What I See
Savage was seeing everything. Assessing his cell. It was large like an empty stable with a hard dirt floor. A pillar in the center. Wood benches and shackles framing the entirety of the stone outer walls. Torches burned over every set of benches. Making the room bright with dancing torchlight. His piercing gaze set on the spots were stones were fractured. Near the door there was one of particular interest that had a jagged splinter of rock, barely sitting in place.
Clearly loose enough to dislodge.
The door was heavy oak. Reinforced with metal slats. But near the bottom hinge was a crack in the wood. If there was enough weight put on it at the right angle the wood will splinter.
By the third day in the cell, he’d identified every sharp spike in the room. By day five he’d discovered everything hard enough to crack a human skull. By sunrise this morning, identifiable by the arrival of Max relieving the night watchman, he’d determined what it would take to free each bit of weapon.
Now he stared at the ceiling. Beams are sturdy. But the dirt floor bracing the main pillar is not.
The boards crisscrossing the beams, were worn and slightly separated. His gaze picking apart every detail in the room. Inspecting every inch for weakness.
He determined every way possible he could kill someone in this room.
“I’ve never seen anything like this.” The Master of Torture remarked.
“He’s said nothing?” Danbury stared through the three narrow bars crossing the window of the dungeon cell door. “Is he going crazy?”
“Usually those prone to disruption show in the first hours or days at the maximum and it never manifests as dead silence.” The Master of Torture responded.
“So what is this?” Danbury leaned off the door to gesture to where the man sat cross legged on the middle of the dirt floor. Dead center the cell, with his back to the beam.
“I’ve no idea. As I said, I’ve never seen this. Most people are cowering in the corners, keeping their backs protected as they fear whatever might come. The suspense driving them to insane levels of panic…I think he is exactly as he says he was.”
Danbury gave the man a questioning look. “I think he likes isolation.”
“No one does.”
“He does.” The Master of Torture gestured. He’s done nothing, hardly moved other than when necessary. For days.”
“When did he sleep last?”
“Sleep?” The Master of Torture’s voice rose.
“Yes. Do I have to define the term for you?” Danbury snapped in annoyance.
“He hasn’t atall.”
“Have you been watching him!”
“I’ve sat back there.” He pointed to a chair on the steps, across from the door. High enough to look inside. “I’ve watched every move he’s made…Or lack thereof to be more specific. It’s become ungodly boring, in truth!”
“You’ve not slept on duty?”
“No, My Lord.” The man shook his head adamantly. “I rather like watching them crawl around and beg and begin scratching walls and talking to themselves. He’s done none of it. And Gregor that relieves me in the evening says he has not then either.”
“Well, that’s something at least.” Danbury turned from the cell door in satisfaction.
“What, My Lord?”
“If he hasn’t slept for days he’ll soon be in the grips of sleep madness. He’s probably already having delusions about what’s crawling in that cell with him. Soon he’ll be screaming.” A gleeful note entered Danbury’s voice.
“Gah. I hope so! This is dreadful boring, this is.”