Darren Craske - The equivoque principle

'Not at all, Bishop,' said Renard. He pulled the hessian sack from behind his back, and offered it to Courtney. 'Quite the opposite in fact.'

'But…but, Mr Reynolds…surely you don't mean-'

'Look, if you don't want your bloody elixir, by all means-just let me know and I'll take it away,' said Renard in a playful tone.

Courtney nearly choked with anticipation. 'My Lord! You've done it, you've actually done it,' he exclaimed, the paleness of his fat, greasy face accentuating his beady little eyes. 'How? I mean…however did you find it so quickly?'

'Just a stab in the dark,' said Renard, as he placed the sack-covered box upon the table in front of the Bishop. He untied the neck, and let the rough material fall open.

The Bishop's eyes lit up like Roman candles as he saw the dusty box before him. His lip quivered as he traced his fingers over the lid. 'A very apt engraving,' he said, examining the silver leaf, figure-of-eight design. 'The symbol for Infinity-just like the gift that the consumer enjoys.' The Bishop's breath was panting furiously now, as if he'd just run up several flights of stairs. 'How do you open it, Mr Reynolds?'

'Ah, if you don't mind, Bishop, I'd rather we concluded our business first,' said Renard, placing his hand on top of the box's lid. 'After all, you'll soon have eternal life…it's not like you're in any rush, is it?'

The Bishop couldn't tear his eyes away from the box, as if it were calling his name repeatedly. 'Of course…of course,' he said distractedly, and he shuffled over to a large oil painting on the wall of Saint Peter at the gates of Heaven. After a few anxious seconds of feeling his finger around the underneath of the frame, the painting swung slowly outwards, revealing a large metal safe behind it.

'My thanks to you, Mr Reynolds, for services rendered,' Bishop Courtney said, handing Renard a small leather briefcase. 'Without your savvy, I don't think I would have been able to achieve so much. Can I not convince you to stay awhile to watch me open my prize?'

Renard weighed the briefcase up in his hands. 'Well, maybe I will for a little bit. Perhaps I can get your driver to drop me off in Whitehall?'

'Whitehall, eh? Yes, I'm sure Melchin would relish the fresh air. Won't you come closer and join me in toasting our victory?' said Bishop Courtney, hastily pouring Renard a goblet of wine. 'To the future!' he said, lifting his goblet into the air.

'And your very good health, your Grace,' said Renard.

'Indeed! A good health for all eternity,' chuckled Courtney to himself. 'This elixir does have properties other than longevity, you see. Once I consume the liquid, I will be infused with God's light, healing any conditions that I may have, yet ensuring I can never again get sick. It stops time, you might say, to ensure that I shall always remain in the peak of health for all eternity.'

'You know, once word gets out, everyone's going to be gunning for you, trying to get their hands on this stuff.'

'Then I shall have to make sure that I keep it a secret, Mr Reynolds, won't I? Now, onto business,' muttered the Bishop. 'Lord, please be with me. I do this in your name,' and with a broad grin spreading across his face, he delicately lifted the lid of the wooden box, and peered inside.

The box contained a lush, dark-purple velvet interior, with twelve inlaid pockets. Seated within one such pocket was a single glass vial. Topped with a cork stopper, and decorated with minute golden ivy leaves, the vial looked like something from a fairytale. The plump Bishop snatched it up with his stubby fingers, and held it towards the light.

'Only the one vial?' Bishop Courtney said, poking around inside the box. 'I…I had expected to find more. The box has twelve indentations.'

'Well, it ain't been opened since I left Crawditch-like I said, Bishop-I didn't want to open the thing and it blow up in my face.' Renard rubbed a rough hand over his jaw. 'I got me looks to think of you know, and anyway-what do you need with twelve vials of the stuff? You get eternal life no matter how many you have!'

'Hmm, well…I suppose you are quite correct, Mr Reynolds…one vial is all I need,' the Bishop said, holding the small glass vial up to the light.

'Looks just like the other one, you know-the one you've got inside your cross,' said Renard, admiring the sparkling clarity of the liquid inside the vial.

'Indeed it does, yes…' agreed Bishop Courtney, 'the other sibling to the twin.'

'You can name them Cain and Abel, eh?' laughed the Frenchman.

'I didn't have you down as a man of scripture,' said Courtney, as he carefully uncorked the tiny stopper, and lifted the vial to his lips, pausing to savour the moment. 'To your good health, Mr Reynolds,' he said, eyes closed, feeling the warmth of the liquid trickling down his throat. He licked his lips deftly, and opened each eye slowly, looking around his surroundings as if expecting to be transported to another realm.

Renard stepped a little closer. 'How do you feel, Bishop?'

'Wonderful!' The Bishop licked his lips, his eyes twinkling brightly. 'Simply wonderful,' he announced, lifting his arms into the air. 'I can feel it, Mr Reynolds, like a gentle trickle of energy flowing through my veins. It's simply wonderful.'

Eyeing the Bishop carefully, Renard teased at his lower lip with his teeth.

'Mr Reynolds, come join in my celebrations…I feel alive for the first time in years,' cheered the Bishop.

'No thanks.' Renard stood back and leant against the wall, watching the portly Bishop twirl and swirl about the room like a ballerina, as the portly man's face beamed with elation, his eyes afire with a spark of something akin to sheer, unadulterated wonder. Almost stumbling over to Renard, he clasped at the gaunt man's fake priestly robes excitedly. His eyes were wide, and his pupils like pinpricks, and a fine, greasy coating of sweat decorated his corpulent face. It was as if the elixir that coursed through his veins had suddenly lit a fuse inside of him. The man stood in the centre of his apartment, his eyes now closed, just letting the feelings wash over him.

Suddenly, the Bishop was racked by a harsh cough, taking his breath away and bending him over double, and his eyes snapped open. He coughed again, a throaty, phlegm-hackle that made Renard wince. The Bishop stared down into his open hand. A thick, congealed puddle of blood sat there, and the Bishop's stare widened. He glared at the pool of dark blood, as if it couldn't possibly have come from his own body.

'Something's wrong,' he gasped, wiping a trail of blood emanating from his mouth. He pulled his handkerchief from his sleeve and dabbed at the blood, but more was coming after each dab. This was no bitten tongue, or weeping ulcer; the Bishop could feel this dark blood seeping from the pit of his stomach. Each cough spewed it up through his throat, and it splattered onto the tiled floor. Staring in bewilderment at the pool below him, the man fell to his knees. 'Reynolds…help me, something's wrong with the elixir. It feels…feels like…it's burning me up from the inside…eating away at me.' The Bishop clutched madly at his throat, pulling at his dog-collar, and clawing frantically at Renard. 'Reynolds! Help me…I beg of you!'

'Get your hands off, monsieur,' Renard said fiercely, swatting the Bishop's hands away from him. 'You're bleeding all over me.'

'What are you…doing? Help me, man,' squealed the Bishop indignantly, grasping the crucifix that hung from a leather strap around his neck. 'Antidote!' he wheezed, desperately trying to unscrew the cross. 'Reynolds, listen to me!'

A wide, satisfied smile spread across Renard's face. 'Hurts, does it, Bishop?'

'But I…I don't understand, man…the elixir…burns like acid.' The Bishop's eyes now bulged horrifically, and tiny blood corpuscles burst like miniature red spiders across the iris, flooding the eyeball with a bright crimson wash of colour. 'What's…wrong with me? You need to help me…take antidote.'