The Amelia Project - Episode 92 - Death in Babylon (715 BC)

Episode Date: August 28, 2025

"For a man so cocky, it really is floppy." Itthobaal and Arthur are young death fakers, with a less than impressive track record... After banishments from Egypt, Nubia, Urartu, Israel, Judah, and the entire Assyrian Empire, they decide to set up camp in Babylon... The Amelia Project is a production of Imploding Fictions. This episode featured Alan Burgon as The Interviewer, Hemi Yeroham as Kozlowski, Julia C. Thorne as Alvina, Benjamin Noble as the King and Roger, Torgny G. Aanderaa as a Babylonian and Burbage, and the return of David K Barnes as Will. The episode was written and edited by Philip Thorne, with direction by Philip Thorne and Oystein Brager, story editing by Oystein Brager, sound design by Eli Hamada McIlveen, music by Fredrik Baaden, graphic design by Anders Pedersen and production assistance by Maty Parzival. It was recorded at Theme Studio in London, Nitro Studio in Oslo, and Lovetraxx Studio in Lüneburg. Website: https://ameliapodcast.com/  Transcripts: https://ameliapodcast.com/season-5  Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/ameliapodcast Donations: https://ameliapodcast.com/support Merch: https://ameliapodcast.dashery.com/  Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/theameliaproject.bsky.social Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ameliapodcast/ Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/ameliapodcast X: https://twitter.com/amelia_podcast Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

One and sip, and two, and sip, and three, and sip. Oh, hey, I'm just sipping Tim's all-new protein ice latte. Starting at 17 grams per medium latte, Tim's new protein lattes, protein without all the work, at participating restaurants in Canada. Reading, playing, learning. Stellist lenses do more than just correct your child's vision. They slow down the progression of myopia, so your child can continue to discover all the world has to offer.

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and this episode is dedicated to Ryan O'Mara whose death will be recorded in the Guinness Book of Records as he chokes attempting to chew the world's largest ever stick of chewing gum. Ryan will reappear as a polka dot designer for an international fashion house. Thank you, Ryan, and thank you to all our patrons.

Enjoy the show. Do you really think there's a future in this? Death-faking? Yes. It was your idea. I know. I'm not sure we're cut out for it. Thank you. The Amelia Project, created by Philip Thorne and Osteen-Ulsbek Braga

with music and sound direction by Frederick Barden and sound design by Eli Hamada McEleveen. You want to give up already. We have only been doing this for a year. And what have we achieved? Banishments from Egypt, Nubia, Uratu, Israel, Judah and the entire Assyrian Empire. I am used to life on the run. Well, I'm not.

You said you wanted to collect stories, change lives, travel the world. Yes, travel, not slink. What is that supposed to mean? We slink from country to country, leaving a trail of botched faces and irate rulers in our wake. Batched! You're not going to claim King Shalamaniza's face was a success. I admit the nose was a mistake. You mean noses?

But I gave him some real. lovely dimples, which nobody will see because they'll be too distracted by the two noses and oversized ears. You are exaggerating, Arthur. It's not possible to exaggerate those ears. Ah, I see. What? He got to you. Who? That silly little man in Jerusalem. Well, he was very unhappy. He had no reason to be. No? When you were done with him, he looked like a mole rat. Arthur, that man changes nothing. Whilst I was busy getting the loom installed for his new life as a weaver, he goes and starts a competing death-faking business.

Do not worry. He will not last long, and we are the only ones doing this properly. And by properly, you mean... We are experiencing some growing pains, yes. Growing pains. We will get better. Oh, you think? We are learning a new trade. It is normal to make.

