- Cold Comfort -
He'd graced many a lockup with his fabulous presence, and could speak knowledgably and unequivocally of their common characteristics. Dark, always. Sometimes noisy, from wretched humanity or pounding waves. And all of them, without exception, reeked.
Tar, stale water, filthy straw, and spoilt food; anger, misery, and fear. These seeped into wood and stone, and could not be eliminated, no matter how diligent and merciful the gaoler. And God knew, there were few enough of those.
At least this, quite possibly his last, was equipped with a window. The sight and scent of the sea was almost comfort enough.
Almost.
-.-