The One in the Well

The man stared back at what he had done with a sense of grim satisfaction. A brief moment of hollow silence rung the secluded courtyard like a churchyard bell.

"I did it," the man said, "I can't believe I did it."

He did not have long to celebrate as something began to throw itself against the cover of the well with a roar of hitherto unknown fury. The now locked and welded steel lid rang with each and every blow, but the seal did not budge and the locks did not break. The man began to sweat nervously, hoping his rushed work would hold. There was no telling what something like the thing in the well was capable of. It seemed human, but he knew better. The other man, his patron, a celebrated lord of the city, warned him as such.

"Ah, Mr. Agit," said a voice behind him.

The man, Agit, jumped around in surprise to see his patron in the courtyard's entryway. "Oh! Lord Mendax, I didn't see you there. You startled me."

"Do forgive me, Mr. Agit," Mendax said with a confident smile, "it's an unconscious habit of mine. But, as much as it pains me, I am not here to exchange pleasantries. Is it done?"

"Yes, my Lord." Replied Agit, gesturing to the now sealed well.

"Good. It was quite a nuisance having her run around free." Mendax threw a heavy brown pouch down at Agit's feet. "As promised."

Agit eyed the pouch warily. He wanted so badly to take the promised gold, but the sudden use of the word 'her' gave him a moment of pause.

"My Lord..." he said.

Mendax sighed. "What now, Agit?"

"Who... what was inside the well, my Lord?"

Mendax cocked his head to the side. "A doppelganger, one who thought to impersonate my dear consort, Lady Truth."

The thing in the well began to bang harder and harder against the metal seal of the well. It screamed and cursed, but the words were too muffled to hear.

"So, it's not really her, my Lord? The Lady Truth?"

Mendax gave an admonishing snort. "Of course not! Are you accusing me of falsehood?"

The color suddenly fled from Agit's face. "I would never dream of it, my Lord."

"Good, now take your reward and get out of my house! I tire of your wanton insinuations."

Agit bent down and scooped up the pouch, which jingled faintly in his hands. Upon hearing the sound, his mood vastly improved. "Yes, my Lord."

Without further ado, Agit left the house of Lord Mendax and fled to his own home in a dustier, grimier part of town.

Agit, troubled from the events of the day, entered his small, cramped home and slammed the door shut behind him. His wife and children had not yet returned, so he wished to calm his nerves by counting his new fortune in privacy. His breath seized as he placed the pouch gingerly on his dinner table. His fingers twitched and his mouth dried. Then, suddenly, with a quick motion he grabbed the pouch's draw-string and pulled it free. The smooth fabric of the pouch then fell away, revealing the prize within.

Agit's face grew paler than a sheet. Inside the pouch was not gold, as he had expected, as he had been promised. Instead, there were numerous polished gray metal discs, each about the size of a gold coin.

Agit held back tears. He knew of the Lord Mendax's reputation, and he expected him to follow through on his promise. He inspected the coins. Perhaps the Lord had given him silver by mistake, perhaps it was a misunderstanding. It had to be!

Even if it was not gold, he would not be poor. He could still sell silver. Yes, it had to be silver. He grabbed a knife from his pantry and tried to scratch one of the coins. It would not scratch. He then scooped the coins into his hand and inspected them more closely. He held their mirror-like surfaces to the light, trying to find any white luster, only to see all-the-better its dull gray color beneath the polish. He knew at once what it had to be: pellets of iron, worthless, common iron.

"He lied!" Agit gasped. "That bleeding bastard lied to me!"

He threw the iron in his hand against the wall and screamed.

It was then he remembered Lady Truth in the well, and her pleading eyes as he welded the lid onto her well for the last time, and the promise of wealth that had drawn him to do it. He thought to tell everyone he knew of the deception, but who would believe his word against the word of a Lord? Agit buried his head in his hands in shame.

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This story was inspired in part by the painting "Truth Coming Out of Her Well" by Jean-Léon Gérôme and the accompanying fable by Jean-Pierre Claris de Florian. The changes I made to the fable were meant more as commentary, but I do not want to give everything away.