square building that could almost pass for a small castle. Its stone walls towered over them. Two small windows positioned to the sides of the solid wooden door looked like eyes evaluating your every move. Jonathon knocked firmly on the door. A few mechanical sounding clangs sounded before the door slowly opened, revealing a tall man who looked as if a smile would crack his face. He raised thin black eyebrows and looked Rowena up and down studying her closely with one cold gray eye. Rowena couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to his other eye, which was a knotty scar. “Who’s this?”
Ronan cleared his throat and stepped forward. “This is my sister, Gwyneth. She’s going to be helping with prison duties.”
He grunted and ushered them inside with leathery hands, avoiding any further eye contact.
Once inside, Rowena shivered. She wasn’t sure whether her chills were caused by the cold air or the cold atmosphere. Rowena took a deep breath of stale air and took in the room. Moss spotted the craggy walls. The dusty floorboards were stained with rust-colored splotches. A worn desk stacked with papers, caked in grime. A large black bug with more legs than seemed necessary scuttled across the desk. Rowena shuddered, imagining it crawling up her leg.
The prison attendant peeled open his lips and ran his tongue across them like a slippery eel. “It’s feeding time.” The words that spilled from his mouth were plagued with a morbid tinge of excitement as a crooked smile curled his lips. He ushered Rowena toward a small room that resembled a kitchen. An older woman with grey hair wound into a bun was standing by the bench in front of a filthy bowl full of stale crusts of bread. Wicker baskets had been lined up in a row. The woman jammed a knobby finger into a large nostril, wiped her finger on her smock then started putting pieces of the stale bread into the baskets. Some of the bread had green and white furry patches.
The prison attendant walked over to the woman and told her that Gwyneth was going to be helping out today. The woman grunted and glanced at Rowena, handing her two baskets of the foul bread.
“Where does the rubbish go?” Rowena asked, holding the two baskets gingerly in the air. The woman looked at her and narrowed her eyes. Her mouth curled back and she let out a raspy cackle. “Rubbish? There are plenty of rubbish bins chained up in the prison. Take them that bread before they starve. We wouldn’t want them starving to death before we get to question them all.”
The woman’s heartless words stabbed Rowena in the chest. She clenched the handles of the baskets, turning her knuckles white.
“Of course,” Rowena said through clenched teeth. “That’s what I meant.”
Jonathon breathed out a sigh and Ronan looked calm as ever. Rowena decided then that tomorrow she would smuggle some of her breakfast into the prison. The idea of her friends and fellow witches eating rotting bread made her stomach do cartwheels. She loosened her grip of the basket handles as a guard appeared in the doorway.
“Mornin’ all.” His voice was lighter than that of the old woman’s and the sour prison attendant, but his face was still cold. “You must be Gwyneth,” he said, nodding at Rowena.
“Yes,” she managed, her rage still boiling under the surface.
“Ronan and I told him about you yesterday,” Jonathon said. “It’s important he knows who you are.”
“Yes, or I might think you’re an escaped witch!” laughed the guard. “You wouldn’t want that! Well, come on along, then.”
He turned his back and raised his hand motioning for her to follow him. Rowena walked forward not hearing any footsteps behind her. She turned back to Jonathon and Ronan. “Aren’t you coming?” she asked, her stomach sinking.
“This is your task, Gwyneth,” Ronan said, winking at her. Rowena gulped hard and hurried to catch up with the guard as he made his way down a long dark passage. An overpowering stench lingered in the fusty air. Slightly sweet with a putrid note that threatened to make her vomit if she inhaled too deeply. As they approached the cells Rowena realized the smell in the air was coming from human waste. Butterflies rammed the walls of her stomach and she wasn’t sure if she could go any further. A low moaning arose from behind a solid wooden door. The guard unlocked the door and pulled it open, letting a new bout of rancid