Chapter One/ /The Prisoner
"How did it go?"
How do you think it went? His answer was a contemptuous glare at a mental picture of the Warden.
The tall one pulled his head back, almost knocking it on the gray stone wall. Geez. I was just asking. "Well, what happened?"
"I told him about the big guy and what he did." The blond one landed on a crate that had been turned on its head. The old box groaned as the wood bowed under his weight.
If that breaks it'll be the third this month. If it weren't him sitting on them all the time I'd blame the broken crates on the soggy air in here.
"And he says to me, 'What did he do that for?' like I'm supposed to know what bounces around in the gourd of that … Goron over there."
The tall one cranked himself around to refresh his mental image of the prisoner. When he couldn't see that far he began a paced stroll over to the cell. The prisoner attempted lifting his head, which was apparently a little too heavy for his neck. He gave up the effort and let his head hang there, a furry rock, in-between the knees acting as pedestals for his bound wrists. "Ya know Gabe, I really don't think he's a Goron. I know he's short and burly and all, but he definitely looks human to me."
"You dork. I know he's not a Goron. It's just a figure a' speech." The blond one made a face and pulled on his ears. What an idiot.
"Oh." He's pulling his ears out again. He's too tense. "So then what happened?"
"Well, I told him what I knew."
"But you don't know anything – about him I mean."
"So that's what I told him then, wasn't it?"
"Well, yeah, I suppose so. But why didn't you just –"
"Just shut up and let me finish okay? So I told him I didn't know, then he says…"
I hate the air in here. It always feels like it's just about to rain, which wouldn't be such a bad thing since the floor's covered with…nastiness. What is that stuff anyway? I wonder if that's why it always smells like Lon Lon Ranch in here? Some of the walls look like month-old bread too.
"…so then he asked me where he came from, and I told him I didn't know…"
Great Moblins in the foothills! I'm hungry. I would eat down here if I didn't feel like I was eating out of a crapper. Not that my wife's food tastes that great…. She probably sneaks in here at night and scrapes the foulness of the floor and walls then cooks it. No wonder it always smells so bad when she's cooking. I would starve if it weren't for the Mess Hall here in the Castle.
"…and finally he asked me what his name was, but I didn't know. Then he got that look on his face – you know which one I'm talking about?"
The hairs on the tall one's neck stood almost as straight as the ones on his head. Gabe saw him trying to fight back a nightmare.
"The one where he looks possessed?" The tall one said.
"Yeah. That one. That's when he told me to get out of his room. So now I'm just going to take the prisoner up there so he can see for himself." Their eyes turned from each other to the prisoner, who had since managed to lift his head. From where they stood his sea blue eyes and red hair looked uniformly dark. Along with the gritty overcoat smudged with mud along the bottom, they matched the blackish-purple shadows that had coerced him into the corner of his cell. The ropes snaking about his wrists looked loose, but the Hylian Dungeon Guards knew they constricted his hands together quite forcefully, as they had been trained to do with his type. The shackle around his sturdy leg was chained to the not-so-sturdy thick iron bars that covered the entrance to his cell. They knew the restraints would hold him in place – they had detained tougher teamsters than this one. What they were more concerned about was getting him out.