Fortunato's Dagger

My tongue guided the cool liquid that swirled around in my mouth like a miniature sea, the waves of which gently rolled against my palate.  It didn't take me long to identify the wine; I had come across this particular type many times, as it is fairly common throughout the land in which I had lived my entire life.

"It is but a simple cask of sherry," I verified to Jaque, who had called me to his home to analyze a pipe he had found. Jaque didn't like to travel down into his cellar often, for its nearness to the catacombs, but recently curiosity got the best of him. Upon venturing down into the damp, dank cellar, he came upon the cask. Naturally he wondered if it was worth anything, so he sent me a messenger immediately. I was sorry to disappoint him, for sherry was a relatively cheap wine. "We may as well drink it."

Jaque nodded to me, his light brown hair falling into his face as he did so; having just reached adulthood, Jaque still had some of his childish sheepishness left in him. We had been good friends for a period of time too long to subject to memory. When one of us called for the other, the other would not hesitate to rush to the caller's aid. Jaque had swiftly fetched two fine crystal glasses from another room and began to fill them with the amber liquid, stopping when they were filled to just an inch below the brim.

"To a wonderful and long-running friendship," Jaque said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, to friendship," I replied, bringing the glass to my lips in conjunction with Jaque. "You needn't be so hesitant in my company, Jaque," I added.  Still all he gave was a nod; something was odd about his behavior today.

"I'm not feeling well, I must rest," he said, almost akwardly. I nodded in response and helped him to his four-poster. "Thank you, my good friend. I shall see you in the morn?"

"Yes, I shall return early tomorrow to check upon you," I replied as I headed for the exit of my associate's abode. I was unaware that this was the last farewell my good friend would hear. I hadn't given notice to the cloaked man that I passed in the street that night, and I sometimes wonder if things would have changed if I had. Alas, I simply returned to my home and, without much of an appetite, retreated to my quarters and fell into a dreamless sleep.

I awoke the next morning to the brightness of the rising sun, and after changing into a new robe and trousers, headed directly back to Jaque's home. I arrived and pulled back on the enormous brass doorknocker, shaped like a mythical griffon, and let it fall. The resulting sound was loud enough to emanate throughout the entirety of Jaque's large dwelling. I waited a minute, no response. Two minutes, no response. Three, four, five... nothing. I thought he surely must have still been asleep, so I brought it upon myself to go in and wake him up.

It seemed I had forgotten to lock the door when I left the previous night, but it was just as well. I began calling my friend's name as I ascended the stone stairway which lead to his room, pictures of his anscestors lining the walls. I reached the next floor and made a turn left towards the room in which I assumed my friend was sleeping. I entered through the open doorway and came into view of the most horrendous sight of my life.

Blood was splattered everywhere, against the walls, curtains, and chiffonier; worst of all, there, in the corner, lay the body of my best friend. I nearly vomitted from the smell that plagued the room, more horrid than that of even the largest family's catacombs. Horrified I hurried to him, nearly slipping on the several pools of blood that snaked along the cold stone floor. I lifted his paled chin as I reached him, finding his eyes still open; the look of surprise and horror still there. I drew in a quick breath as I brought my palm over Jaque's eyes, bringing his eyelids down with it to give at least some thin illusion of peace to his body.

My eyes came to view of the knife that must have done this; I knew it wasn't Jaque's because he didn't even own one. The hilt and handle were intricately adorned with designs of gold and silver. Along the side, after wiping away a remainder of deep crimson blood, I could make out a single name- Fortunato.

"Nemo me impune lacessit," I whispered, my fist clenched tightly around the blade that slaughtered my best friend. This man would not go without punishment.