‡CHAPTER THREE‡
CLAUDIO
The hallway seemed to stretched on forever, the dim flickering oil lamps barely doing their job danced in the hum of machinery's for every room I passed by. Each steps I took echoed in the corridor, the sack of coal over my shoulder felt heavier for each step I take, I tried to adjust it, my hands numb as I tighten the grip on its knot.
The air was thick and heavy–carrying the scent of burning coal, flesh, and rancid decay. Constantly tormenting my air sacs for every moment I inhale this contaminated air. The air smelled death, at this point I'm sure thick mucus has formed into my lungs, and one day I'm going to drop dead—I wish they name a furnace after me–been doing this job for almost half of my life I might actually call my self 'Coal boy' instead of Claudio.
Coal boy?
Sounds tuff.
This stench clung to my skin, my clothes and my mouth, even to the point where washing up won't remove the smell, to the point where I can taste it to the bottom of my tongue. On the bright side, at least potatoes and mushrooms won't taste so bland anymore.
On the other side of the corridor, metal doors lined up, each with small windows on the top of it. The sound of the place were constant; crackle of flames, the hum of furnaces and the constant groan of someone managing the dead. The fatigue of carrying a stiff body alone in a large metallic hell, doing it for almost everyday, I can feel the soreness and tightness of their muscles. I wonder if their lungs is coated in thick wall of coal dust.
I stopped in front of Room 7, the soles of my feet scuffed in the floor covered ash.
Huh. Ash covered floor?, or ash with a little bit of floor. Who cares doesn't look like floor to me.
I reached on the iron door, hesitating for a moment as my fingers brushed against it's surface. It was warm–it probably absorbed the heat inside.
*knock! *knock!
I thumped my knuckles against it, creating a low metallic noise that somehow manage to echo in the narrow hallway. The warmth on the door lingered on my knuckles. I wonder if I hang a pot of water and potatoes on it's handle it will get boiled, or stick mushrooms on its surface will it turn into a stir fry.
I'm hungry…
I stood there for awhile waiting for the door to crack open and reveal the woman who tends to the dead, but a minute has passed and still it's just me and the door. I feel like if this door have hands, it will perform a bad finger to my face.
Fuck you too, Mr. Door.
*knock! *knock! *knock!
I knocked again, much louder and this time I did it three. There's still no answer... What if that old ass furnace accidentally collapsed on her….. Goodness gracious!!
"MADAMMM!"
Without any hesitation, I raised my leg and slammed my foot into the metal door, putting every strength I have to burst it open. The moment my foot slammed into the metal, a sharp searing pain shot up through my right leg.
"Ow! Ow! Ow!" I hissed, clutching my foot and dropping my sack of coal, as I bounced awkwardly. I hopped into my other foot as I cradled my throbbing foot midair. My balance wobbling with every hop, muttering curses under my breath trying to stop the urge to scream my ass out.
"Stupid door.." With a grunt, I steadied myself planting my sore foot into the ground. My kick didn't burst the door open, it just left it with a small opening, enough to fit the hand. Stupid feet and a weak ass twig leg. I reached for the door handle, it was cover with a layers of fabric, probably not to burn yourself knowing it's burning hot inside.
"Madam." I called softly, only to realize somethings wrong…
"Oh shit, where's my coal!" My head jerked to the ground to see the coal had spilled out, scattering across the ash-covered floor. Shit, shit, shit, I hurriedly grabbed the empty sack and dropped on my knees.
"Damn it, you had one job Claud, one job." I hissed as I frantically scooped up handful of the filthy lumps of tiny black boulders scattered on the ground. I shove everything inside the fabric, the soot clung to my fingers, smudging up my forearms and clothes as I worked frantically.
I glanced over my shoulder, checking if anyone's around to witness my stupidity. I worked faster grabbing every coal I can reach, the jagged edges of it biting into my arms.
"Why this stuff weigh too damn heavy." I growled, lifting the sack upright again, the knot barely holding as I yanked it tight.
"Madam?" I called softly as I reached the door handle, pushing it gently. Squealing open after too many years of labor.
I walked with caution, as my eyes scans the room expecting a woman to emerged from the shadows and scold me from making such a fuss . She's not here. The furnace at the left side of the room roared spitting embers that danced lazily in the suffocating air, the smell was worse here, thick and pungent, someone's probably getting roasted inside that metal. My eyes darted to the corner, there they were–the dead. Rows of them lying on metallic slabs, waxy skin glistening under the flickering light. Some of them probably died from a disease or starvation or probably just got their ass beaten up to death.
She's not here. Well at least there's no witnesses on how that door almost broke my leg, maybe she left to get some clay urns for the ashes. I shifted the sack of my shoulder, and without much care, I tossed it on the ground. It landed with a heavy thud, rolling slightly but staying intact–the coals packed tightly enough not to spill it. I stepped further in.
Speaking of the dead. My eyes caught a glimpse of something unusual, a flash of fined fabric in the line of stained monotony sheets. I scanned the room, checking if I'm actually alone, when I confirm that I am indeed the only one here, I grabbed the door handle and shut the door close behind me.
It stood out, the clothing was elegant, tailored and refined, far too luxurious to think it belongs to someone who ended up here. It must be a noble. It was in the first line of the row, probably the next one to be cremated, curiosity plugged me, urging me to walk closer.
My feet scuffed the floor as I approached, my gaze fixed on the figure, the body lay exposed unlike the rest of them hidden beneath tattered blankets.
It's a woman. I stopped in front of the woman's body, the fabric of her black, high collar robe is mesmerizing, intricate silver designs embroidered onto the sleeves and lower hems adds a tone of wealth and touch of refined detail. The fabric was exquisite and expertly stitched. But my attention shifted as I noticed a tear running through it, a large, jagged hole right in the abdomen, it's edges damaged, like something has torn through it with a brutal force. There's no wound, the flesh beneath the garment was smooth and untouched, bewildered I glanced at the woman's face.
No sunken cheeks, or slack jaws. She didn't have that open mouth "I got my ass kicked and died in agony" expression that most corpses wore. She looked so peaceful like she just dozed off, and took a nap in the crematorium. Do the rich get to die with style, this is my first time seeing one and I certainly will say they look cool. Well, she probably messed with the government and now they're going to fake her death, by making her wear this torn clothes. I wonder if she got poisoned or got choked to death.
Well, sucks to be her. I sighed, carefully reaching to her pockets. She's a noble she probably got something down in this fancy pants that I can still use. Her pockets are empty. Well this ridiculous dress probably got more pockets to hide those treasures.
I reached for her wrist, gently lifting it so I can fit my hand in the sleeves of her robe. They had pockets here, if I remembered correctly–because apparently nobles are so greedy they need a good storage to keep the resources for themselves.
Her arm was limp, not stiff like the others I handled before. Still, I slid my fingers into the fabric, rummaging through a small hole trying to feel something.
I froze….
"Ho…..Hop..Ital"
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