Tales of Terror Read Free

As you can see.”
    Fortunato nodded uneasily. My “cellar” was a wide underground passageway. It was cut through solid rock. Along the sides were wine racks. But there were also shelves cut into the sides. Shelves that held coffins—and skeletons. The bones of the Montresors.
    “What is that ugly white stuff over everything?” asked Fortunato. He pointed at the white crust on the rock. On the coffins. Even on the wine bottles. It looked like salt.
    “It is saltpeter,” I explained. “The dampness makes it seep from the rock. The cold makes it harden. I warned you how cold and damp it is down here.”
    At that moment Fortunato began to cough. His whole body shook.
    “My dear friend, let us go back,” I said.“Forget the Amontillado. Your health is precious. You are rich, loved, and admired. A man to be missed. Let Luchesi catch a chill down here.”
    Fortunato forced himself to stop coughing.
    “Nonsense!” he snapped. “A little cough will not kill me.”
    “No,” I agreed. “A cough will not kill you. Here, take a drink of this to wet your throat.”
    I opened a bottle of rare Medoc wine. Fortunato took a deep drink. The bells on his cap jingled.
    “I drink to the dead that rest around us,” said Fortunato.
    “And I drink to your long life,” I said.
    Fortunato’s wine-stained tongue licked his fat lips. He was no longer shivering.But his walk was weaving as we went down the passageway.
    The passageway led to another. And another. The crust of saltpeter grew thicker. The air grew colder. Damper. More stale. So that our torches burned ever more dimly. Still we went on.
    “Where is this Amontillado?” Fortunato grumbled. “At the end of the earth?”
    “Not quite,” I said. “But I told you this cellar is large. So many are buried here.”
    “Ah, yes. Your family,” said Fortunato. His lips curled. “The noble Montresors. Tell me, what is your coat of arms? I forget.”
    “A huge human foot of gold in a field of blue,” I said. “The foot is crushing a snake. While the snake’s fangs are biting the heel.”
    “And the motto?” asked Fortunato.
    “‘No one who angers me goes unpunished,’” I told him.
    “Very good,” said Fortunato. He started to chuckle. But a fit of coughing cut his laughter off. I opened another bottle for him.
    “Try this,” I said. “It is even better than the first.”
    He drank eagerly, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
    “Excellent,” he said. Then he made a strange gesture with his hand.
    I looked at him, puzzled.
    He made the sign again.
    When he saw that I did not understand, he said, “It is a sign of the Masons. The secret society that I belong to. I wanted to see if you were one of us.”
    I smiled. “But I am. This is my sign,” I said. From under my cloak I took a mason’s trowel.
    It was Fortunato’s turn to look puzzled. Then he smiled. “Ah, a joke. You surprise me. You do have a little wit at least.”
    He took another long swig. He threw the empty bottle against the wall. The broken glass fell among bones piled there.
    “Not all your family had coffins,” he said.
    “There were many Montresors,” I said. “Generations and generations of Montresors and their servants. And others as well.”
    “Along with all this wonderful wine,” said Fortunato. He looked at the high wine racks. His eyes still shone. But now through a mist. A mist of drink. Hisvoice was blurred, too. “But where is the Amontillado?”
    “Not far,” I assured him.
    Fortunato’s walk was even more unsteady now. I gripped his arm to keep him from stumbling.
    “Maybe we should go back,” I said again. “Feel how cold it is getting. Feel how damp the rock is. Luchesi can—”
    “Forget Luchesi!” Fortunato bellowed. “The Amontillado!”
    “Yes, the Amontillado,” I said.
    The passageway sloped downward through one archway after another. The archways were lower and lower. The saltpeter was thicker, too. It hung like cobwebs everywhere.