Author Archives: paleololigo

K is for Kenrick

Godwin enjoyed watching Joan cooking. In truth, he just enjoyed watching Joan. She was cheery and full of life. Maybe plain, but real, and earthy. Bertram would never have approved. She was perfect.

He chuckled to himself, then struggled to sit up a little better.

“And you’re moving around,” Joan said, looking up from the pot that hung over the fire. “How are you feeling today?”

Godwin shrugged, looking away.

“A man could question your motives,” said Joan’s father from across the room. “I see how you stare.”

Godwin moved his hand slightly, expressing mock surprise.

“No doubt you’re not completely innocent,” said the father. “Surely there’s some reason for the beating you took.”

J is for Joan

The spoon touched his lips and Godwin opened his mouth. He wasn’t sure he could really taste the broth, but he knew that’s what it was. He could smell it.

He groaned slightly. The effort to swallow was unbelievably exhausting.

The woman cooed over him. “Another bite,” she hummed.

Godwin whimpered as a spoon touched his lips again. He was so urgently hungry.

He blinked and thought he saw the flash of the fire. He turned his head slowly to look. It was there again. A tiny bit of light.

I is for Injuries

Something cool was dabbed on Godwin’s face. He heard the crackling of wood in a fire, and could just barely smell it. But his eyes would not obey his command to open and look for the flames.

A woman was singing, cooing over him.

He wanted to move, but pain was everywhere and heavy. His body refused to move.

The woman hushed him.

Something sweet touched his lips. He licked at it.

H is for Heap

Course, dusty fabric scratched across his nose, trapping heat against his face. Godwin didn’t move.

He couldn’t move.

His head thumped against a wooden plank. Muffled, somewhere in the distance, wheels rolled across stony ground.

Movement stopped. Distant voices. Muffled.

G is for Gyrations

TW: Torture

Grant returned soon after with three other men. Together, they hoisted Godwin from his restraints and dragged him down several passages into a large atrium. At the center of the atrium was a large tower, with long arms and chains extending from the top. Gears and ropes connected the arms in a complicated tangle.

Dangling down on a thick chain from one of the arms was a circular metal cage, no more than four feet in diameter. A man stepped forward and opened a thick door into the cage and Godwin was tossed inside.

Godwin looked around the cramped space as they locked him inside. Steel loops were bolted inside. Godwin gripped one and righted himself, looking out between the bars.

“What are you—?”

The cage lurched. Godwin grabbed for another bar.

“I recommend you hold on,” smiled Grant. “Or not.” He shrugged and motioned at a pair of men standing within the base of the tower. “This will be interesting.”

TW: Torture

“So then,” remarked Grant. “Is today the day you become king?”

Godwin turned his head away.

“It’s quite simple,” Grant went on. “Just put it on your head. Aldred will tell you what to do.”

“I won’t,” mumbled Godwin.

Grant turned and poked at the fire. “Shame, really. Won’t you reconsider?” He pulled a glowing rod from the flames and turned back to Godwin. “I think you’d be a fine king.”

“I won’t.”

E is for Executions

TW: Murder, torture

When Aldred left, they took every source of light. The smells of the dungeon pressed in on Godwin, the occasional sniffle and distant cry the only reminders of life elsewhere. He shook, not certain if it was the cold, fear, or the pain in his head that was causing his muscles to spasm. What was Aldred doing?

Noise erupted in the distance. Feeble cries. Angry shouts. The crack of a whip.

Light flooded into the room as armored guards forced – even dragged – unwilling people to stand against the wall at Godwin’s side. Godwin squinted into the brightness. Grant appeared in front of him. Aldred was close behind. Smirking.

“This one’s already dead,” remarked a guard as he dragged forward the limp body of a man.

D is for Dungeon

The smell of mold and stale urine stung Godwin’s nose as he slowly came around. Cool, moist air passed over his cheeks.

Godwin shifted, and realized he was strapped back into a chair. A moan came from nearby, and the quiet shuffling of feet. His eyes fluttered open. Flickering points of light surrounded him. Flames. He couldn’t quiet focus his eyes on them. Were they torches.
Someone sniffed nearby. The shuffling came closer. Another moan.

“Ayy shut up,” snarled a male voice. There was a slapping sound and a tiny whimper. Godwin flinched.

“Oy,” the male voice said closer. “You awake for us boy?” The man gripped Godwin by the chin and shook his head. Godwin cried out.

The man let him go and stepped away, chuckling. “Oy!” he shouted to some other distant person. “Get Grant. This bloke’s awake!”

Godwin slumped uncomfortably in the chair. There was sniffling all around him, some cries. He looked around again and saw men in small cages, or chained to the walls.

Loud footfalls preceded a small entourage of men. Godwin squinted. The man Grant led them and behind him was…

Aldred.

C is for Captured

Godwin ducked into a side passage and paused for a moment to sweep the dust from his knees. He straightened his collar and stepped into the light of the busy hallway. It was remarkably quiet. People were there, chatting quietly. A couple men were sleeping slumped against the wall, including Hervey. Godwin sniffed as he stepped over Hervey’s legs and ambled toward his own chambers. He padded down the quiet side hall to his door and slipped in. He’d just wanted his sword and a medallion his birth mother had given him, just in case he would never be back here again.

He found the sword and set it on the table and turned to the trunk in which he hid all his favorite memorabilia. Stale air poured out as he opened the lid. Times Godwin only vaguely remembered were buried within, from before his mother delivered him to Bertram. Godwin dove in, digging to the bottom and searching with his fingertips for the tiny wooden box. There it was! He withdrew it and smiled at it, wiping the greasy patina of age off the script on the front. He opened the box, its hinges struggling against him, to expose a tiny silver enameled medallion inside.

A slight breeze touched his neck. “Lovely,” a voice murmured.

Godwin snapped the case closed and spun. A ragged man in worn armor stood in the doorway, smirking.

B is for Belladonna

Simon motioned for everyone to follow. Godwin pulled himself through the tight space on his elbows, wriggling like a fish through fingers until he came up beside Simon. He could hear voices now. The sickening sweet melody of Aldred’s prose and some other men. He pressed further towards the sounds, passing Simon cautiously. Listening. What were they saying?

“Give it an hour,” toned Aldred. “They’ll be done for.”

Clicking and the gentle sliding of metal on metal in time with foot steps carried up the shaft. Armor.

“Sire,” a male voice grunted.

“Have you news for me, Grant?” said Aldred.

“We await you command.”