Disclaimer – I do not own any of the creations in this story. I simply re-wrote the amazing Mr. Edgar Allen Poe's words to tell Fortunato's story.
I have always enjoyed the carnival season. It was the time to be merry and play at jests. I never really did get to enjoy my last carnival season. For you see, I had been sick at home with a rough cough. But on the fourth night of carnival I felt well enough to don my motley dress of stripes and a belled cap, so I took my chances and made my made around the houses of my friends and made arrangements to retire to my palazzo with my fellows and the Lady Fortunato. As I visited with my friends I drank from the best of their vaults, happily sipping all before me. As I was walking to yet another house Montresor came upon me. This was a man I had never liked, but my mind fuzzy from the drink, and my mood improved by the happiness around me I greeted him with a wide grin. "My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met. How remarkably well you are looking today! But I have received a pipe of what passes for Amontillado, and I have my doubts." I paused a second—bewildered. I could not believe him and thus I voiced my comments. "How?" My words came tumbling out "Amontillado? A pipe? Impossible? And in the middle of the carnival?"
"I have my doubts," he hastily replied to me "and I was silly enough to pay the full Amontillado price without consulting you in the matter. You were not to be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain."
And thus we went on in this manner he seemed to almost beg me to come, but as soon as I was agreed he turned face and told me that Luchesi could easily also taste the drink for him. Now Luchesi is a good man, rich in house, in art and in love of life. But he—to save his life would not know Amontillado from a simple Sherry. After convincing him that my arrangements could wait Montresor and I made our way to his house.
As we entered I noticed his halls were empty. I thought that I might think better of a man who allows his servants to take part in the carnival season.
And thus we made out way down into the vaults, our way lighted dimly by a few torches that clung to the walls pitifully among the amount of dead family members. As we made our way deeper I began to regret allowing myself to sip so many wines, my mind became fuzzed and my thoughts unclear, the niter that clung to the walls even seemed to sway in my intoxicated brain. As we drilled deeper the chill of the vaults started up my cough again, for a long period I was not allowed to answer questions for my cough was much to great. My friend seemed to take great concern to this matter. "Come," he said in his dainty concerned air ", we will go back; your health his precious. You are rich, respected, and beloved; you are happy as once I was. You are a man 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 Luchesi—"
"Enough," I cut him off; " the cough is a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough." He thought on this, and then to take proper caution bade me drink some of the Medoc that he pulled from the wall. Happily from a release from the cold I took the wine and nodded to him. Once my glass was drained and the drink was settled warm inside me I took his arm. To create small talk to make the time pass I noted on the side of the vaults, I also asked of the arms and the motto. Both he told me, though I noticed a word change in the motto—and maybe that was just the Medoc causing me not to hear properly.
As we moved deeper into the caves he questioned my health again, again I told him it was nothing. Though this time I also added that another sip of wine might warm me. This time he gave me a glass of what seemed to be De Grave happily I drained this also. Laughing I took up the secret greeting of the masons. My friend did not understand, I could not believe he was not part of this brotherhood, but when he quickly said he was I thought he was jesting, when he took the trowel from his roquelaire I thought my friend was rather good at jests and when he said it was not so I did not argue further.
Walking on we went further into the ground until we came to a place that smelled of rotting death itself. At the far end to the crypt their appeared to be another small room, less spacious than the others. Happy to be reaching the end of the quest I attempted to ignore the remains of Montresor's family that were piled high to the crypt's ceiling. Hopefully I lifted my flame, now only a glow, into the darkness at the end of the crypt.
"Proceed," he bid me," herein is the Amontillado. As for Luchesi—"
Enraged that he would still mention that name I quickly shot back "He is an ignoramus." Interrupting whatever Montresor was about to go on to say. My world still fuzzy from the new drink of De Grave I stepped unsteadily forwards, feeling the man still close at my heels. Suddenly my fingers hit the cold wall, wet from the damp and grimy from the dirt that had collected over the bones. Almost as soon as I could turn to open my mouth in question did I find myself being chained to the wall. I could do nothing my body paused from shock.
"Pass your hand," he mocked," over the wall; you cannot help feeling the niter. 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."
"The Amontillado!" I nearly screamed, still in a state of distressed shock.
"True," he stilled mocked; "The Amontillado."
From the dim glow I could see him now rooting through the bones for his family. Tossing them here and there he uncovered a large amount of building stone and mortar. My memory suddenly went to the trowel, and as I watched him he began to place stones as if to wall me in.
My fuzzy mind full of drink suddenly wore off, the head ache of distress and fear rushed on and forced a low moan from my lips. He did not stop, but continued to lay down tiers. I shook the chains hoping for some way of escape, the seemed to stop and move away from the wall. Soon after I stopped, yet he started again. I felt the dim light of the torch touching my face, I screamed for him to stop, though my words slurred with screams of fear making them inaudible. I heard the metallic click of rapier point against stone just to the left of me, yet I continued to scream. Then his movements stopped and like a mad man he yelled back. I could tell the hate dripping from his screams, the mocking hatred he had always had for me. I wished my lips had never spoken those insults to his family when loosened with wine. My throat began to hurt from screaming and I could do nothing but stop. The wall rose before my eyes, I searched for an escape, then something came to mind.
His trowel, his trowel was a jest of course! He was keeping the jest alive, some men thought fear was a good way to jest; maybe this man was the same. I began to forced laughter, between my laughs came "A very good joke indeed—an excellent jest. We will have many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo—over our wine."
"The Amontillado!" he shouted back in the same manner I had spoken.
Still filled with false laughter I replied quickly "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."
"Yes," he replied cruelly "let us be gone"
In a last chance for my live I yelled with all my might "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, MONTRESOR!"
"Yes," his tone mocking again, "for the love of God."
I could not bring myself to answer, my life was gone now, I had no say in anything, and so I sunk to the ground. He called out for me twice, to which I did not reply. I guess he left after that. I being a man of power always hold a pad and pen on myself. So I scrawled my last tale on this page. I hope one day soon that some one may find this story poked through the hole in the mortar and mark Montresor for the villain he is.