Part 17 (1/2)
”What?”
”The Amontillado,” said Stendahl, going ahead with a blazing lantern which he held high. Skeletons froze half out of coffin lids. Garrett held his hand to his nose, his face disgusted.
”The what?”
”Haven't you ever heard of the Amontillado?”
”No!”
”Don't you recognize this?” Stendahl pointed to a cell.
”Should I?”
”Or this?” Stendahl produced a trowel from under his cape smiling.
”What's that thing?”
”Come,” said Stendahl.
They stepped into the cell. In the dark, Stendahl affixed the chains to the half-drunken man.
”For G.o.d's sake, what are you doing?” shouted Garrett, rattling about.
”I'm being ironic. Don't interrupt a man in the midst of being ironic, it's not polite. There!”
”You've locked me in chains!”
”So I have.”
”What are you going to do?”
”Leave you here.”
”You're joking.”
”A very good joke.”
”Where's my duplicate? Don't we see him killed?”
”There's no duplicate.”
”But the others! others!”
”The others are dead. The ones you saw killed were the real people. The duplicates, the robots, stood by and watched.”
Garrett said nothing.
”Now you're supposed to say, 'For the love of G.o.d, Montresor!'” said Stendahl. ”And I will reply, 'Yes, for the love of G.o.d.' Won't you say it? Come on. Say it.”
”You fool.”
”Must I coax you? Say it. Say 'For the love of G.o.d, Montresor!'”
”I won't, you idiot. Get me out of here.” He was sober now.
”Here. Put this on.” Stendahl tossed in something that belled and rang.
”What is it?”
”A cap and bells. Put it on and I might let you out.”
”Stendahl!”
”Put it on, I said!”
Garrett obeyed. The bells tinkled.
”Don't you have a feeling that this has all happened before?” inquired Stendahl, setting to work with trowel and mortar and brick now.
”What're you doing?”
”Walling you in. Here's one row. Here's another.”
”You're insane!”
”I won't argue that point.”
”You'll be prosecuted for this!”
He tapped a brick and placed it on the wet mortar, humming.
Now there was a thras.h.i.+ng and pounding and a crying out from within the darkening place. The bricks rose higher. ”More thras.h.i.+ng, please,” said Stendahl. ”Let's make it a good show.”
”Let me out, let me out!”
There was one last brick to shove into place. The screaming was continuous.
”Garrett?” called Stendahl softly. Garrett silenced himself. ”Garrett,” said Stendahl, ”do you know why I've done this to you? Because you burned Mr. Poe's books without really reading them. You took other people's advice that they needed burning. Otherwise you'd have realized what I was going to do to you when we came down here a moment ago. Ignorance is fatal, Mr. Garrett.”
Garrett was silent.
”I want this to be perfect,” said Stendahl, holding his lantern up so its light penetrated in upon the slumped figure. ”Jingle your bells softly.” The bells rustled. ”Now, if you'll please say, 'For the love of G.o.d, Monstresor,' I might let you free.”
The man's face came up in the light. There was a hesitation. Then grotesquely the man said, ”For the love of G.o.d, Montresor.”
”Ah,” said Stendahl, eyes closed. He shoved the last brick into place and mortared it tight. ”_Requiescat in pace_, dear friend.”