Wordcount: 685; total 53,400

Interlude 4: Video

[Surveillance Recording 0000000341; Video Surveillance Trial Run Stage 4; Execution of sentence: As Sadat, Jibril]
[Private Archive File]

The picture is surprisingly clear for CCTV in 1972, the date and hour emblazoned in one corner, seconds scrolling smoothly at the end. The camera is placed on a gallery overlooking a stone courtyard lit by moonlight. There are two people on the gallery, in shadow. The woman is looking down; the man is looking at the woman.

The coffin is in the middle of the courtyard, in a circle enscribed with silver on the flagstones. The distance makes it look milky; in fact it is constructed with thousands of shards of rock crystal, natural quartz in trigonal lattices, each of which enhances a warding spell three-fold. The men and women standing around it wear gray robes with voluminous hoods pushed back, revealing their faces. Each of them is holding a silver wand.

The guards leading the condemned man are dressed in black. In contrast, Jibril As Sadat is in white, barefoot and bareheaded. A month's growth of beard covers his chin, and his face is gaunt. He alternates between looking at the stones at his feet and the guards on his side.

Jibril As Sadat is led until his feet touch the coffin. One guard stands behind him, while the other walks around the circle of gray robes to face the condemned man.

"Jibril As Sadat, born in Baghdad of the Many Towers, child of Rashid and Fatima," the guard says. His voice in the recording is faint, but clear. "You are guilty of murder, treason, abduction, torture and breaking the Daylight Concordat. The Tribunal has spoken."

Jibril As Sadat's face turns towards the camera. He smiles. The woman on the gallery straightens and her fingers close around the balustrade.

"May God have mercy on your soul as we have on your body," the guard says. "Step forward."

Jibril As Sadat hesitates, then steps into the open coffin. He lays down and turns his head towards the camera again. He crosses his arms on his chest.

The gray figures put their hoods up and point their wands at the coffin. A sound grows louder and louder: chanting. The mechanical camera does not register magic, so it is hard to register the exact moment when the coffin is no longer open, except for a brief sharp sound that is Jibril As Sadat screaming with his last breath of open air. The milky crystal is darker where it covers the body. The dark stain twists frantically before falling still.

The gray figures step away, filing out the door and disappearing from view. The black-clad guards raise their arms now. The flagstones part, and before the coffin sinks down a ray of light catches upon racks of crystal shapes, filling the courtyard with white illumination.

The flagstones fall into place once more. The guards bow to the gallery and leave.

The woman slowly takes her hands off the balustrade.

"Did it help?" the man says.

"I feel safer now," she says. "I thought I would hate him more."

"Your mind is adjusting to the changes." The man walks around her, emerging into the light. He is of medium height, unremarkable in appearance. His receding dark hair is clipped short. "I remain concerned about the way you separate and repress your basic emotions and instincts. I think agent training would help you with that."

The woman follows into the light, turning away from the camera. Scars criss-cross her shaved head.

"I don't hate the snake," she says. "It's a part of me. I just don't let it have control."

She steps closer to the man and leans against him, bringing their faces into close proximity. The movement looks unconscious and not sexual in nature, more akin to cats brushing past each other.

"You think I'd be any good at the job?"

"Practice makes perfect," he says. "And time heals all wounds."

"Is that the wisdom of two thousand years?"

"Eighteen hundred," he says, and she laughs.

"I've chosen a name," she says. "Malory, one L."

[tape ends]