Chapter 20: Imprisonment: I
The police commissioner gave a subtle nod to two guards as they walked through the waiting area. Without a word, they flanked Dantès, one on each side like he was some kind of dangerous criminal.
A heavy door creaked open, connecting to the courthouse next door. They walked through what felt like miles of dark, depressing hallways that would make anyone’s skin crawl. The courthouse was attached to the prison, a massive, intimidating building with barred windows that stared out at the old clock tower across the street.
After countless twists and turns, they stopped at a door with a small barred window. The commissioner grabbed a heavy iron hammer and knocked three times. Each bang echoed in his chest like his heart was being crushed.
The door swung open. The guards gave him a gentle push forward, and it slammed shut behind him with a sound that seemed to seal my fate. The air inside was thick and suffocating, nothing like the fresh sea breeze he was used to. This was it. Dantès was in prison.
They led him to what looked like a decent enough room, though it had bars on the windows and door. At least it wasn’t the worst place he’d ever seen. Besides, Mr. Villefort’s words kept echoing in his head, he’d seemed genuinely concerned about helping him, and that felt like a promise of freedom.
It was four in the afternoon when they locked Dantès in that room. March 1st, he remembered clearly. As darkness fell, his other senses sharpened. Every tiny sound made him jump up and rush to the door, convinced they were coming to release him. But each time, the footsteps faded away, and he’d slump back down, more defeated than before.
Finally, around ten o’clock, just as hope was abandoning him completely, he heard footsteps in the corridor. A key turned, bolts slid back, and the heavy wooden door burst open. Light from two torches flooded the room.
In the flickering light, he could see the gleaming weapons of four guards. He’d started walking toward them, but stopped when he saw how many there were.
"Are you here to get me?" Dantès asked.
"Yes," one of them replied.
"On orders from the prosecutor’s office?"
"I think so."
Knowing they came from Mr. Villefort made him feel so much better. He walked calmly to the center of their formation. A carriage was waiting outside with a driver and a police officer sitting up front.
"Is that carriage for me?"
"It’s for you," the guard confirmed.
Dantès was about to ask more questions, but they urged him forward. He didn’t have the strength or desire to fight, so he climbed the steps and found himself sitting between two guards, with two more across from him. The carriage began rolling heavily over the cobblestones.
Dantès glanced at the windows, barred, of course. He’d simply traded one prison for another, and he had no idea where this mobile cell was taking me. Through the bars, he could see they were driving through the merchant district, past Saint-Laurent Street and Taramis Street, heading toward the harbor. Soon he spotted the lights of the customs house.
The carriage stopped. The officer got out and walked to the guardhouse. A dozen soldiers emerged and lined up in formation. In the lamplight reflecting off the harbor, he could see their rifles gleaming.
’All this security just for me?’ Dantès wondered.
The officer unlocked the door and, without saying a word, answered his unspoken question. Between the rows of soldiers, he could see a clear path from the carriage to the harbor. The two guards across from him got out first, then he was ordered to step down, followed by the guards who’d been sitting beside him.
They walked toward a small boat that a customs officer was holding steady with a chain near the dock. The soldiers stared at Dantès with blank curiosity. In seconds, he found himself sitting in the back of the boat between the guards, while the officer took position at the front. Someone pushed them off, and four strong rowers began pulling them rapidly toward Pilon Island.
At a shout from their boat, the chain blocking the harbor mouth was lowered, and within moments they were outside the inner harbor, in the open waters Dantès knew so well.
His first emotion was pure joy at breathing fresh air again, because air meant freedom. But that joy quickly turned to sadness as they passed La Réserve restaurant, where he’d been so happy just that morning. Through the open windows, he could hear laughter and music from some party going on. He clasped his hands together, looked up at the sky, and prayed with everything he had.
The boat kept moving. They’d passed Death’s Head point and were now off Pharo Bay, about to round the battery of cannons. This route made no sense to Dantès.
"Where are you taking me?" He asked.
"You’ll find out soon enough."
"But-"
"We’re not allowed to tell you anything."
He’d been in the merchant marine long enough to know that questioning subordinates who were forbidden to answer was pointless. So he stayed quiet.
All kinds of wild thoughts raced through his mind. This boat wasn’t big enough for a long voyage, and he didn’t see any ships anchored outside the harbor. Maybe they were just dropping him off at some remote location. They hadn’t tied him up or handcuffed him, which seemed like a good sign. And hadn’t the prosecutor, who’d been so kind to him, promised that as long as he didn’t mention that dangerous name, Noirtier, he had nothing to worry about? Hadn’t Villefort destroyed that incriminating letter right in front of him, the only evidence against him?
Dantès waited in silence, trying to see through the darkness.
They’d left Ratonneau Island with its lighthouse on their right and were now passing Catalans Point. He thought he could make out a woman’s silhouette on the beach, that’s where Mercédès lived. How could she not sense somehow that her lover was only three hundred yards away?