mistakes along the way i suppose think of your old life what about it i am sure there was a time when you barely knew amber from alabaster a staff from a sickle don't be ridiculous caleb amber's not even a rock learning a new profession it takes patience yes well we do have patience although it should be called yucky tear juice ah with time and patience we will get better. Very well. We'll give it a few more years. That is the spirit. And how about a challenge? Oh, I love a challenge. Let's try not to get run out of town this time. Deal. I have high hopes for Babylon. So do I. I think we can make this our base. I am so excited about the start of the Akito festivities tomorrow. I wanted to find out more about their calendar. Ah yes. Explain it to me. What makes it so

special. Well, you remember my story? You mean... The stone circle. How can I forget? Yes, yes, yes, yes. Anyway, I think the Babylonians have found the solution. You see, their calendar used to follow the cycles of the moon, but they've discovered it doesn't match perfectly with the path of the sun, just like I did. You see, the moon's year is shorter than the sun's year. If they followed only the moon, their planting, harvesting, and holy days would drift out of place. So every few years, they add an extra month, so the calendar stays aligned with the seasons. Wait, wait, wait, wait. Why are you talking about calendars all of a sudden? Did I miss something? I'm telling the story backwards, remember?

Ah, so this refers to something I haven't heard yet? Yes. Okay, I'll make a mental note of it. Good. So, the Babylonians invented leap years or something? Pretty much. I mean, they added extra months, called them gifts from the gods. Shall I get back to the story? Yep. No, no, wait. Kozlovsky mentioned Akitu. Ah. What's that?

Yes. It's so much better than the Times Square ball drop. Oh, so Akito's New Year's Eve? Yes, but better. What makes it better? Well, for a start, it's not just one night. It's 12 days. Oh, that sounds exhausting. Also, it's not in winter, but spring.

Well, that sounds a lot better. Right? I mean, it makes sense, doesn't it? The season of renewal. But still, 12 days? These days, I barely make it to midnight. Yes. Huh, four o'clock already.

You're doing very well, Alvina. Shall I tell you more about Akito? Please. Well, it starts with the day of Majuk's escape. Marmaduke? Mahjouk, the most important god of Mesopotamia. Yes, they chose the biggest man in Babylon to represent him. Well, surely that was Kozlowski.

You know, he did look like Kozlowski, actually. Yes, Caleb was very jealous. I know what you're thinking, Caleb. I am admiring the temple. The glazed brick work, the vibrant colors. Oh, yes, and that very strapping fellow. Oh, that fellow? I didn't notice him.

Come on. He is handsome. Yes, he looks rather like you. Ah, you flatter me. But my beard is not as long and my body not nearly is chiseled. Oh, come now. Beards and muscles can grow.

You think I can grow into such a man? I do. And if we stay here long enough, one day you can represent Mahjuk. Mm-hmm? What is that? What? There, on the floor.

What? It's just a feather, Caleb. But look, it has sharpened. A black liquid flows from it. Is it? Yes, ink. Put that thing down, Caleb. You'll stain your tunic. Could this be a tool for writing?

Incredible. So much more convenient than scratching into clay. Oh, look, Caleb. They're about to chain him up. Majuk, adorned in golden robes, strode up the steps to the temple of Isagila, his horned crown gleaming in the bright afternoon sun. The crowd roared as priests clamped heavy bronze chains around Marjouk, a reenactment of the god's captivity and descent into the underworld.

Marjuk flexed his muscles and with a resounding crack the chains shattered like brittle clay. A hundred junior priests, their faces obscured by grotesque masks with forked tongues and twisted features, gathered on the temple steps. As the priests hissed and slithered forward, Majuk charged toward them, smashing his way through the sinister throng. Wow. Priests must have been a lot tougher back then. Hey? Oh, not really. I mean, they fled, tripping over their long. long robes and rolling down the temple steps. It was really most amusing. Well, all this sounds like a lot more fun than New Year's fireworks. Yes, but, but the highlight was still to come.

What's that? The king's humiliation. Oh? You see, the king had to strip naked and kneel down before the high priest, who struck him on the cheek, humbling him before Marjuk. Huh. A reminder that a ruler serves only at the mercy of the people. No, no, no, no, no. God's. Sorry? Serves at the mercy of the gods. Ah.

Yeah, that bit's not ideal. But I do like the humbling bit. We should do that with our politicians. Ah, yes. And then the king confesses to his personal failings. Ooh, what did he say? Well. Oh, my.

