smell like death,” said a hoarse male voice from the direction of the door.

Nathaniel looked up. Someone was there. A head could be seen through the window, outlined by the orange glow of torchlight on the stone behind.

“You’re wasting away,” the voice added. “They’re not feeding you. Can’t say I blame them.”

“Who are you?” Nathaniel asked. His throat grated like he hadn’t spoken in days.

The figure stepped back into the light, revealing the chiselled face and pointed beard that matched the voice.

“Minta,” Nathaniel said. “If you’ve come to watch me die, you should take a seat. Looks like it might be a long wait.”

“I thought it was just my imagination,” Minta said, “when I saw you...

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