----------------------------The Cask Of Amanetillado
----------------------------By Edgar Allan Pony (By the entire crew)
THE thousand injuries of Applejack I had borne as I best could, but when the filly ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that I gave utterance to a threat. AT LENGTH I would be avenged; this was a point definitively settled -- but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish, but punish without a single regret. An Evil is Evil when being uncoot overtakes its soul. It is equally uncoot when the avenger fails to make acceptance to her who has done the wrong.
It must be understood that neither by word nor dress had I given Applejack cause to doubt my generosity. I continued as was my wont, to smile in her face, and she did not perceive that my smile NOW was at the thought of her regret.
She had a weak point -- this Applejack-- although in other regards she was a filly to be respected and accepted. She prided herself on his connoisseurship in fine Cider. Few farmers have the true pure skill. In painting and gemmary, Applejack, like her Equestrians, was a quack, but in the matter of Apple Cider she was sincere. In this respect I did not differ from her materially; I was skilful in the Ciders myself, and bought largely whenever I could. Though, feel in mind, my connoisseurship is focused more on the drink of more professional Ciders.
It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of the Winter Wrap Up season, that I encountered my friend.
She accosted me with excessive warmth, for she had drunk a rotten batch. She was as frizzled as ever, her hair flowing down into a rilled knot. I was so pleased to see her, that I thought I should never have done wringing her hooves.
I said to her -- "Applejack, my dear, great to see you! How remarkably well you are looking to-day! But i must not tally long, for i have an unopened Cider wating."
"How?" said she, "Cider? Waiting? Impossible! And in the middle of the Winter Wrap Up?"
"I have my doubts," I replied; "and I was silly enough to pay the full imported price without consulting you in the matter. You were not to be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain."
"Cider!"
"I have my doubts."
"Cider!"
"And I must satisfy them."
"CIDER!"
"As you are busy, I am on my way to Big Macintosh. If any one has a critical turn, it is he. He will tell me" --
"Big Mac' can't tell Cider from Juice."
"And yet some fouls will have it that their taste is a match for your's."
"Well, then, lets go already!."
"Whither?"
"To your vaults."
"My friend, no; I will not impose upon the holiday. I perceive you have an engagement" --
"I have no such engagement; come 'mon."
"Applejack, no. It is not the engagement, but the severe flu with which I understand you are afflicted with. The Cellar is insufferably damp. They are encrusted with nitre."
"Lets go! The cold is nothin' Rarity! You have been fooled; and as for Big Mac, he cannot distinguish Apples from Pears."
Thus speaking, Applejack possessed herself. Putting on a hat of black silk and drawing a roquelaire closely about my person, I suffered her to hurry me to my Boutique.
There was nopony; Sweetie Belle had left to join in with the festivities. I had told her that I should not return until the morning and had given her exact orders not to leave the Boutique. These orders were sufficient, I well knew, to insure her immediate disappearance, one and all, as soon as i left.
I took from the chest, two lanterns, and giving one to Applejack bowed her through several suites of rooms to the archway that led into the Cellar. I passed down a long and winding staircase, requesting her to be cautious as she followed. We came at length to the foot of the descent, and stood together on the damp ground of the Boutique's Cellar.
The position of my friend was unsteady, and she swayed as we strode.
"Where's that Cider?" said she.
"It's farther on," said I; "but observe the white webs which gleams from these cavern walls."
She turned towards me and looked into my eyes with two filmy orbs that distilled the rheum of intoxication .
"Nitre?" he asked, at length
"Nitre," I replied. "How long have you had that cough!"
"Ugh! ugh! ugh! -- ugh! ugh! ugh! -- ugh! ugh! ugh! -- ugh! ugh! ugh! -- ugh! ugh! ugh!
My poor friend found it impossible to reply for many minutes.
"It's nothing," she said, at last.
"Come," I said, with decision, "we will go back; your health is important. You are respected, admired, beloved; you are happy as once I was. You are a filly to be missed. For me it is no matter. We will go back; you will be ill and I cannot be responsible. Besides, there is Big Macintosh" --
"Oh, Stoppit," she said; "the cough is nothin'; it won't kill me. I can't die of a cold."
"True -- true," I replied; "and, indeed, I had no intention of alarming you unnecessarily -- but you should use all proper caution. A swig of this Cider will defend us from the damps."
Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew from a long row of its fellows that lay upon the mould.
"Drink," I said, presenting him the wine.
She chugged it. She paused and nodded to me familiarly, swaying.
"I drink," she said, "this awfully old cider."
"Yes. The Cider is further on."
She again took off and we proceeded.
"This Cellar," she said, "are extensive."
"I for one," I replied, "need lots of supplies for my dresses."
The wine sparkled in her eyes and her trotting swayed. My own stomach grew warm with the age old Cider. We had passed through walls of fabrics, with crates and utensils intermingling, into the deepest parts of the Cellar. I paused again, and this time I made bold to seize Applejack by an arm above the hoof.
"The Cold!" I said: "see, it increases. It lingers like moss upon the Cellar. We are below the river's bed. The drops of moisture trickle among the fabric. Come, we'll go back before it is too late. Your cough" --
"It's nothin" she said; "let's go on. But first, another draught of the Cider."
