Where the Lamppost Flickers

The writing on the wall

The Cair Paravel dungeon reeked of sulfur. It was not one of those dark, damp dungeons where you nearly passed out from the smell of rotting corpses; Caspian, not being a tyrant, tried his best to make sure it was a reasonably clean place, not too horrible considering what its purpose was, after all. Still, it didn't take a genius to know that, while it was not exactly a blood-bath, there had been persons who had come down here and never returned to the unbarred sunlight. Worse were the thoughts of those who were led out, into the warm outer realms once more, only to have their heads cut off or their necks broken-an execution.

Now, to be completely fair, most of the people who had suffered so dreadfully, having such horrid deaths, deserved it to some extent. Largely, they were murders or thieves or rapists or traitors to their country, and so they got what was coming to them. But Edmund, as he was taken down those narrow stone steps, his expression recoiling automatically thanks to the brimstone scent, couldn't help wondering if there had been others like himself and Lucy who had ended up here-the worse place in all of Narnia, perhaps-by some nasty mistake. Had there been other traitors before him who hadn't meant to betray? Had there been queens like Lucy living in misery because they had unwittingly disappointed their king?

He decided that there had to have been. After all, Caspian was not a bad person and, for the most part, he was a good king-his subjects truly did love him. And even an impulsive, hot-headed prince like Rilian might turn out to be a good follow-up king. Yet, surely there had been kings before them who were less than honourable. And if good, kindly rulers like Caspian and Rilian could send a frightened little queen, just barely in her early teenaged years, to such a place, then what doubt was there that a wicked king before them hadn't done, if not something worse, than at least the same?

Edmund wished he could see Lucy right then; they had taken her down into her cell through another way, and he was worried about her. Envisioning the poor little girl who used to meet him at the lamppost, the sweet young woman he'd kissed on the hill the morning after the eclipse, afraid and alone in a dark corner of so grim a place made him want to cry. It made him want to throw all of his body-weight on the guards, knocking them over, and rush to Lucy's side telling her everything would be all right. But he was so tired; he knew they would catch him, that he would never reach her before that.

Finally they arrived at his cell. It was dark and roomy with only a stool and a hard-looking bunk for furniture. Ghastly, indeed, but not gruesome. There was one window; very small and quite high-up, letting only a few slates of light in. The little sunbeams fell, Edmund noticed as the guards began to lock the cell-door after more or less shoving him in there with a rough heave, on an inscription. It didn't look official, not like something whoever built the place had carved, not a true engraving, but, rather, words embedded by someone who had been a prisoner in there-most likely long before his time. One or two of the letters were slightly faded, but Edmund could still read them without much difficultly.

The inscription said: 'When Aslan bares his teeth, winter meets its death. The Lion shall show me mercy' in long, deep block letters.

They did not seem like the words of a lunatic or a truly black-hearted criminal, so he couldn't help but wonder if the person who had written that had simply made the same foolish mistake he had, falling in love with the wrong person and putting himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was stupid; and it was traitorous, but he hadn't wanted to hurt anyone. If Aslan really had shown mercy to the man-for somehow he just knew it had to have been a man, something about the shaping of the letters not being girly enough for a woman-Edmund hoped he, too, would be given such mercy. All the same, he would forgo any forgiveness, he would now put his head on the block, if only it would mean Lucy being released. She deserved to be back in her royal apartments, safe and sound, not here, living like a prisoner.