The door of the carriage opened to reveal a stretch of quayside that Dantes had not seen before.

"Get in the boat!" ordered the guard gruffly.

"There must be some mistake," started Dantes, confused, "M. de Villefort said I was to be taken back to the town. I'm getting married..."

"Not my concern. Get in the boat!" repeated the guard, pointing to a sturdy row boat moored some yards away.

"Not until I speak to M. de Villefort."

"Never heard of him."

"You must have... he's the public prosecutor... he gives you your orders!"

"I get my orders from Capitaine Martin and my orders are to put you into that boat. Now," a musket was thrust in Dantes' face, "are you going to get in of your own accord, or must I use force?" Faced with a loaded gun, Dantes conceded defeat and stepped from the carriage. Hands pulled and pushed him roughly towards the little craft.

"Where are we going?" he asked, once seated at the prow. As he watched the guards pile into the boat after him, he could scarce believe that they were all there on his account.

"I'm not allowed to tell you, but I hear you're a sailor, so you'll figure it out soon enough."

Dantes looked around for a ship or a landing point, but there were none. In fact, they seemed to be rowing ever further away from the shore. Did they intend to cross the mediteranean in that little vessel? Then he saw it, silhuetted against the horizon. It rose like a malevolent demon from the deep... sheer cliffs and bleak windowless walls atop... the island of the Chateau d'If.

Dantes stared in horror. "The Chateau d'If?" he exclaimed, "But that's a state prison. You can't be taking me there, I haven't been tried yet!" Try as he might, Dantes could detect no emotion on the guards' faces. "You can't take me there... please! I've done nothing wrong. They can't just lock me away. M de Villefort promised..."

"Listen," replied the guard, at last and not unkindly, removing the hand with which Dantes was clutching his sleeve, "I don't know what your M de Villefort promised you, but my orders are to take you to the Chateau d'If. If you have such influential friends, I suggest you speak to the governor about them when we get there."

But the governor was unavailable that evening and, despite his protests, Dantes was forced to spend the night in a cell. He felt ridiculous sitting there in his wedding clothes and the thought depressed him. What must his guests be thinking... his father's shame... and Mercedes! She haunted his restless dreams that night until dawn found him red-eyed and melancholic.

"You haven't eaten." Said the gaoler later that morning.

"Wasn't hungry." replied Dantes morosely, "I want to see the governor." But the guard just shrugged, put some fresh food in the place of the uneaten supper and left. It was a scene repeated time and again. By the end of the third day, Dantes was desparate. "I must see the governor! Don't you understand? There has been some terrible mistake. I'm not supposed to be here!" he pleaded tearfully.

"You can't see the governor because no prisoner is allowed to make that request."

"What???"

"Didn't they tell you?" said the gaoler, surprised, "Best you can hope for is to catch his eye in the exercise yard, but son that could take months."

"No!" The prospect of months in the Chateau d'If was appaulling. "if you'll take my advice, you'll forget the idea. If seen men go mad obsessing about speaking with the governor. It ain't pretty." "But I'm innocent!" Dantes was approaching hysteria. He could be here for month, years, longer! He had to get out. Perhaps if he could write to his father, or Mercedes, or M Morrell... but the gaoler refused to carry so much as a few lines. When the door of the cell closed behind him, there was a sound of finality, eternity, an odd echoing tone of forever.

Suddenly Dantes was angry. He'd been so compliant, so eager to do the right thing and where had it got him? Thrown into a cold, damp, dark cell to rot! He reached for the nearest object and flung it as hard as he could across the tiny room. The rage inside him grew as, piece by piece, he destroyed the meagre furniture around him.

"Hey!" came and exclaimation through the closed door, "Keep it down in there, or we'll be forced to take you to the dungeon... then you'll never see the governor."

But Dantes no longer cared. He knew he'd never see the governor, never get out of Chateau d'If, so the taunt just enraged him further. He yelled, screamed and cursed the gaoler as he had never cursed anyone before. The gaolers let him vent steam, thinking that he'd wear himself out; but when evening approached and the tantrum showed no signs of abating, they were forced to open the cell door. Most of the furniture was in splinters, but Dantes swung a large fragment of wood at the first gaoler. It took five of them to restrain him, but at last it was done.

"Take him down to the dungeon." ordered the first gaoler, still nursing his head, "Let the mad be with the mad!"

Dantes hadn't thought it possible to find a gloomier cell than the one he had just wrecked, but his new accomodation was smaller, colder and smelt of mould. The light outside barely penetrated the tiny, deep set, heavily barred window. If he climbed right up to the bars, he could just make out the lights of Marseille in the distance, where Mercedes would be wondering what had become of her bridegroom... Mercedes!

Dantes slid down the wall, his wedding clothes in shreds and all fight at last gone out of him. He gave one great sob of despare and then curled up where he had fallen and slept on the stone flags which comprised the floor.

In that dungeon cell in the island fortress of the Chateau d'If, time had no meaning. The days merged into weeks, months and years with monotony and solitude, the nights were plagued with ghoulish dreams. No one came... not the governor, not M de Villefort, not Mercedes... no one. Even the gaolers got bored of the novelty of a prisoner who had no idea why he was in gaol. In those few cubic feet of stone, rag-clad prisoner number 34 clung to existence... but Captain Edmond Dantes was long since dead. div>

This thread continues from A Wedding

This thread continues in Prisoner 27

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