The Cask of Amontillado, Part 3

By Edgar Allan Poe

Adapted to chat story format by Captivated Chat

Me
Pass your hand over the wall; you cannot help feeling the nitre. Indeed, it is very damp. Once more let me implore you to return. No? Then I must positively leave you. But I must first render you all the little attentions in my power.
Fortunato
The Amontillado!
Me
True, the Amontillado.
Fortunato
That scraping sound, what are you doing?
Me
Mixing a quantity of mortar.
Fortunato
Is this wall unsound, then?
Me
Not high enough to suit me.
Fortunato
New stones! Muhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Uhhhhhmmmm.
Me
Your intoxication has in a great measure worn off.

Bottom line?

(5 mins later)

When at last the clanking subsided, I resumed the trowel, and finished without interruption the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh tier. The wall was now nearly upon a level with my breast. I again paused, and holding the flambeaux over the mason-work, threw a few feeble rays upon the figure within.

Fortunato
Heeeeelp! Someone! Help! Heeeeeeeelp!  Aaii!-Aaah!-Aaaah!
Me
Heeeeelp! Heeeeeeeelp!  Aaii! Someone!

It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I had completed the eighth, the ninth, and the tenth tier. Indeed, I had finished a portion of the last and the eleventh.

There remained but a single stone to be fitted and plastered in. I struggled with its weight; I placed it partially in its destined position. But now there came from out the niche a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head. It was succeeded by a sad voice, which I had difficulty in recognizing as that of the noble Fortunato.

Fortunato
Ha-ha ha!—he-he he!—a very good joke indeed—an excellent jest.
Fortunato
We shall have many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo—he! he! he!—over our wine—he! he! he!”
Me
The Amontillado!

Getting late

Fortunato
Ha! ha! ha!—he! ha! ha!—yes, the Amontillado. But is it not getting late? Will not they be awaiting us at the palazzo, the Lady Fortunato and the rest? Let us be gone.
Me
Yes, let us be gone.
Fortunato
For the love of God, Montresor!
Me
Yes, for the love of God! Why do you not answer? Me: Fortunato!
Me
Again, no answer? Fortunato—

No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and let it fall within. There came forth in reply only a jingling of the bells. My heart grew sick on account of the dampness of the catacombs. I hastened to make an end of my labour, forced the last stone into its position, and plastered it up. Against the new masonry I re-erected the old rampart of bones. For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them. In pace requiescat.