“What do you want to show me down here?” said Garrett.
“Yourself killed.”
“A duplicate?”
“Yes.
And also something else.”
“What?”
“The Amontillado,” said Stendahl, going ahead with a blazing lantern which he held high.
Skeletons froze half out of coffin lids.
Garrett held his hand to his nose, his face disgusted.
“The what?”
“Haven’t you ever heard of the Amontillado?”
“No!”
“Don’t you recognize this?”
Stendahl pointed to a cell.
“Should I?”
“Or this?”
Stendahl produced a trowel from under his cape smiling.
“What’s that thing?”
“Come,” said Stendahl.
They stepped into the cell.
In the dark, Stendahl affixed the chains to the half-drunken man.
“For God’s sake, what are you doing?” shouted Garrett, rattling about.
“I’m being ironic.
Don’t interrupt a man in the midst of being ironic, it’s not polite.
There!”
“You’ve locked me in chains!”
“So I have.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Leave you here.”
“You’re joking.”
“A very good joke.”
“Where’s my duplicate?
Don’t we see him killed?”
“There’s no duplicate.”
“But the others!”
“The others are dead.
The ones you saw killed were the real people.
The duplicates, the robots, stood by and watched.”
Garrett said nothing.
“Now you’re supposed to say,
«For the love of God, Montresor!»” said Stendahl.
“And I will reply,
«Yes, for the love of God.»
Won’t you say it?
Come on.
Say it.”
“You fool.”
“Must I coax you?
Say it.
Say