This story is not intended to violate any copyrights held by MCA, Universal Studios, Renaissance Pictures or any other entity involved with the making of Hercules: The Legendary Journeys or Xena: Warrior Princess.
“Talk about scraping the bottom of the barrel,” Autolycus said to himself as he surveyed the king’s depository. The meager vault admittedly belonged to the poorest King of the most impoverished province, but Autolycus, the King of Thieves had stolen from all of the others.
He looked around at the booty to be claimed. There wasn’t much. He picked up a golden scepter with one small ruby adorning the top and set it down. Next, he pawed a crown adorned with nothing more than semiprecious stones. The choice items were hardly worth the effort to steal.
Then Autolycus noticed a door along the far wall. Several yellow ribbons were crisscrossed on the door with handwritten warning signs meant to deter any thief. Warning! Do Not Enter! Danger! A cartoonish picture of a whirlwind was painted on the door. A skull with crossing daggers was painted underneath. A chain with a heavy lock was wrapped around a large barrel of olives and around the brass handle of the door.
“Ho. Ho. Ho.” Autolycus thought when he saw the door. He rubbed his hands in anticipation. “I bet that’s where all the choice baubles are hidden.” The thief rushed toward the door regarding the warning signs with little scrutiny.
Flexing his fingers, Autolycus reached into the inside of his green tunic and pulled out his favorite lock pick. Gingerly grabbing the large lock, he maneuvered the pick inside the opening until he heard a satisfying click.
Autolycus tossed the lock into the olive barrel and pulled on the chain until it fell away from the wooden entrance. Putting his thumb on the latch, he opened the door.
Autolycus was greeted with a force he had never felt before. He was quickly being sucked into the dark room by a vortex of purple and gray. It swirled in front of him as it robbed him of his breath. He tried valiantly to hang on to the door but the force was too powerful. The thief was quickly absorbed into the eddy.
He was freefalling into the void, heading violently toward the tail of the vortex. With a sudden slam, Autolycus tumbled onto a cold stone floor and into another room.
The thief picked himself up from the floor and dusted himself off. He looked back toward the solid wall from which he had just entered. “Sheesh. Talk about a whirlwind trip. They should really do something about warning a guy not to open that door,” he said.
Autolycus looked around. He was in a large and expansive throne room. It appeared to be the room of a decidedly powerful sovereign.
A rich tapestry of a bloody battle hung on the far wall. In the center of the room was an ornately carved throne. Various armaments and colorful shields decorated the wall. Autolycus made the decision that certainly a powerful king such as this must also have a valuable cache of gold and jewels.
He rubbed his palms together. “Okay, Autolycus,“ he said to himself, “Let’s look for the mother lode,” Then he set out to find the vault.
Several doors led from the throne room. As Autolycus tiptoed along his trek, he opened a door to a dimly lit room. The sole occupant was bent over several scrolls, mumbling to himself.
The man in the room shuffled through the scrolls like a mad man. He had touted himself as “The Thief of Kings”. As a tax assessor and collector, kingdoms would hire him to find new and creative ways to fleece their citizens out of their hard earned money. But the Alternate Universe Autolycus was having a particularly difficult time reconciling the Sovereign’s latest request. After Autolycus had written several tax laws focused to victimize a local orphanage, the Sovereign asked for one more.
The Alternate Hercules had little regard for the orphanage itself, and in normal circumstances wouldn’t care if it was operating or not, but the king was smitten with one of the Hestian virgins, and hoped that he could possess her if the orphanage was in danger of closing.
A scroll fell from the table and Autolycus bent down to pick it up, as he did, he banged his head on the table. “Owe. Not again,” he said as he rubbed his head.
As he stretched for a scroll at the edge of the table, he almost fell off of his chair.
“Poor fool,” Autolycus thought as he watched the dark haired man labor over the scrolls, “I bet he’s about as dull as the scrolls he is studying.”
With the exchequer’s nose back to the scrolls, Autolycus decided it was a good time to high tail it out of the throne room and continue his search for the vault. Quietly closing the door to the small room, Autolycus didn’t know he had shut the door behind his alternate self.
The thief searched the hall and found the vault a few doors down from the throne room. He pulled out his pick and began working on the lock. Autolycus was impressed with the formidable locking device and it took the thief several minutes longer to pick the lock. Of course the complexity of the locking mechanism only fueled the thief’s belief that the vault held a store of remarkable treasures.
Autolycus opened the wooden door. He cringed at the moaning protest the heavy door made. Entering the long and narrow room, he didn’t bother to close the door behind him. He wasn’t planning on an extended stay.