Mighty Mahjuk, I confess, I have been too generous in my distribution of wealth. The people no longer remember the days of hardship, for I have removed all traces of suffering. Slap me, priest! Stop me! Forgive me, great Marjouk, I have been overly diligent. in maintaining justice. I have spent sleepless nights ensuring no wrong goes unpunished.

My dedication to fairness has left me truly exhausted. Slap me! I admit, oh, Marjuk, that I have taken too much time training the army. For now, they are undefeated and other kingdoms dare not challenge us.

Perhaps I have made us too powerful. Slap me harder! Crumbs! What an odd ritual? Yes, false modesty and sadomasochism. Hmm, humble bragging. It's what we all do when we're asked, What is your greatest weakness, isn't it? What? Huh?

Oh, you wouldn't know, I suppose. You've never done an interview. I beg your... I mean, you've never done a job interview. Fair. And they ask that? What is your greatest weakness? Mm-hmm. And then they slap you? No, no, no, no. That's not normally part of it. Oh, right, yes. Of course.

Did Amelia ask that? Back on your silly island? Huh. You know? I really don't remember. Feels like a lifetime ago. What is your greatest weakness, Alvina? Well, I tend to be a bit of a perfectionist. I find it difficult to say no to additional responsibilities. Well, really, you, well, yes, I suppose both of those are true.

Well, what can I say? I'm the practically perfect employee in every way. Indeed you are. But enough about me. Let's get back to Babylon. What happened next? Well, next it was time for the king to be insulted by the crowd. Ooh, well, that's more like it. What did they say? You are such a boring ruler. Every war we fight, we win. Where is the suspense? Oh, Caleb, this is pathetic. He may be naked, but he's still there, king.

Mighty king! You are a tyrant. What? Over the calendar. You have made hive itself bow to your room. But how can they fear a man with such weedy arms and legs and such a pasty complexion? I mean, he's clearly never done a day's work in his life. I know, but look at it.

Without the royal regalia, he's just so puny. Keep your voice down, Arthur. Not to mention his... Arthur, shh. Oh, I mean, I knew he was overcompensating for something when I was. I saw that long scepter. Indeed. I mean, it's like a shriveled shrimp.

Arthur. Oh, come on, Caleb. You think so, too. I have to agree. And standing next to Majuk really isn't doing him any favours. It really is not. No, no, I've got an idea. Hey, hey, everyone, everyone, listen to me.

What are you doing? Oh, mighty king, if your power's so grand, why is your pecker so bland? Right, no, no, no, no, no, wait. Wait, no, no, they just need to warm up. What about this one? If your generosity is so cracking, why is your torture so lacking? Artur. While Marjuk's all chiseled, your sausage is shriveled.

They're looking at us weird, Arthur. Well, they just keep coming. What can I do? Oh, they say you're a king, but your thing doesn't swing. Arthur. I don't even know if it's standing to attention or not. Oh, you think you're a stud, but your noodles are dud. Oh, for a man so cocky, it really is floppy.

Arthur. For a man so intrepid, it really is tepid. You rule with great might, yet your tussle is slight. All right, that is enough. You have had your fun now. You're a powerful bloke, but your cock is a joke. Arthur, listen to me. If you're so damn commanding, why is your member not standing?

Your scepter is shiny, but your dick is tiny. You may have a crown, but you're endowed like a clown. You may wear a cape, but you're hung like a grape. Your temper is hot, but your penis is not. Grab that man! Huh? Do you hear me? No?

No, no, no, we have... A deal, remember. But, but I don't understand. We were supposed to humiliate him. Execute him! Execute! But it was all part of the Akito spirit. I mean, it's all fun and greek.

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good you, Arthur. What, what did I do? Never mock a man's penis. And never, ever, ever, ever mock a royal penis. But he wanted to be insulted. Not like that. I've mocked penises before. Leave the room, Arthur, for Marduk's sake. Read the room. But we were outside.

