The Crimes of Orphans by Obie Williams

Author:Obie Williams [Williams, Obie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Obie Williams
Published: 2017-09-04T22:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

Christopher’s senses returned to him one at a time, and though it all happened in less than ten seconds, it seemed a great deal slower to him.

Smell was the first thing that pierced the dense fog surrounding his mind, and it made itself forcibly known. There were several intertwining odors in this place, but one in particular snaked its way into his nose so thickly that he could practically feel it dripping down the back of his throat: mustiness. Heavy and smothering like a wet wool blanket, it threatened to take hold of him in his dizzied state and rip out the contents of his stomach.

Taste came shortly after, and it was all heavy metal. That started bringing together fragmented memories of the fight, but he couldn’t remember being hit. A quick brush of his tongue found all of his teeth intact, so that was some small relief.

Feeling returned in a tingling wave next, and as sight had yet to arrive on the inbound sensory train, he instinctively moved to feel his surroundings. That’s when he realized he was sitting up, and his hands were tied to thin wooden slats like the arms of a dining chair. He attempted to shift his feet, but his ankles were tied as well.

Sound rushed in then, all at once, as though he had stepped out of a tunnel. Somewhere to his right was a tapping noise. It was quick, regular, the sound of water dripping on stone. There was wind outside; the rain must have picked up again. And there was the sound of two people talking quietly some distance away.

However, more frightening than all of the mysterious feelings and smells of this drippy, musty place was what Christopher heard behind him. Something was there, very close, and sensing its presence raised the hairs on the back of his neck. It issued some noise that, though soft and quiet, was altogether horrifying in its subtlety. It was something slithery, though not wet. Something that might have scales. A little at a time, at random intervals, whatever it was writhed just a bit. Just enough to be heard but not clearly identified.

It slid, and then stopped.

Silence.

It squirmed, and then stopped.

Silence.

Then there were three sets of three taps of something hard and sharp against something stony.

Tap tap tap. Silence. Tap tap tap. Silence. Tap tap tap.

Silence.

Christopher’s breathing started to tremble, but he quickly caught himself and forced it to regulate. He was the head guard of the High Palace of Chicane, not a little boy frightened of the dark. It was time to open his eyes and face whatever was waiting for him.

As his vision came into focus and he saw the two figures standing before him down here in the palace’s wine cellar, Christopher felt an absolute and undeniable certainty that he was going to die. With this epiphany, however, came not the fear that would be expected, but rather a resolution to inexorably bind any knowledge of Amelie to secrecy, as well as a prayer to God to give him the strength to do so, no matter what befell him.

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