Zephyrs uses the rest of the grease on the wheels, paying close attention to the squeaky one, to make his cart a certified speed demon. Moving to the front of the cart, beard flapping in the wind, he stretches out his arm and whispers “let’s fly.”

Zephyrs, a vagrant who spent most of his time, prior to arrest, traversing the aqueducts of the Great City (a jug of grease does wonders for those tight spots). Arrested after a constable fell into one of his chalk optical illusions. He thought he’d spend the rest of his life in chains, until now.

Zephyrs watches the others search the floor. Instead of looking down, he looks up. No, not because of his severe concussion, he is searching for the irrigation system used to grow the corn. Once found he’ll bust open a pipe to extinguish the inferno.

Zephyrs slides over to an easel preparing to put the Baron’s likeness to canvas with paint. Zephyrs’ artistic abilities lay more in the realm of optical illusion chalk art on the city streets, usually with two arms, less grease and no blood coming out of his ears.. “Oh, I’m feeling a little woozy.”

Zephyrs staunches the bleeding wound from the limb he left in the vent. He waves to the old lady, “Oi! Please, just let me go! I won’t hurt anybody, promise, look at me, I’m ‘armless!”
He turns to the prisoners on the other side with a coy smile.
“Get it?”

Zephyrs strokes his beard. “Hmmm…”
Pulling up a sleeve he reveals a long thin arm with spindly fingers before plunging it into his jug of grease. Slowly working his arm inch by inch into the vent, eyes closed in deep concentration, he manages to work all the way to his shoulder. He gropes around.