The dungeon was damp, dark, and cold. The ceilings were high, and the dungeon itself was vast. The glimmer of lanterns illuminated only a small part of the space, while fiery torches lit up most of it.
Artes, carrying Gerda in his arms, walked through rows of shacks towards a house fortified with wooden beams. The old woman followed him, her hands clasped behind her back. Stopping at the entrance, she looked back at the others and said:
— Dismissed!
Then she entered the house.
All the slaves dispersed to their shacks, and the workers in masks moved further into the depths of the dungeon.
The house consisted of a single room. A fireplace stood in the far corner, with a sofa next to it.
Artes approached the sofa and laid Gerda on it. A cat, which lived in this house and slept by the fireplace, jumped onto the sofa and lay down next to the girl.
— Hey, Artes! — the old woman called out. — Bring a towel and some cold water.
— I'll bring it right away, — Artes replied, tired and a little nervous, and left the house.
The old woman, looking around, approached the sofa and sat down next to Gerda. She crossed herself and took the girl's hand.