The Cask of Amontillado

The CampfireThe openingFree

I put up with a thousand injuries from Fortunato as best I could. But when he went as far as an insult, I swore revenge.

You, who know me, will not think I made a threat out loud. No. I would be avenged. That was settled. But I had to do it in a way that could never be punished. And I had to do it in a way where he knew it was me.

So I kept smiling at him. I gave him no reason to doubt me. And he didn't notice that my smile, now, was at the thought of his destruction.

Fortunato had one weakness. He was proud of knowing wine. He thought he was the greatest wine expert in Italy.

One evening, at dusk, during the wild madness of the carnival season, I ran into him in the street. He'd been drinking. He was dressed as a jester, in a tight striped suit, with a cone-shaped cap and bells on top. Every time he moved, the bells jingled.

I was so pleased to see him, I thought I'd never stop shaking his hand.

"My dear Fortunato," I said. "I've just bought a cask of what they say is Amontillado. A very rare wine. But I have my doubts."

"Amontillado?" he said. "A cask? Impossible. In the middle of carnival?"

"I have my doubts," I said. "I was going to ask Luchesi to taste it. He knows wine."

"Luchesi can't tell Amontillado from sherry," Fortunato said. "Come. Let's go to your vaults."