Snippets of Writing

14.

For the half of a century no mortal has touched them. In pace requiscat!

I looked once upon the wall of impenetrable stone with its macabre decoration of human bones, then hastened through the chill of the catacombs back to my palazzo, eager to escape the ominous darkness.

When I emerged from the vaults of my ancestors and made my way back to the great hall of the palais, I made sure that no specks of dust remained on my roquelaure. The trowel that I carried remained in a niche in the catacombs only I knew about.

I emerged in my great hall from behind a tapestry that covered the entrance to a network of passages that ran unseen through the palazzo. Three people stood in the great hall: a petite blond woman, a tall and stately lady with raven hair, and a young man, the mirror image of her, who stood behind her. The women wore impressive regal gowns, decked in Carnival regalia, and the man was clad in militaristic garb with a long sword, hidden by a silver sheath, at his side.

"Lady Fortunato," I said, feigning surprise to see the blond woman here. I crossed the room in long strides and took her hand, pressing my lips to the back of it. "I had not ventured to expect you here today. A drink?"

The lady tore her hand away from me and gazed up at me with hooded eyes clouded by worry. "My lord Montresor," she said in a heavy French accent, "forgive me for forgetting my manners, but where is my lord husband? For I have not seen him since the merriments began, and that was in the afternoon, nigh ten hours ago."

"The lord Fortunato?" I asked, as if I did not know. "I met him at the festivities, around dusk, and he did come to the palazzo tonight."

"Then where is my husband?" Lady Fortunato asked, wringing her hands. "I am worried for him, oh Montresor, I am so worried." Her face looked so pitiful I nearly regretted what I had done, but I hardened my heart and put on a mildly concerned face. "Il a une probleme, you know, he does drink..."

"Yes," I said slowly. "I brought him home because I mentioned in passing the cask of Amontillado that I had recently acquired and wished to share with him." I sent a meaningful glance in the direction of the other woman and the young man - my son. My son knew about my plot, as I had told him; my wife had helped devise it, for she was the one Fortunato had insulted.

Lady Fortunato gasped and brought her hand to cover her mouth. "And where is he now?"

"He is still within the catacombs wherein the cask is hidden," I said slowly, for I excelled at many things; lying was not one of them. "He delighted upon the Amontillado and drank far more than me, and fell into a drunken stupor. He is asleep, but I assure you, my lady, no harm will come to him."

"Oh la la!" the lady exclaimed, bringing a hand to her chest. "And is he- is he-?"

"He is perfectly fine," I assured her. "I came here, back to the palazzo, to find men to carry him back so he can lie in a soft bed instead of hard rock, but men seem to be scarce as the Carnival is still raging." I eyed my son and his silver sword, then my wife in her fierce finery. It would work, what I was thinking about. But was it worth it? After all, Lady Fortunato had done nothing. But, no one could know, and it would be impossible to keep the lady fed with lies that both satisfied her and made sure that no one would be suspicious - for the Montresor house was already sunk low in the eyes of the peerage, and this would certainly sink it lower. It was the only way, I decided, the only way to deal with this problem. If only Lady Fortunato had never ventured into our house! Then I could satisfy her with the lie that I had not seen Fortunato today. But she, being French, was the type to loudly lament, and many people had seen me greet Fortunato at the festivities. A few had seen us wander back to my palazzo, and those few would easily destroy the lie that I would so carefully have crafted. In that case, I would have to follow through the idea that I had come up with then and there.

"Wife," I said, "fetch Lady Fortunato a cloak and we shall go down to the vaults to retrieve her husband."

My wife dipped in a small curtsy and hurried off, her skirts rustling, and the lady followed closely behind.

I turned to my son. "Francesco," I said, "it is with a heavy heart that I inform you of the duty you are to perform tonight."

Francesco bowed his head. "Are we to, ah, take care of Lady Fortunato tonight, padre?"

I gave him a small smile; he was learning fast. "Indeed, for none can know this secret." I explained what I wanted him to do and his smile grew wider with every word.

Soon enough, my wife and Lady Fortunato came back, draped with heavy cloaks of colorful silk. I bowed toward them, the picture of the mannerly host, then gestured toward the passages leading to the entrance to the catacombs.

I led the way into the deep, drafty tunnels, checking over my shoulder for the ladies as the tunnels before us twisted and turned. After the labour of many minutes of walking, we chanced upon the heavy door that opened into the chamber with walls lined with bones. I drew from my deep pocket a heavy iron key and unlocked the door, swinging it open and ushering the ladies in before I myself stepped in.

"My lord husband," Lady Fortunato said in her thick accent. "Where is he, s'il vous plait?"

I furrowed my brow in a concerned expression. "He was here last I saw him." I gestured toward the third wall of bones, the one that was freshly bricked and mortared. "The cask lies beyond that wall, my lady. There is a hidden door. Perchance I will have your help in clearing the way?"

I let her lead the way with her wavering figure and trembling hand. Once I was out of her sight, I nodded to Francesco. He stole forward with feet as light as a deer's and unsheathed his sword with a quiet slither of steel against leather.

The Lady's hands shook as they brushed against the wall of skulls, and then Francesco was upon her. He took her by the shoulder and spun her around, then slit her throat in a fluid movement. I stepped back to stand with my wife as Lady Fortunato fell to the ground.

Francesco stepped back and looked to me, waiting for approval. I tilted my head to the side and swept out of the room, allowing Francesco to exit before locking the heavy iron door behind me.

On the way back to the palazzo, I dropped the key to the door into one of the many pits that opened beside the path. No soul will penetrate that door until it rusts and falls to the ground. Riposare in pace!

extension of classic short story to demonstrate use of figurative language
freshman english