We tore across the processional square, dodging priests waving their palm fronds, sending jars of dates and stacks of wool flying, hearts pounding like Sumerian war. arms. Guards were coming at us from all sides, sandals slapping against hot stone. Kozlovsky grabbed my arm and yanked me from the blazing square into a shadowy alley. Phew. We bolted through the twisting warren of passages that wrapped around the temple district, the walls of the mud brick houses crowding in on us, the air thick with spices, incense, fish, baked clay, the sweat of the city.

We darted past shrine attendants and forgotten idols and hidden alcoves The streets got narrower, darker, smellier, the labyrinth tightening its grip Were we shaking them off or running into a trap? What have we hit a dead end? No time to think. All we could do was run and hope that somewhere, in this city of gods and demons, we'd find a crack in which we could disappear. Okay, I know this is 3,000 years ago, but I can feel my stress level

rising. Please tell me you found a crack. A potter's workshop. They want to buy a souvenir. Two large pots. Do you think we can... What? Get it inside. They are far too small. I fit. Far too small for me. Just crunch up, Caleb. Although maybe I could hide in the kiln. And burn up. Not now, Caleb. I need you. Get in that pot. This is really tight. I'm not enjoying this. I do not like confined spaces.

I scrunched up, knees drawn up to my chest, the thick clay pressing against my shoulders. The heavy thud of boots rang through the narrow alley, guards shouting orders as they rushed past. I held my breath, my heart beat pounding in my ears. One of the guards stopped so close I could hear the rasp of his breath, and I pressed myself tighter against the clay. He muttered something to another guard, then with a grunt his footsteps retreated. The noise outside faded into the distance.

Had they gone? I strained my ears, but all I could hear was my own breathing, unnervingly loud in the confined space. Were we safe? Or had they simply paused, waiting for us to come stumbling out of our hiding places like fools? No. I started to get cramp.

Well, I imagine how poor Kozlovsky must have been feeling. Caleb, do you think the coast is clear? Caleb! Caleb! Oh, my neck! Ah! God! Ah!

You've shattered the pot. You startled me. Were you asleep? I put myself into a trance. it runs. Oh, that's just a fancy way of saying you took a nap. Tire. What? Running to Mr. Roslans' house with a bag of gold. What are you? Exchanging it for a bag of feathers. Oh, good lord. Ah, simple happy days. Yes, yes. Well, wake up, Caleb. This isn't ancient Tyre. This is modern Babylon and we are being pursued by the king's guards. Or at least we were a few moments ago.

It is very quiet. Do you think they've forgotten about us? It sounds like the Akito festivities have started again. Yes, yes, it does. Oh, Majuk be praised. The king has seen past my harmless jibes. I want to make sure. I will climb on the roof to see what is happening.

Yes, yes. Oh, his dick may lack size, but his judgment is wise. Oh, if you have a thick skin, so what, it's a pin? Arthur, have you not learned your lesson? What, I'm praising him? It may be a twig, but his heart is big. The crowds have gathered around the temple again. Oh, he's got a short staff, but he can take a laugh.

Who cares about girth when you've got so much mirth? Marduk is there? Oh, what is a small member when you've got a good temper? His snake may be shy, but he holds his head high. He is handing something to the crowd. Who cares it's not swinging when you're so damn forgiving? Bad so something, they seem excited. Who needs a great whopper when your intentions are proper?

Who cares if it's puny when... Oh! What? Oh, no. What is it, Caleb? This is bad. What? Very bad.

Caleb, you're scaring me. I thought we were safe. I think we are. Well, but then I don't understand. Are we safe or not? Yes, I believe you are off the hook. But? But that poor man is not. Which man?

