Ficlets

I knocked hesitantly on the door in front of me, the wood rough beneath my knuckles. There was a crash from behind it, and then someone let loose an oath. Then, he started yelling.
“I did not mean to start the Great Fire of London in 1666, Achilles should’ve stretched, because how was I supposed to know where that arrow was going to go? And how was I supposed to know that someone had put arsenic in Napoleon’s wine?”
The door was yanked open and when Merle saw it was me, he blinked, adjusting his glasses on his nose.
“You started the Great Fire of London?” I asked incredulously.
“I didn’t mean to, he grumbled. “Little twit knocked over the lantern I had with me.”
I frowned. “I thought that some baker—”
“They told you wrong then ,didn’t they? Whaddaya want?”