Chapter twelve
Of Water and of BloodThe manacles of iron, old and rusty, cut into his wrists cruelly. The fetters were of the same rusty antiquity and bit into his ankles. He was stripped naked. He hung suspended against a dismal brick wall, all running and slimy and green, and considered he was very hard done by. Very hard indeed.
The cell was small enough, in all conscience, and light entered through a barred opening high in a tunnel-like slot indicating ground level was high above his head.
The jailers had, at the least, taken away the skeleton hanging on the opposite wall that had greeted San Fraipur when they’d dragged him down here. By the sacred radiance of Opaz! This was a dolorous place.
The jailers did feed him. One was a Gon, a tallish fellow rather stooped, with the bald sh