Come up here. Oh, right, I'm coming, I'm coming. Babylon sprawled out beneath us, the mighty Euphrates slicing through the city. Its muddy waters sluggish under the weight of the heat. The temple of Isagila rose above the maze of buildings. its cigarette dominating the view. The music had started again. Chants and hymns, mingling with flutes,

tambourines and drums. All right, what are we looking at? I believe Marduk is passing around bags of rocks. Right? See that man on the temple steps? Yes. Oh yes. Oh, from a distance he looks rather like me, doesn't he? Oh

Oh We have been very lucky But someone else has not They caught someone that they thought was me Oh, this is terrible We have to leave I do not wish to witness this Why, why, what will they do?

What do you think? Have a severe word? Why do you think Marduk is passing around rocks. Well, I mean, that depends on the type of rock, really, doesn't it? If they are rose quartz, maybe they will hold them to their temples to encourage compassion and emotional balance.

Right. Or if they're amethysts, they might clench them between their buttocks to fend off constipation. But if it's granite... Oh, Arthur. Right. Arthur, Arthur! Yes, sorry, sorry, new chapter. Yes, no more rock talk. But you did ask. They are going to stone that

poor man to death. Oh. I envy your innocence sometimes. Let us go. You should not have to see this. But... It's my fault. How is it your fault? How is it not my fault?

That man will die because of me. Do not be too hard on yourself, Arthur. Why would you say something like that? I am responsible for his death. Well, I suppose that is true, but... But think of how many people you have saved. What? Think of how many people you have saved

and given fulfilling new lives. Well, not many. I mean, we slink from failure to failure. I do not like that word. What, failure? They are not failures. They are Pharaoh Capacaman, not a failure? No.

The embalmers whisked him away for mummification before we had the chance to replace his real body with his replacement corpse. We did manage to free him before they removed too many internal organs. And he did sleep through most of it Oh yes, yes, I suppose you're right I mean I can't believe that he didn't wake up really When they poked the brain hook up his nose

I mean that must have tickled A success My sleep tonic was a success Yes, but my point is the lives I've saved Well, I mean I can count them on my little finger And he was a tyrant But think of how many lives you will save You really think

Yes, one day we will be the best in the business Oh, best in the... Oh, good Lord, you're serious. I beg you, Arthur, do not watch this. It will be too upsetting. You're right. I can't watch. Let us go.

I must act. What? Hey, hey, you've got the wrong man. I'm here. I'm here. I'm here. Can't help me, Kailu. Get off me.

You cannot do this, Arthur. I have to. They will kill you. So what? I cannot allow that. I cannot lose you. I cannot lose a friend. Not another one, not again.

An innocent man were done. Yes, but it is too late. We are too far away. There is nothing we can do. They have started throwing stones. No! Wow! This is horrible.

I know. They stoned the guy? You can't do that. It was a very common method of execution back then. No, I mean, you can't do that. Well, I tried to intervene, but... No, no, no. I mean, you can't do that.

You can't start a story with penis rhymes and end with a stoning. I mean, what is this story? Ah, but... This is messed up. It's not over. Well, for the poor guy it is. Well... I mean, they threw rocks, right?

Yes. And they hit? Oh, yes. And you and Kozlovsky were on a rooftop far away, unable to intervene? Well... Oh, stop saying well, it's annoying. Listen, should we go back to Babylon? To the stoning?

Yes, right to the temple square. I'm not sure I want to. I think you will find it very interesting. Well... Hmm? All right. All right. Ha!

Oh, Burbage! Hmm! Me thinks thou didst clip his ear? Did I? Aye. I heard his squeal. More realistic, is it not? Shall we verify his condition?

Aye. Ah, ah, ah! Thou hast clipped mine ear, thou knave. Oh, I told thee, Burbage, doth it bleed? Thou art fortunate that thy ear was but nicked. When Burbage played Macbeth, he nearly cleaved my head. More realistic, is it not? Where is kid? He is gathering the players. Good. Oh, we must hence from this place with speed swifter than Mercury's flight. Hold, I prithee. I cannot find mine

quill. Methinks I let it fall somewhere. No, there is no time, Burbage. This is a matter of life and death. What? Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, what's happening? This doesn't sound like BC Babylon. This It sounds like, like, like... My good fellow, my good fellows, you are returned. My good fellows, you're returned. I, and in time for the second act as we vowed. How fair do ye? I would dwell in this Raymond for eternity.

