Just an English thing I did.
"Amontillado!" he paced about nervously, occasionally glancing up at the boy, "However did you get your hands on Amontillado?" He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out before Fortunato could interrogate him further.
"How much did it cost, boy? Could you not have spoken to me before this silly decision was made?" Fortunato reached out, as if he were going to slap Montresor. He was not thrilled with the distasteful actions of his master, "Sir, if it concerns you, you should know that I only paid half-price for the pipe and-"
"You bought an entire pipe!" The young man was visibly shaken, taking two steps back from his drunken elder. "Sir, you were asleep, and-"
"Always consult me before making decisions such as this! You are incapable of logical ones!" Montresor had had enough. He knew what he wanted to do. In fact, he had been holding back from this very action from the time he had begun to understand the difference between good and evil. He knew that it was time.
It was still early in the morning. The skies of Italy featured a pale blue topped with a pure white cream, seeming to shape into familiarity, but Montresor knew that it was only his mind.
Fortunato had been his master since he was born. He had owned his mother, and Montresor knew that his family had always been slaves to theirs.
Now, what Fortunato didn't know about the boy, was that he was smart. He hadn't known that every second of his free time was spent working in the market, running errands for the salesmen in the stalls for small amounts of money, and that he had recently made a purchase with his earnings.
When Fortunato demanded that he see the pipe of Amontillado, all Montresor could do was nod silently, trying to hold back his tears. What he was about to do was unforgivable.
Calling his dog, Barbas to accompany them to the cellar, Fortunato followed Montresor down to the cellar, holding his head high as if he was the ruler of the world.
Montresor liked Barbas, but knew the dog would go nowhere without his master, and would sense any slight problem. It would have to be dealt with.
Leading him down to the cellar, the boy thought of his plan to rid himself of the burden he and his family carried. "This might be difficult," he thought, his brain working frantically to think of a way to slip his little purchase into the older man's drink. Even if he could, he would have to formulate an idea to get rid of Barbas.
As they came nearer, his palms began to sweat, even though the cellar was dank and cold. He knew that he must insist on pouring his master the wine. If he used the dark powder over the entire pipe, it may not work. He had to be careful.
As the door to the room creaked open, Barbas shied away, impatiently barking for his master. "Shut up!" the older man yelled at the dog. He whimpered softly and curled himself into the corner. Barbas was loyal to the man, and Montresor had never seen him act this way.
There was something terrible awaiting them. As he slowly made his way through the door, he shook with fear, as there was an eerie presence in the room. Fortunato shut the door and began to chuckle, "You thought that I would fall for a trick such as this?"
"Whatever do you mean sir?" the boy asked him, trying to hide his heart pounding in his chest. "You know exactly what I mean, boy." Montresor backed up, and seemingly, out of nowhere, a strong set of cold hands grabbed his arms from behind, causing him to drop the torch that he was carrying.
The room went dark. Montresor realized that Fortunato's drunkenness was faked. He tried to squirm his way from the stranger's hands, but he couldn't move away. "You thought that you were smart, didn't you?" His eyes widened, despite barely being able to see the dark shadow of the figure.
Montresor said nothing. He had been humiliated in every way possible, but this was the worst. He knew that he would likely be sold to another cruel master.
That wasn't what was going to happen. He heard the words, "finish him," and the clanking of Fortunato's boots. He gulped loudly. He could tell that this wasn't going to end well.
"Wait!" he cried, and Fortunato stopped, "speak fool." "I have one final request. I would like to see the sunset one last time." He knew that this would allow him adequate time to escape, but the old man saw right through him.
"Kill him," Fortunato said. As he waited for his death, he heard a blade draw, then a whisper, "Pretend you're dying." It was a man's voice, and it sounded very familiar, but he couldn't place it. He decided to trust the man as he thrust the blade under his arm.
He fell to the ground, clutching his chest, making the illusion that he was in pain. A grin fell across Fortunato's lips. "Clean this place up," he said to the man.
Montresor felt a foot on his back, and it stayed there, seemingly forever. It was long after he had heard Fortunato's footsteps that the man broke the silence.
"You can never truly be sure that he's gone," he said, offering him a hand. He stood up and thanked the man, but he had so many questions. Who was he? Why had he spared his life?
Upon asking the first question, the answer he received was, "It doesn't matter who I am. All that matters is that we get you out of here." Montresor thanked the man after receiving a small parcel with food and coins in it.
As they left the cellar, the only words that Montresor could get out of the man were directions to the next town. He stumbled up a hill, and the man followed him, "You are very smart for a mortal," the mysterious man said, "Maybe one you may come back to combat the evil in this place."
"I hope to see you again, son." He turned to the man to confirm what he had just said, but he had vanished. After a moment of looking about, he decided that it was best that he stay away, and was glad that he had someone on his side. Although he was confused as to why this stranger had called him son, he kept moving, thinking about how he had never known his father.
After walking for a few hours, he sat down to enjoy a picnic with the food the man had given him and watch the sunset. It had been his final wish, after all.