the
cracks in the stone, and any minute a hand could stretch out and unmask him.
It was something all of them were
wary of, he knew. None of the Capita Five had ever seen each other’s faces.
Furthermore, they all carried a vial of acid so that even if one of them died, the
others could disfigure them beyond recognition.
Ishkur’s reasoning for this was that
if a man’s true identity was known, he was constrained by it. He would feel his
reputation weighing down on him as he made decisions. Having no identity was freeing,
and it meant that your conscience could never hold you back as you decided the
fate of the Capita.
Tammuz knew that this wasn’t the real
reason. He’d figured out long ago that Ishkur didn’t want any of the other Five
to have any ideas on his power. Ishkur was a big believer that no man could
rule alone. He needed the opinions of others to help him make decisions, yet he
didn’t want them conspiring against him. If not even the Five knew each other’s
real faces and names, there was no way they could ever meet up in secret and
make plans.
Tammuz struck a match. The flame lit
the yellow stones but it didn’t reach too far into the darkness ahead of him.
He brought the match to the candle wick and suddenly the light expanded.
The tunnels were part of the secrecy,
of course. When their meetings ended, the Five all left the Grand Hall
separately via their own individual tunnels. These stone mazes ran underneath
the Hall, twisting and turning until finally they came out at random points in
the Dome. None of the Five knew where the other’s exits were, so there was no
danger of them ever meeting each other.
The only exemption to this was Grand
Lord Ishkur. He didn’t need a tunnel. He left the Hall by the steel double doors.
Since his mask was melted into his skin, nobody would ever see his true face.
Tammuz reached the end of the tunnel.
In front of him was a ladder, and at the top of it, a hatch. Next to him, cut
into the stonework, was a bench. He set the candle down and picked up a square
box. He shook it and heard it rattle, and then reached inside and pulled out a
cigarette. One of his few pleasures in life was inhaling smoke and letting his
thoughts run through his mind until they tired themselves out.
He thought of Kiele. He imagined the
men and the women fleeing in panic as the Capita soldiers and their dogs
stormed through the streets in bloodlust. It was sad to see blood flow so
freely, but it couldn’t be helped. The Capita couldn’t coexist with those who
conspired against them.
He took off his mask and set it down,
and straight away he felt his skin breathe. So far underground, this was one of
the few places where a mask wasn’t needed, and he could enjoy his cigarette
without a weight pressing down on him.
Once he was finished, he picked up
another mask, standard issue this time. He attached it to his face, took hold
of the ladder in front of him and started to climb. At the top he lifted the
hatch, and a cool wind blew against his forehead. He climbed out of the hatch
and let it drop shut behind him.
He was in the Dome. The wind came
from vents in the ceiling sixty feet above them, though they could be shut with
the press on a button. Most things in the Dome were mechanical and didn’t need
power, which was handy. When the structure had first been built, a
post-apocalyptic civilisation hadn’t been its purpose. On the contrary, it was
made to be as eco-friendly as possible. It was just funny that something built
to help protect the world had become so useful once it had ended.
He wasn’t Tammuz anymore. Now, stood
in the pale light that filtered through the Dome’s glass hexagons, he had shed
his Capita Five persona. He was no longer the man who decided which towns the
Capita would take by force. Just as he had changed his mask in the tunnel, he
had changed identity, too.
Now, he was Baz Worthington.
It was the
cracks in the stone, and any minute a hand could stretch out and unmask him.
It was something all of them were
wary of, he knew. None of the Capita Five had ever seen each other’s faces.
Furthermore, they all carried a vial of acid so that even if one of them died, the
others could disfigure them beyond recognition.
Ishkur’s reasoning for this was that
if a man’s true identity was known, he was constrained by it. He would feel his
reputation weighing down on him as he made decisions. Having no identity was freeing,
and it meant that your conscience could never hold you back as you decided the
fate of the Capita.
Tammuz knew that this wasn’t the real
reason. He’d figured out long ago that Ishkur didn’t want any of the other Five
to have any ideas on his power. Ishkur was a big believer that no man could
rule alone. He needed the opinions of others to help him make decisions, yet he
didn’t want them conspiring against him. If not even the Five knew each other’s
real faces and names, there was no way they could ever meet up in secret and
make plans.
Tammuz struck a match. The flame lit
the yellow stones but it didn’t reach too far into the darkness ahead of him.
He brought the match to the candle wick and suddenly the light expanded.
The tunnels were part of the secrecy,
of course. When their meetings ended, the Five all left the Grand Hall
separately via their own individual tunnels. These stone mazes ran underneath
the Hall, twisting and turning until finally they came out at random points in
the Dome. None of the Five knew where the other’s exits were, so there was no
danger of them ever meeting each other.
The only exemption to this was Grand
Lord Ishkur. He didn’t need a tunnel. He left the Hall by the steel double doors.
Since his mask was melted into his skin, nobody would ever see his true face.
Tammuz reached the end of the tunnel.
In front of him was a ladder, and at the top of it, a hatch. Next to him, cut
into the stonework, was a bench. He set the candle down and picked up a square
box. He shook it and heard it rattle, and then reached inside and pulled out a
cigarette. One of his few pleasures in life was inhaling smoke and letting his
thoughts run through his mind until they tired themselves out.
He thought of Kiele. He imagined the
men and the women fleeing in panic as the Capita soldiers and their dogs
stormed through the streets in bloodlust. It was sad to see blood flow so
freely, but it couldn’t be helped. The Capita couldn’t coexist with those who
conspired against them.
He took off his mask and set it down,
and straight away he felt his skin breathe. So far underground, this was one of
the few places where a mask wasn’t needed, and he could enjoy his cigarette
without a weight pressing down on him.
Once he was finished, he picked up
another mask, standard issue this time. He attached it to his face, took hold
of the ladder in front of him and started to climb. At the top he lifted the
hatch, and a cool wind blew against his forehead. He climbed out of the hatch
and let it drop shut behind him.
He was in the Dome. The wind came
from vents in the ceiling sixty feet above them, though they could be shut with
the press on a button. Most things in the Dome were mechanical and didn’t need
power, which was handy. When the structure had first been built, a
post-apocalyptic civilisation hadn’t been its purpose. On the contrary, it was
made to be as eco-friendly as possible. It was just funny that something built
to help protect the world had become so useful once it had ended.
He wasn’t Tammuz anymore. Now, stood
in the pale light that filtered through the Dome’s glass hexagons, he had shed
his Capita Five persona. He was no longer the man who decided which towns the
Capita would take by force. Just as he had changed his mask in the tunnel, he
had changed identity, too.
Now, he was Baz Worthington.
It was the
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