Don't Mine At Night

VI

The cell itself was small and cramped. Jaleel sat on an overturned bucket to avoid the thin layer of brine (presumably to dull the smell of death that impregnated the jail) that collected at the very bottom of the space. The room itself was small, barely enough for several people. Jaleel was lucky that he was the only man shoved into this cell. 

To the very front of him were heavy-set metal bars, ones that, with much effort on his own part (hollering, kicking, and rattling), could not be moved. They were jagged and rusted near the bottom where brine became grime and ran with mould up the first few centimetres.  To the left sat a cot. It was hoisted up on two metal chains and connected to the wall. That was one pleasantry. He'd rather die than sleep on the ground with his head touching whatever prehistoric amoeba lived in the stagnant filth.  To the right was a blank stone wall. Scattered on the ground had been the remains of what Jaleel guessed was a desk. Now, however, it was rotted into some misshapen wooden planks that could, at first glance, easily be wielded as weapons if need be. However, when picked up, they proved to be as soggy as bread in a duck pond, and they sagged with the force of gravity. Directly behind him was a window that almost graced the ceiling. It was a small sliver of a thing, barely letting light filter in through thin metal bars. That was the only indicator of the passage of time. It had only taken an hour or so for several other guards to manhandle him into the jail- acting as if he were some top level, dangerous criminal. All weapons raised as he passed, and a brief scan of the skies indicated archers pointing their arrows at him from the tower-tops. It was high security, and, despite the scenario, he was impressed.

Now, he sat, elbows resting on his knees, waiting for something- anything- to happen. He'd heard the guards outside his cell whispering of a trial. Though they weren't exactly trying to be subtle.

It was still- and quiet- for a moment. And then there was the unmistakable creak of the heavy wooden door at the entrance being pushed open, and the click of boots against stone floor. The guards shifted, mumbled something unintelligible, and disappeared from Jaleel's view.

His eyes trailed up then, and if he hadn't been silent then, he was now. 

Before the cell stood the king himself, looking, as expected, none too pleased. 

;; short chapter but im word vomiting, jaleel gets screentime! interrogation scene next hope yall are ready yeehaw