A tiny path was etched between chests of gold and jewels. Autolycus picked up a bejeweled gauntlet, most likely inherited by the spoils of war. “Now that‘s what I call ruling with an iron fist,” he said noticing that each one of the knuckles was adorned with a large faceted stone.
He continued to survey the room almost salivating due to all the jewels he had discovered. Finally, the thief’s eyes rested on a treasure chest full of gold coins, rings, bracelets, and other portable finery. His hands dug deep into the chest marveling at what wonders he would pull out. Autolycus was so wrapped up in his task that he didn’t hear someone approach him from behind.
“Very disappointing, Autolycus.”
The thief turned around at the recognition of a familiar voice.
“Whoa, Hercules, buddy. What are you doing here?”
“I live here,” the Sovereign answered, “or have you forgotten that. I think we’ve chained you to your desk a little too long, Autolycus. You’re supposed to steal for me, not from me. I thought that‘s why they call you the Thief of Kings?”
“That’s King of The…Uh Oh,” Autolycus said as the scowl on the Sovereign’s face made the thief realize that something was terribly out of place. Since his unscheduled trip into the vortex, he was sure that something must be him.
“Well, that too. You are a big, clumsy oaf. ” The Hercules from the alternate universe said laughing with menace.
For the first time, Autolycus felt like a kid that had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. No scratch that, he felt like a thief with his hands caught in a treasure trove of valuable jewels. His hands moved out of the chest and quickly to his side, but not before his fingers latched onto a golden scepter.
Autolycus knew he was in trouble, and almost confessing he was the King of Thieves would not help his case in the least. He also knew the only way out of a situation like this was to talk his way out. Why, he remembered a king or two who let him go just to get him to shut up.
“Hey, Hercules. Got to say I like the facial hair…face…thingy you’ve got going there. It definitely makes you look more um…dangerous.” He said as he waved his hands nervously in front of him, “Didn’t know the son of Zeus could grow a beard.”
“First of all, only my mother calls me Hercules, and that’s only when I let her. Second of all, which by the way…is never.”
“Oh. Okay. Sure. So, what do I call you then?”
“Right now, I‘d say your executioner.” The Sovereign said as he approached the thief. The Sovereign grabbed Autolycus up by the base of the neck and lifted him skyward. “What were you doing with your grubby little hands all over my jewels?” He asked as he dangled the thief two feet off the ground. Autolycus was struggling to find his breath.
“Put it down,” the Sovereign commanded as he pointed to the scepter with his free hand.
Autolycus dropped the scepter, and then the Sovereign dropped Autolycus.
At that moment, two guards burst into the room as if on cue. The Sovereign looked at the two men, “Take this thief to the dungeon while I contemplate his punishment.”
The two guards hauled Autolycus up by the arms and began dragging him out of the royal vault to his protestations.
“An execution,” the Sovereign mused, “it’s going to be a good day. I can just feel it.” He turned and left the vault.
“Iolaus!” he called out to his assistant and resident jester as he sauntered into the throne room.
“Yes, Sovereign?” the timid jester questioned. The Sovereign plopped warily down in his throne. “Make me laugh.”
Iolaus proceeded to entertain the Sovereign by performing a series of acrobatic stunts and falls. The Hercules from the alternate world was engrossed in the spectacle, although not particularly amused when the usher approached.
“Two Hestian virgins from the orphanage request your audience, sire.”
“Get rid of them,” he answered and hastily brushed the usher away.
“How?” the usher asked.
“I’ll let you use your discretion.”
The usher was about to leave when the Sovereign stopped him, “Wait. You said they were from the orphanage?”
“Yes Sovereign.”
“Bring them to me.”
A moment later, the two women were literally pushed into the throne room by the usher and the door quickly closed behind them. The usher knew he dare not step into the room again fearing the retribution from his leader.
The few encounters the Sovereign had with these headstrong women had not been pleasant and the usher had hoped to escape the room before the Sovereign decided to take his hostility out on the messenger. It wasn’t an idle threat; he was seventh in a long line of ushers that were killed for the messages they brought.
“Stripe. Calico,” the Sovereign said as he circled the two women eying them lasciviously. “What can I do for you?”
“You’ve done quite enough, actually.” Stripe announced.
“Great,” he said as he stopped next to Stripe and gave her a lustful growl that came deep within his throat, “and I’d like to do so much more.”
Calico spoke up hoping to force the Sovereign’s unwanted attention away from Stripe. “These are children. It’s not like we’re running a wildlife park. Your ridiculous tax on beds has forced us to sleep five or six orphans to a pallet,”
“Sounds kinky,” the Sovereign responded barely taking his attention off of Stripe, “but how is that supposed to interest me? After all, I have a kingdom to run, and it takes money and women. Neither of which I was getting from the orphanage.”