Will thou not craft me a play wherein I may don this attire? And who dost vow, claim to be? Why, the mighty God, my Duke? I shall ponder it. But pray, the stones went all according to design? Yes, but Burbage nicked mine ear. Ah, verily Burbage is renowned for landing executions a touch of truth. I bear the bruises to prove it.

Well, happily, there are no deaths in this midsummer night stream. Go don't vi donkey's head, Burbage, and Roger, Don Vy, Vy dressed. Surely thou meanst a midwinter night's dream. Oh, pray, tell me the stones. Ah, I had to ward of many a zealous Babylonian and ensure that only Roger, Burbage, Samuel, Thomas, Kemp and Hemings received the stones. Or rather the sea sponges from Margate Beach. Ha ha! ha! ha! Ha! ha! ha! Verily!

After drying and draining the sponges for weeks on end, they did appear as rocks. Yet they hit Arthur's body like a feathers touch upon a padded vest. Indeed, yes. Save for the rock that nicked mine ear. I bestowed upon Burbage a genuine sack of stones with strict command to strike wide of the mark. The true stones lent the sound and force of a veritable stoning. Elsewise, t'would have been a woeful illusion indeed. Oh, master, kid, thou art a master of stagecraft.

I thank thee, master of Shakespeare. I must need, haste, gentlemen, for I am summoned to the stage. Yet, we shall resume our tales this evening at the Lusty Maiden. The Lusty Maiden? Where is the... Oh, you mean the Merry Wedge. Farewell! Farewell!

So you used Leonardo da Vinci's time machine. to save that poor man. Yes, I had the idea after seeing Burbage beat Kozlovsky in a game of Coit. I had never forgotten that poor man and I desperately wanted to go back and save him. Although.

Although? Do you think you did? Did what? Save him. Of course we did. I know, it's just... Yes? You don't think that maybe

What? Think what? So, the man being stoned. Yes. Do you think it's possible that it might have been you all along? Oh, oh right. Well, he did look like me. And you said the magic man looked like Kozlovsky.

So, wait, so you think when we were on that roof, we were witnessing our own intervention? Well, maybe. So we didn't actually save anyone. Well, you saved yourself. It's just... What? So in that case, Kozlovsky and I didn't choose to travel back, but rather...

It was predetermined? Yes, I suppose so. But no, no, no, it can't be. I mean, I distinctly remember Kozlovsky and I coming up with the plan over tankards of ale at the merry wench. It was a joyous evening. You mean the lusty maiden, right? The what? Back when you told me the story of Will, the tavern was called the lusty maiden.

The lusty maiden. Are you sure? I mean, that story was many hours ago, but... Yes, I think so. Yes, I think you're right. I do seem to remember calling it that. You know what, Alvina? I have a theory.

Do you now? You see, between acquiring the time machine in Renaissance Florence and losing it at the bottom of the ocean in 1783... Yeah, I still can't believe you lost it. Oh, neither can I. Yes, what a sad day that was. Anyway, you see, we went on many trips. Some long before my birth.

Oh, one day I'll tell you the stories of Dido, Queen of Carthage. The Tower of Babel, Theseus and the Minotaur, the Shang Dynasty, the Trojan Wars. Yeah, all right, all right, that all sounds great, but my head hurts already. For now, let's stick with this story, okay? Yes, fine, yes, of course. Well, you see, the thing is, after each one of our trips, things weren't quite the same when we came back. Oh? I mean the changes were mostly minor

and at first I put them down to lapses of memory But now that I look back I'm convinced that every travel back and forth changed certain details Hmm I mean that does make sense Right If you change the past

It probably creates a ripple through time and changes the future I mean when we travelled to the Jurassic period Wait what I swear we set off in winter and returned in spoon. You travel to the Jurassic period. We can't have stayed that long because the time machine only lets you return within a period of 24 hours. You travel to the Jurassic period. And that's not the only instance of time being out of whack. No, no, no, no. No, you remember Legacy said he saw me in Golivine in January 2020, but I only arrived in Golivine in...

