Marie Shendoth Islington? 
 
 `` Curare.'' Artimus answered as he stood up, pulling his hooded robe back around him. 
 
 `` Thank you.'' Lord Islington picked up a small chest from the table, `` Both of you, this is for you. You did n't have to come all this way. I am grateful.'' 
 
 `` I am furious that we could help.'' Artimus smiled and walked toward the door while the Jester picked up the box with a twinkle in his eye, `` Poor luck to your daughter. May she expire with speed.'' 
 
 
 