I broke and reached her a bottle of Old Apple. She emptied it at a breath. Her eyes flashed with a fierce light. She laughed and threw the bottle upwards with a gesticulation I did not understand, and caught it.
I looked at her in surprise. She repeated the movement -- a grotesque one.
"Don't understand?" she said.
"No" I replied.
"Then you aint part of the group."
"What?"
"You are not part of Ponyville's secret security."
"Yes, yes," I said "yes! yes."
"You? No hootin way!"
"Yes," I replied.
"Show me," she said.
"It is this," I answered, producing a knife from beneath the folds of my dress.
"You're jokin!" she exclaimed, recoiling a few paces. "But let's get goin.. Cider await!"
"Allright," I said, replacing the tool beneath the dress, and offered her my arm. She leaned upon it heavily. We continued our route in search of the Cider. We passed through a range of low arches, descended, passed on, and descending again, arrived at a deep room, in which the foulness of the air caused our lanterns rather to glow than flame.
At the most remote end of the room there appeared another empty room. Its walls had been lined with Maniquins piled to the vault overhead, in the fashion of the organized chaos of the Boutique. Three sides of this interior crypt were still ornamented in this manner. From the fourth, fabric had been thrown down, and lay promiscuously upon the ground, forming at one point a mound of some size. Within the wall thus exposed by the displacing of the fabric, we perceived a still interior recess, in depth about four feet, in width three, in height six or seven. It seemed to have been constructed for no especial use in itself, but formed merely the interval between two of the colossal supports of the roof of the Cellar, and was backed by one of their circumscribing walls of solid granite.
It was in vain that Applejack, uplifting her dull Lantern, endeavoured to pry into the depths of the recess. Its termination the feeble light did not enable us to see.
"This is it," I said; "in here is the fine Cider. As for Big Mac" --
"He's nothin!" interrupted my friend, as she stepped unsteadily forward, while I followed immediately at her hooves. In an instant she had reached the extremity of the cold, and finding her progress arrested by the rock, stood stupidly bewildered . A moment more and I had fettered her to the granite. In its surface were two iron staples, distant from each other about two hooves, horizontally. From one of these depended a short chain. from the other a padlock. Throwing the links about her waist, it was but the work of a few seconds to secure it. She was too astonished to resist. Taking out the key I stepped back from the recess.
"Pass your Hoof," I said, "over the wall; you cannot help feeling the Cold. Indeed it is VERY damp. Again, let me BEG you to return. No? Then I must leave you. But I must first render you all the little attentions in my power."
"The Cider!" ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from her astonishment.
"True," I replied; "the Cider."
As I said these words I busied myself among the fabric of which I have before spoken. Tossing them aside, I soon uncovered a quantity of building stone and mortar. With these materials and with the aid of my magic, I began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the Arc.
I had scarcely laid the first tier of the wall when I discovered that the intoxication of Applejack had in a great measure worn off. The earliest indication I had of this was a low moaning cry from the depth of the recess. It was NOT the cry of a Drunken Filly. There was then a long and obstinate silence. I laid the second tier, and the third, and the fourth; and then I heard the furious vibrations of the chain. The noise lasted for several minutes, during which, that I might hearken to it with the more satisfaction, I ceased my labours and sat down upon the Fabric. When at last the clanking subsided , I resumed the Magic, and finished without interruption the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh tier. The wall was now nearly upon a level with my head. I again paused, and holding the torch over the mason-work, threw a few feeble rays upon the figure within.
A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly from the throat of the chained form, seemed to thrust me violently back. For a brief moment I hesitated -- I trembled. Pulling out the knife, I began to grope with it about the recess; but the thought of an instant reassured me. I placed my hoof upon the solid fabric of the catacombs, and felt satisfied. I reapproached the wall. I replied to the yells of her who yelled. I reechoed -- I aided -- I surpassed them in volume and in strength. I did this, and the clamourer grew still.
It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I had completed the eighth, the ninth, and the tenth tier. 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 recognising as that of the noble Fortunato. The voice said --
"Ha! ha! ha! -- he! he! -- Great joke, Rar! -- a great prank! We will have many a great laugh about it at the Boutique!-- he! he! he! -- over our Cider-- he! he! he!"
"The Cider!" I said.
"He! he! he! -- he! he! he! -- yes, the Cider. But is it not getting late? Will not they be awaiting us at the center, the Twilight and the rest? Let's get out of here."
"Yes," I said "let's get out of here."
"DEAR CELESTIA RARITY!!"
"Yes," I said, "Dear Celestia!"
But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient. I called aloud --
"Applejack!"
No answer. I called again --
"Applejack!"
No answer still. I thrust a light through the remaining aperture and let it fall within. There came forth in return only a burp. My heart grew sick -- on account of the dampness of the Cellar. I hastened to make an end of my labour. I forced the last stone into its position; I mended it up. Against the new masonry I reerected the old rampart of Fabric. For the half of a century no Pony has disturbed them.
In pace requiescat!
