The Criswell's Curse

The smell of blood, feces and urine intensified as we walked further down the large stone staircase, only lightened by a long torch trapped between the man’s thick fingers. Another iron door appeared in front of us and the moment it opened, I frowned.

“We can always turn back if you’re not up for it.” He said, mocking my reaction to the intensification of the smell. Noticing my lack of response, he pushed the door further, allowing me to pass through.

Along a deep stone hall, several cages stood parallel to each other. All of them swarmed with people: men, women, elderly and even children were chained to walls inside their cells. Malnourished bodies, lifeless eyes, horrified expressions, and mothers who clasped their children in their arms, as if they knew this would be their last embrace.

Noticing a man lying on the floor, motionless, my chest grew heavy. The slave trader spotted him as well and quickly clicked his fingers, before leading me to a small room at the end of the hall. The sound of bars being pushed and chains clinging on the floor echoed, forcing me to acknowledge what I feared. That man was dead.

If I had discovered this place earlier, certainly my goody-ass-shoes self would’ve strived to tear it down, to burn it into the ground, even if my status and power equaled to nothing. But now, seeing the desperation on these innocent people, all with intense hope of surviving by some groundless God’s miracle, I was unfazed. They neither bothered me nor made me feel uneasy, almost as if my mind had become a foreigner to such a humane feeling – to pure kindness.

It doesn’t matter if I save them... everything will go back in three years. Maybe this thought was a mere way to reassure myself that my actions were realistic, reasonable, however, I knew the reason wasn’t that simple.

The man served me a coffee in a somewhat classy cup, but my hand quickly pushed it away. “I don’t drink.”

“More for me.” He chuckled while gulping down the cup in one go. It would take someone truly foolish to drink or consume something in a place like this. After putting down the cheap tableware, he smirked. “So, Miss, what can I help you with?”

“I want to see your strongest Tulips.” I sat across his chair, straight on the center of the somewhat comfortable beige couch.

“Of course.” The man’s smile widened right before he clicked his fingers once again. He drank a bit of his own coffee, always glaring at me from the sides. “I can’t help but wonder why a young woman such as yourself would need a Tulip.”

“I’m sure that a person with your expertise already knows, no?” I grinned, leading him to believe my purchase was merely to satisfy my nightly desires. It wasn’t unusual to buy slaves as sex toys, but of course, my age would, inevitably, posed a threat to this half-ass excuse.

His wicked smile quickly turned cold. “I should warn you; our prices are high... not something a simple salary will cover.”

I snorted at the man, allowing his eyes to widen in surprise. “If you thought I didn’t have the money, would you have let me in?”

Once a grin appeared on his lips, a shiver ran down my spine. Oh – I’d been foolish. He didn’t invite me in because he thought I had money... he did it to sell me.

Almost immediately, my hands placed a medium-sized pouch on the low wooden table. The man clicked his tongue, displeased that his aspirations had come to an end. His fingers then pushed the line, allowing the container to open. Several gold coins shun brightly against the dim light from the torches around.

He let out a sigh and removed a cigar from the table next to his chair. After lighting it up, he painfully chuckled. “Such a waste...” He mumbled, loud enough for me to hear. “... but I can’t be involved in the disappearance of a noble.”

The lingering silence dissipated when the sound of chains scratching the floor rung through. The door opened and moments later, eight men, completely restrained, walked inside. Behind them, a man with a shady rabbit mask smiled. He was looking right at me.

Attempting to shake off that man’s lustful glare, I shifted my attention to the slaves. Their bodies were large, bulky enough to break a tree with only one arm and yet, their eyes were lifeless, numb, void of any emotion. I’d never witnessed something like this before. Were they drugged?

I glanced at the trader, who kept on analyzing me up and down, repeatedly. It seemed he was fighting his own demons; the will to sell me off for a more generous offer or to simply keep me as another noble client. Taking into consideration our conversation so far and how much his morale was divided, all the questions regarding this unknown drug were buried within my curiosity. He wouldn’t shed light on this matter without a price, after all.

“They may look tame, but I assure you, miss, they can handle the job perfectly.”

“These won’t do. I need someone smart and strong.” I frowned as he scratched the back of his bald head in conflict. He was hiding something.

“We have one that might fit the criteria, but he has yet to be trained.” He forcefully coughed. “It would take at least a week to get him ready.”

The mere fact that this man was struggling to find a branch to stand on allowed a thrilling sensation of satisfaction to travel through my body. “Take me to him. I will see for myself.”

Still unsure, the trader ended up complying. His large hand waved in the air, allowing a new man to pop from one of the deep shadows of the room, exiting with his companion and their flavorless merchandise. He’d always been there yet it I couldn’t even notice his presence.

As we walked through the halls, the man spoke far more casually, as if his desire to sell me off had been miraculously suppressed. “He’s from a mountain tribe in the North. He’s very dangerous. A couple of my guys died trying to catch him.”

While he blabbered about their encounter, I remained quiet, simply following in his footsteps and hearing his words. After five-minutes walking, we reached the cage of the most dangerous Tulip – or so he called him.

A cell filled with pure steel poles, locked away with five types of locks held inside a young man, slightly older than me, fully chained to the stone floor and walls. With an underweight body covered in wounds, he simply sat there, glaring at me with his dark brown eyes.

Like a predator to his prey, his hatred instantly passed through, wishing to rip our necks apart; however, his soft looking platinum hair shone brightly whenever the flame flickered next to it. The further I looked, the more bruises and superficial wounds were disclosed and, resting by his side, a handful of trays filled with rotten bread rested – all swarming with insects and mice. They were treating him like an animal, a wild beast that needed to be subdued. His feet and hands had been locked into the wall while his neck carried a heavy metal collar which bruised on his shallow collarbones.

Run. Was what my gut yelled every time his eyes connected with mine, but even then, I knew it had to be him. He was... perfect.

“What do you think? Does it suit your fancy, Miss?” The man said sarcastically. It was clear he had only brought me here to make me back down, to display the beast who had killed more than ‘a couple’ of his men.

“Open it.” The trader looked at me, completely dumbfounded. “Do I need to repeat myself? Open it.”

I glared at him, and he frowned, displeased with how things had turned out. Reluctantly, the man opened the door and allowed me to enter. “He’s dangerous. If you die, it’s your own fault.”