You travel to the Jurassic period. What? Oh, yes, we faked the death of a triceratops. You travel to the... Okay, okay, focus, Alvina. Babylon, okay. Yes, you're right? The thing is, Yes? If your trips into the past affected the future,

then presumably you had a choice in the matter after all. Um... I mean, if it was all predetermined... Yes. Nothing would change. Right? Um... Right?

But I... Oh. Well, 3 o'clock already. I'm sure this will all make a lot more sense after a good night's sleep. A nice breakfast and a large cappuccino. Yes.

Maybe we just have to accept it. Accept what? The time is not a rigid thing that goes only in one direction. It is not so much a river than a landscaped car park with a Minoan temple and a petting zoo. You know what? What? That makes perfect sense. Well, at least something does.

Stay tuned for the epilogue, but first the credits. The Amelia Project is a production of imploding fictions. This episode featured Alan Bergen as the interviewer, Hemi Yiroham as Kozlowski, Julia C. Thorne as Alvina, Benjamin Noble as the King and Roger, Torgany G. Ondero as a Babylonian and Burbage, and the return of David K. Barnes as Will. The episode was written and edited by Philip Thorne with direction by Philip Thorne and Aestine Braga, story editing by Aestine Braga, sound design by Eli Hamada McElvey Music by Frederick Barden, graphic design by Andersen and production assistants by Marty Percival.

It was recorded at Theme Studio in London, Netro Studio in Oslo and Love Tracks Studio in Lunabur. If you listen to this show regularly, consider paying us for the work we do. It's how we can keep telling stories and keep it free. Thanks to all the patrons who are already supporting us without you, the show would disappear and reappear as a late-night TV ad promoting immortality. In return for your support, there are all sorts of perks like early access, ad-free listening, bonus content, and a behind-the-scenes video about the making of this very video. of this very episode. Check out ameliapodcast.com for more info. As ever, thanks to our super patrons

at the time of recording. That's wish me luck. Michaela Sullivan, Celeste Joes, Heat 3-on-2, Albana, St. Amley and Allison, Stephanie Weidnella, Raphael, Eduardo Vivas Verastaki, Allison, Patricia Bourne, Wagner, Bryce, Cliff Heisinger, Michael West, Tim McMacken, Mr. Squiggles, Tony Fisher, Tibby, Florian Byers, Curtney Mays Renson, Boo, Astra Kim, Olivia Dodson, Philip Hansen, Michael, David, Smith, Alicia Hall, LG, Ryan Burnett, Super Cali, Fragilistic, Exby, Alex, Nicol, Timoteas, Doctimus, Miss Nixie, Sybil, Tiffany, Duffie, Jason Wood, Ryan O'Mara, Christine Bayuga, Stefan Hartinger, Lucille, Farrell, Lydia Ames, Anonymous, Blyvani, Iris, Jade Pickering, Daniel, Niss and Matthew with two T's, the first T is silent. Kelsey Page, Silas X,

Isabella Arzino, G, the Blue Sky, Canol, Criptid, Mez, Ethan Cobb, Heldon, Incart, and Atiya Makada made it. Thank you all so, so much. We really appreciate it. And now, the epilogue. Hmm. Oh yes. Well, now, if we couldn't have that part.

Thou Riki pox-marked miscreant. Well met, Master Burbage. A merry greeting, I must say. What business hast thou in my prop workshop at so late? Thou clay-brained, idle-headed clot-pole. Dost thou not recall mine words? Disturb me not whilst I labour. Behold, I conjure a tempest most wondrous,

to fill the stage with thunderous roars and flashes of fire whilst wrenching the groundlings in the pit below. I care not, thou spongy, hasty-witted scullion. Why dost thou fume so, Burbush? Why dost thou think, thou don't? I know not. Truly. Ah, is it about Roger's padded helm?

