“What is all this commotion and Why are the prisoners not ready for parade?” the guard captain demanded from the top of the dark narrow steps.
The order was given that the prisoners should be shackled in groups of two or three leaving Greyylene alone for her own cage. The two who were infected with the gruesome Cradle Rock Illness were left where they were; fear firmly in place of what would happen if they were let out in the streets.
As lovely as the city was, when prisoners were on parade the citizens turned into a raving bunch of animals. Litter and garbage had been saved for what seemed weeks special for the occasion to throw at the vermin of the criminal underbelly. The pirates from the regatta that had not been fast enough to escape the navy barricade became prisoners of the empire, and were now the public spectacle.
Greyy’s prisoner transport cage was last in the line. Her cell was meant for captives to be executed and therefore only large enough for one to stand. With her feet apart she stood bracing herself against the sway of the carriage on cobblestones. Her hands were to her side and she wore a quiet reserved expression on her face. Fully expecting to be riddled with moldy bread and spoiled produce she refused to allow the throng of spectators to have the satisfaction of seeing her cringe.
The palace was the end point to the parade and the prisoners were to be presented to the Emperor and Empress as trophies. Grand speeches and retelling of the exploits in capturing the dangerous fugitives brought the crowd to a thundering cacophony of cheers. The herald’s accounts were indeed entertaining if not entirely accurate. Through all the stories Greyy remained reserved and unimpressed.
By the time all the festivities were quieting the prisoners were smelling foul and covered in rubbish. It was uncustomary to allow bathing to prisoners but for the sake of the guards the rule was somewhat overlooked. As the pirates were escorted to their cells they were unceremoniously doused with ice cold water, scrubbed with long handled brushes and doused again.
As the sun was setting the chill of the dark stone prison settled on the soaked sailors. All through the night chattering teeth were accented by the incessant moaning of the two afflicted with Cradle Rock Insanity. Occasionally the screech of a rat being ripped apart would cut the darkness like a knife to be followed by the insane chuckles of the amused victims.
By the third day the moaning in the quarantined cell grew to a low whimper. As the guards began their mid day rounds a ruckus erupted. The attack was so vicious and grotesque that the guards did not approach until the noise stopped. When they investigated they found a grisly sight.
The two men had become so hungry and so enraged that they had torn each other apart. The insanity had confused them so completely that they were each strangled by their own disembodied hand. The blood and carnage left behind was sufficient to make the guards lose their meals. There were dead rats and body parts strewn across the cell disallowing any clean surface to show.
“It was told to ye that their illness is grave.” Greyylene spoke through her bars.
“Is there a way to stop this?”
“Nay there be no cure. Tis a wickedness unleashed wit’ nary a way to undo its doin’.”
The silence in the cells was deathly quiet. No vermin or flies came to clean the foul butchery. The guards were at a loss to know what to do. It was necessary to clean the cell but no one dared touch the remains for fear of contracting the same wickedness that brought such violent ruin.
“Torch it.” The guard captain uttered with a voice low and full of disbelief.
As he walked up the stairs the glow of flames on the walls kissed his back. The other prisoners sat in their cells with an unusually calm silence as the flames destroyed any remnant of the vile plague.
Find More in Book 2!
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
As a professional photographer E. M. Frear enjoys allowing pictures to tell a story. It was natural for her to allow words to also paint an image. It has often been said “I just wish I could read your mind” in a story the reader is given the chance to glimpse into the mind of the author.
For almost ten years words and images have traveled hand in hand through the use of forums and online gaming. In Black White and Shades of Greyy the adventures experienced have been given a fresh life and the ability to travel to the pages of a new medium.
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