[witch168]

A flask of Medoc

Montressor and I have always been on cordial terms. I may even presume to say we are friends. After all, no hard feelings can be borne in even the hardest of hearts after a dinner with a well-chosen wine, of which I have shared with Montressor many a time. Few can resist my invitation to a dinner, after all. I pride myself in my connoisseurship in the area of old vintage wines, an area in which I may humbly present myself to be one of the best in Italy.

This Montressor of which I speak of, as well-spoken as he may be, however, does have one rather unfortunate trait. Upon meeting the man, I was struck by the lack of warmth this man possessed. Where is his enthusiasm in the tasting of such fine wine, which our gracious host so painstakingly sought out and presented for our enjoyment? Where was his gratitude, upon being so fortunate as to drink out of a cask of Amontillado in the carnival season? Indeed, Montressor of Lemont merely whetted his lips with the golden sherry, wrinkled his nose disdainfully, and did not utter a word of thanks! Well, myself being the aforementioned gracious host, I sought to confront him about this matter.

“Why, luckily met, Montressor. I’m glad you could come! ” I shook his hand warmly. His hand was as cold as his demeanor, like a snake in the midst of a chicken coop. He nodded his head slightly, a gracious smile on his face. “I see that you have taken it upon yourself to taste my fine wines. Well, what do you think? Impressive, no?”

“A fine selection to accompany a fine feast,” he replied, smilingly gesturing to the wineglass he had just set down on the small table beside us. “Where did you come upon such a fine pipe of Amontillado?” I could sense that we had a kinship in this area. My irritation disappeared as he praised my wine with silky words and I immediately sought to discuss with him the despicable shortage of Amontillado this year. Soon, we were engaged in a heated discussion as to which ports produced the finest wine.

“Surely the Lemont port produces wine with much higher quality, and with much more regularity as well.”

“No! Surely not.” I threw back my head and laughed loudly. “I made the mistake of buying sherry there once without tasting it myself first. Dumped it out after the first drink. Such a vugular taste!”

Montressor smiled tightly, laughing as well. “And yet this Rossi port you regard so highly is often devastated by shipwrecks and piracy, so often, in fact, that you struggle this much to get your hands on one mere cask of Amontillado! It is a fine wine, indeed.” He laughed heartily and downed the glass of golden wine. “And yet the price must have been abominable!”

“A price well paid,” I said even louder, not noticing the many looks our discussion was drawing. I was enjoying this discussion too much, and my sixth glass of wine had gone down extremely well. I leaned over and clapped Montressor on the back, saying “And that port offers the very best of wines, perhaps the best in Italy!”

“That is an outrageous claim indeed. Surely not!” He insisted.

“Well, this very Amontillado in which you yourself have deemed so well selected is from that very port!” I shouted with an air of finality, and in that instant I knew that I had come up with the higher hand.

Montressor choked on his wine, his face going red. He gaped at me with such an expression of astonishment that I could not help but feel satisfied. This may very well have been the first time that Montressor has seemed such a fool in public. The entire room was staring in our direction.
“Both ports are well known for their fine wines,” Luchesi said. He had been listening for some time now, and had spoken up with an air of someone who had understood well our friendly debate. “I propose a contest in order to determine which truly deserves the title of ‘best in Italy’. Don’t you agree?” The last was addressed to the crowded room, and was met by cheers. I saw Montressor smile to himself, and his eyes glittered an even darker black.

“Pull up your finest wines, Fortunado!” Luchesi clapped me on the back, eager to drink more. He had the slight tipsiness of a man who had one glass too many. But I had no inclination to refuse. This was a splendid idea. With a loud bellow, I called for my lady to bring up my finest wines.
“At it again?” She shook her head at me, but went down to the cellars to fetch the wine anyway. Soon, she came up with several casks, followed by her maids and hand servants. There were whoops and shouts as she set it down and withdrew.

I gestured to the casks with my mug, beaming widely. “These are the finest from the Rossi port, and this,” With a crash, I set my cup upon a lone cask in the corner. It had a black iron band that ran around its width, which bulged out ever so slightly. A long, jagged crack ran through its length, giving an impression of a grizzly faced man with a frowning face. “This is the cask from the Lemont port of which I spoke of. Drink up, gentlemen, and let yourselves decide which is the port that truly deserves the honor of being called the best!”

More cheers greeted my speech, and men rushed upon the casks, tearing out the top and dipping their mugs into my store of wine. Within moments, cascades of shouts went up. “To the port of Rossi!” and “Wonderful! Such taste! I go for the Rossi port!” were only a few of the toasts. Montressor dipped a finger into the wine from the Lemont port and tasted it. His face twisted. “Why,” he said indignantly. “This is a mere flask of spoiled Medoc!”

“Too true,“ I smiled. “And yet you do not deny that it was from the Lemont port, dare you not?”

His eyes went curiously blank, like a snake before it strikes. I took it to be shock, and then he nodded, as if accepting his defeat. Roars of laughter filled the room full of drunk men. I filled my mug and drank deeply, then shouted “To the port of Rossi!”

“To the port of Rossi!” Montressor said, and drank.

“And why, my store of Amontillado has dwindled to nothing. Well, the carnival always does have some fine wines. I shall have to patiently bide my time until then. Perhaps your taste in wines will improve by then, eh Montressor?”

“Until the next year’s carnival arrives, then.” He said, his eyes glittering.

[Pixel]

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