New Rome

44. The Bomb Makers

Caesar walked briskly down the dismal streets of the Shallows, dirty water running fast down the deep cut curbs to her left and right. The Shallows was a shanty town - built upon the offal scraps of Amen's capital city. The houses here were made using a type of brick crafted from swamp mud. The place smelt foul and large flies swarmed noisily above – their eggs sealed in the cracks. The droning buzzing sound created by their wings seemed to beat down more oppressively than the sun.

Caesar had a scarf over her head and wrapped around her mouth – the cheap material rough against her cheek. With just a small portion of her face peeking out, she could go by relatively unnoticed. But it only took a lingering stare to realise that the skin visible peeking out belonged to a human. An officer eyed her dubiously as she passed, debating giving her any trouble. Caesar quickened her steps. She had enough experience with the Amenian police to be wary.

Sawyr had told her the address to go to and she followed his directions to the letter. A shrine on a lamppost, dedicated to the goddess Vesta, reassured her that she'd come the right way.

The building was two storeys, but poorly built. The walls were sagging and leaning to one side – part of the roof had already fallen away and been replaced by tattered tarpaulin. People peered at her from the windows – their scowling faces unwelcoming. Caesar avoided making any eye contact as she climbed the rusty fire escape up to the second floor.

She knocked on the door three times and waited. There was a pause, a troubled silence, before she heard the scrape of bolts - as numerous locks were pulled back. The door groaned open. The building's interior was dark and she stepped inside – feeling a moment of unease as the door was closed abruptly behind her. The floor plan was one open space, lit by a single weak light bulb – no natural light was allowed. She peered in the gloom, surveying the boards that covered the windows.

Caesar made out the forms of three adults and a child in the room with her – all Amenian. The tallest, a male with curved horns, asked 'if she suffered from the usual stomach complaint'. She replied with Sawyr's scripted words.

"It worsens since the third moon began to wane."

This exchange done, the room's occupants relaxed a little.

The male approached a rickety chest of drawers and pulled open the top drawer. The warped wood protested and squeaked as he tugged on it. Caesar's eyes were adjusting to her gloomy surroundings and she made out more of the shady furnishings. On the wall was a carved statue of the goddess, the only thing in the room that looked cared for.

Caesar remained mute. The less they knew about one another, the safer they'd be. The Amenian male handed her a tin box. It was lighter than she'd expected. Lifting the lid, Caesar got her first glimpse of a bomb. Sweat gathered on her palms and, nervously, she picked it up. The rustic device looked very home-made and didn't inspire her with confidence.

Without a word, she wrapped it up in the newspaper she'd brought before tucking it down her front. If it went off accidentally, she'd be blown to pieces. One of the other adults, a woman, raised her hands in prayer to the wooden statue. Her companions followed her in doing likewise but Caesar did not. No god was going to watch over her.

Turning, she abruptly left the miserable apartment – pulling her scarf tighter around her face as she did so. The bomb knocked against her dirty skin and Caesar modified her steps – moving with extra care. Her heartbeat stuttering unevenly. Whatever happened next, she reassured herself, it must be her fate.