It's when they hit the fire that they smell the worst. Kalam wrinkled his nose, hands on his hips. They were trussed up like chattel, leading toward the tunnel in the side of the hill. It was cold enough for him be wrapped up in the furs that Gmnotutoo bought him, but they were not afforded clothing.
It needed to be done.
If these...people were not herded and separated away from the rest of the citizens, they would cause trouble. He closed his eyes. A necessary evil. He'd already had to kill one escapee with his own hands today. Wouldn't want an escape. Wouldn't want someone telling the international community about what they were doing here. There was a letter from the south suggesting that a man named Martin had already hinted at this.
Kalam turned to the nearest guard. "Hey you. Get me a quill and some vellum. We're going to invite the international community to this town. We're going to prove that there's nothing fishy going on here. Make sure the last of prisoners are incinerated. We need to bury this..."
He wrinkled his nose again. It smelled like rotting turtles. "...deep!"