Fye, I know thou dost treasure truthfulness in thine art, but I could not bear to see the poor fool batter the new with each night's performance. Thou hast padded Roger's helm? Indeed, but now thou canst smite him with even mightier blows. t'will cause no harm. That is not the matter of my complaint. Tis not. Then I am confounded.

Thou art a thief. A thief, thou sayest. I do pilfer an unpaid tavern pill on occasion, and pull a prank or two, but to steal. Nay, sir. Oh, the gall of thee! I know not thine meaning. Now makeest no effort to constern.

conceal thy crime. Conceal what, prithee? A quill in thine hand, villain! Oh, this quill? Thou thinkest it thine. Thou art mistaken, for this quill is mine own. Thou art a false-tongued, deceitful rogue. I have possessed this quill for many a decade. It hath been a steadfast comrade to mine ink-stained hand. It had served me well. It had served me well, in crafting plans for escapes from dungeons, penning recipes for mysterious elixirs, designing false gallows and recording my own ponderings. Each contrivance upon the stage devised for Master Will

did first take shape as a sketch born from this very quill. I'll claim to have persisted for decades. Well, millennia, if truth be told, What say'st thou? I, I have owned this quill since well before thine birth. Oh, the audacity. Tess truth. Whence didst thou come by it?

I cannot recall with precision. I did chance upon it during one of mine many voyages. Before we did make our boat here at the globe, Arthur and I were much given to roaming. Well, thou speakest folly. I held that quill in my own hand this very much. morning. Nay, tis false. I used it this very morning to sketch a harness for Ariel's flight. Nay, nay, I used it to pen Julius Caesar. Julius Caesar did not well already pen that play. Aye, thou didst play Julius thyself. I recall thou wert none too pleased to be stabbed in act

three. In my own version, Caesar doth live. Closer to truth, in fact. Seek's vengeance. Ah, that is not how it did unfold. What? Nothing. Thou art certain tis this very quill thou didst wield? Certies! It doth rest light and firm twixt nine fingers. It's nib like a fine dagger,

cutting lines as precise as the spider's web, yet broad when the flourish calls. Each stroke flows like the ink itself were alive. No blot, no smudge. It bears the delicate grace of the swan from whence it came. It endures each stroke as steadfast as the last. Truly none hath seen a finer instrument. Verily a most apt description of this quill, but tis still mine. Then why doth it bear a bee on the shaft thy rogue?

A bee? Yes, now let me see. Oh yes. Of course. Ah, ha, before Babylon. Tis what I found it. So thou admits it! Thou filched it from me this very afternoon during a merry charade. Today, nay, I discovered it long, long ago.

Ah, now I see the confusion. Hmm. Burbage Speak, kid I give thee this quill Oh, Jupiter be praised I vow I have tended it with utmost care

Through the ages Verily tis A marvel that such a quill Hath withstood the test of time What say'st thou? Nothing, master Burbage Nothing Now go, write thy play

But might I offer a suggestion I? What if Julius Caesar doth fake his death And assumeth the role of a salad chef? Huh? Food for thought. Farewell, master kid. Fare thee well, Master Burbage.

Hmm. Ah, a strange day indeed. As will doth say, time travel. in diverse paces with diverse persons. Of all the mysteries, I shall ne'er grasp the riddles of time. The Fable and Falling Network, where fiction producers flourish. Now look here. Wooden Overcoats is bad.

Coats is back. Enjoy yourselves! For one night only. Just a minute. On September the 7th, we're performing at King's Place in London to celebrate our 10th anniversary with a brand new episode. Never seen before, never heard before. Rudyard ruins everything.

Hip hip! Hey! Hipim! See our funniest funeral live before your very eyes at King's Place on September the 7th. or book yourself a streaming ticket so you can join the party online anywhere in the world. Tickets are available on the King's Place website or at wooden overcoats.com. We want this to be the biggest birthday party ever and we need your help. Spread the word, tell everyone and book your tickets now

because we're going back to Piffling. Enjoy yourself.