The Shades of Toffee by Charles F. Myers

Within the old house there was little evidence of the morning outside. Mr. Adams had boarded over the windows and now the daylight shone through only at the openings of the turrets where the tracks of the catapults reached for the sky. Even these openings, however, had heavy metal shutters which could be closed against bad weather.

For the moment everything was quiet. The Blemishes were settled at a small table, poring over several sheets of paper. George slumbered loudly on his scaffolding, while below him Marc drooped limply in his chair, held there only by virtue of the chains about his shoulders.