Stripe protested. The Sovereign had even managed to put a tax on the most basic of necessities, like food. “You’ve also put a tax on bread and cheese. Now, we can barely feed these children.
The Jester Iolaus responded, “It was either tax the food or name it after the Sovereign,” then with a hint of genuine humor in his voice, he responded, “Can we say, ‘Sovereign Meal Bread and Herkucheese’?”
Iolaus received a disapproving look from the Sovereign and quickly cowered.
“Iolaus, go check on our new prisoner,” the Hercules from the alternate universe commanded then turned his attention back to the two virgins. “Much to my displeasure, I found my tax collector collecting more than just taxes this evening. Whatever would possess him?”
Stripe and Calico looked at each other. They had approached the Thief of Kings to elicit his help. After much cajoling from the two Hestian beauties, he had assured them he would find a way to help the orphanage. But, they thought, even through all the flattery, certainly Autolycus wasn’t stupid enough to try to steal from the Sovereign.
Autolycus was dragged into the dungeon and unceremoniously thrown into a small cell. He slid on the smattering of hay tossed on the ground and began careening head first into the gray stone wall on the other end of the cage. His forward momentum luckily stopped before he hit the wall.
He turned over and surveyed his surroundings. The cell was sparse furnished with only a chamber pot. There was no bed or chair to sit on. A colorful sign above the cell, stained with what appeared to be gruel read, “Your Tax Dinars at Work”.
Without regards to the small amount of hay scattered on the dirt floor, the ground was covered with rat droppings. Autolycus looked over to the edge of the cell to observe the owners of the excrement. Two large rats were copulating in the corner.
Autolycus made a sour face and turned away from his cell mates. As he turned, his nose brushed against a spider web. A large black spider, spinning her web at the top of the cell swiftly descended to investigate the source of the disturbance. Autolycus quickly moved away from the spider as a cockroach skittered past his feet and into the next cell.
If the cell was Spartan, then the torture chamber in the room beyond was extravagant in its accouterments. Autolycus imagined himself stripped and bound in the presence of a bad-breathed torturer, forced to watch as the irons were heated, pulleys of the rack tested and the bearings of the wheel were greased in preparation for their use on his own flesh and bones.
“Okay, I’m out of here,” he announced to himself, the spider and the two rats.
Pulling out his lock pick, Autolycus quickly reached over the bars and began playing with the lock that kept him prisoner. The angle was awkward and Autolycus had to stretch to reach the lock. His face was pressed up against the bar and his tongue mimicked the play of the pick in his hand.
A few seconds later, Autolycus heard a click from the lock. He retracted his arm and pushed the iron door open. Autolycus stopped dead cold when he heard two voices beyond the door that lead to his freedom.
“The Sovereign wants me to check on Autolycus,” the Jester Iolaus said.
The guard laughed in the same sardonic tone as he had when he threw Autolycus in his cage. “Why you?” he asked as he pulled the keys off of his belt.
Iolaus shrugged his shoulders. “You know the Sovereign. He probably wants to remind me of where I could be, you know, instead of by his side.”
The thief had to hide, and hide quickly. Finding a sarcophagus-like box in the middle of the torture chamber, Autolycus headed for the iron maiden. He forced his way into the instrument of torture and iron frame shaped like a woman. The doors closed just as Iolaus walked into the dungeon.
The guard escorted Iolaus to the middle cell. When the thief wasn‘t there, the guard quickly made a check of the other two cells, as if he had forgotten which one of the empty cages he had left the thief in.
“Where’d he go?” the guard asked scratching his beard in discomfiture. “Must have escaped when I went to relieve myself.”
“Oh, this is not good,” Iolaus said nervously to himself. “This is really not good.”
Iolaus and the guard turned around to the torture chamber. Neither Iolaus or the guard wanted to search the creepy instruments of torture, and neither could imagine even the most desperate of criminals hiding out in there.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here, This place gives me the willies,“ Iolaus said to the guard.
“Me too,” the guard pronounced.
They crept out of the dungeon wondering how they were going to tell the Sovereign that the bumbling tax collector had escaped.
When all seemed quiet, Autolycus extricated himself from the iron maiden. He spoke to the torture devise as he gingerly closed the doors that housed the adjustable spikes, “I’d like to say it was fun, but I’ve had much better times inside a woman before.”
He quickly ran toward the door and out of the dungeon. He decided to go back to the throne room and try to find the entrance back to his own world.
What do you mean Autolycus has escaped?” The Sovereign yelled at the guard. “Disappointed!”
“The only way he could escape was to pick the lock, sire,” the guard defended cowering in the same manner as Iolaus.
“Picked the lock?” The Sovereign questioned disbelievingly. “You idiot, he can’t even pick his nose.”
The Jester laughed nervously, “Oh that’s funny. That’s very funny.”
In the thief’s rush to get back home, Autolycus skidded into the throne room. He put on his brakes when he saw the Sovereign, Jester Iolaus and the guard discussing his escape. Again, he found himself in desperate need of a hiding place. He chose the room he had just past; the room that held his alternate self.
Pulling the door open he slipped into the room.
“Don’t mind me. I’ll just be a second,” Autolycus said as he turned toward the opening and peered out.
The Alternate Autolycus looked up from his scrolls. He was hearing his own voice speaking to him, and this time he knew it couldn’t be caused by the toxic fumes from the ink as the Sovereign had once claimed. This time he wasn‘t using the foul smelling ink. He pulled out his chair and walked up to the mysterious man in front of him.
Autolycus turned around when he felt the stranger’s hot breath on his neck.
Other than some dreadfully stale clothing and several days worth of beard, he was looking at his mirror self.
“Whoa, talk about déjà vu?”
“Déjà who? Name’s Autolycus. Who are you?”
“Funny you should mention that. Guess you could say I‘m you, only with a better job. And right now, your boss wants to expedite a permanent pink slip on me.”
“Ahh…” The Alternate Autolycus nodded knowingly. “Why?”
“See, here you may be known as the Thief of Kings, but where I come from, I’m known as the King of Thieves.” He looked at his alternate self, “actually, it’s kind of the same when you look at it. You steal from the poor and give to the rich and well, I just steal.”
Autolycus opened the door once again. The three men hadn’t moved.
The Alternate Autolycus went back to his scrolls. “Speaking of getting the ax, if I don’t find a way to shut down the orphanage, I’ll be on a permanent furlough myself.”
“Why does the Jerkules with the bad attitude want to close down the orphanage?”
“Because he’s in love with the head mistress, Stripe.”
“Oh yeah? Well, that makes sense. Close her orphanage. That’ll get her coming back time and time again. What he needs to do is make the orphanage a sovereign run agency, then it’ll force this Stripe to come to him anytime she needs something. That’ll keep her in his clutches,” he peered out the door again, “so to speak.”
“That just might work,” the Alternate Autolycus said.
“Good, glad to have been of help. Now you’ve got to help me get out of here.”
“Why?”
“Why? Why? Haven’t you ever heard of the Paradox Theory of Alternate Universes.” Autolycus huffed seemingly annoyed, even if he did just make it up. “I’m you and if your Sovereign gets his clutches on me then I die. If I die then you die.” Autolycus smiled to himself. At least it sounded plausible. Yet still, he didn’t want to put his made-up theory to the test.
“Good point,” the Alternate Autolycus conceded.
“Now go out and tell the Sovereign your plan.” Autolycus said as he opened the door and pushed his alternate self out, eager to get a chance to escape.
The Alt-Autolycus fell unceremoniously to the floor. Autolycus cringed in embarrassment.
“Autolycus?” the Sovereign questioned in surprise. Kill him!” he then demanded of the guard.
The guard rushed the prone Autolycus.
Autolycus said as let out a long, tired sigh as he walked out of the door, sidestepping the guard. “Then you’ll be killing the wrong person.”
“Who are you?” the Sovereign asked.
“I’m his identical half-cousin, but that’s a long story.” Autolycus said as he looked down to his alternate self. “Autolycus, tell the Sovereign your idea about the orphanage.”
The Thief of Kings was still sprawled out on the floor. He didn’t dare move. His voice was muffled from the guard’s foot pressing precariously on his neck and the sword pointed at his back. “Make the orphanage a state run agency, then Stripe will have to come to you any time she wants something. You can actually charge a legitimate tax to run it.”
With the Sovereign and the guard busy with his alternate self, Autolycus decided it might be a good time to make a break for it. The thief turned toward the wall from which he had unfortunately dropped into this universe. He rubbed his hands on his black leather pants in preparation of taking a racing stance.
“This is either going to work, or it’ll be the shortest escape attempt from the King of Thieves.” With that, Autolycus sprinted toward the wall. Six feet from the barrier, he took a flying leap.
The last thing Autolycus heard before he escaped into the purple and gray vortex was the Sovereign saying “Well, help him up you idiot,” and “Hey, where did the other guy go?”
