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But to travel where? Could this tunnel run for a hundred miles, as the track of the Shmand-Fair had done - but underground? To a buried city, perhaps, whose wonders were even greater than those of the city above us?

“I am ready now.” He put a hand out, first to me and then to Henry. “My name - I am Zhan-pole.” He looked odd and solemn standing there, tall and thin, with that strange metal-and-glass thing on his face. Henry laughed. “More like !”

@therealarlowho just release a short note, about the state of his interpretation of . Have a look :-).

youtube.com/watch?v=PMPE2JluIM

I was sorry at the thought of leaving her, and my father, and of their unhappiness when they found me gone. The Caps offered no remedy for human grief. But I could not stay, any more than a sheep could walk through a slaughterhouse door, once it knew what lay beyond.

youtu.be/ijLQ3W4ZigU

“The Watch-do you ever think what it must have been like in the days when things like that were made?” I had, from time to time, but it was another subject on which speculation was not encouraged, and Jack had never talked in this way before. I said, “Before ?” “Yes.”

Those that were left the Tripods Capped, and once Capped they served the Tripods and helped to kill or capture other men. So, within a generation, things were much as they are now.

Farther along was the den Jack had made. One approached it through a crumbling arch; inside it was dry, and there was a place to build a fire. Jack had made one before coming out to look for me, and had skinned, cleaned, and skewered a rabbit ready for us to grill.

Jack had always been around to a lend a hand, as long as I could remember. It was strange, I thought, as we walked toward the village, that in just over a week’s time I would be on my own. The Capping would have taken place, and Jack would be a boy no longer.

“I am the king of this land. My wife was the queen of a rainy country, but I left her weeping. My name is Ozymandias. Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair.”

Apart from the one in the church tower, there were five clocks in the village that kept reasonable time, and my father owned one of them. It stood on the mantelpiece in the parlor, and every night before he went to bed he took the key from a vase, and wound it up.

At last we heard, above the clang of bells, the deep staccato booming in the distance, and there was a kind of sigh from everyone. The booming came nearer and then, suddenly, we could see it over the roofs of the houses to the south: the great hemisphere of gleaming metal.

“This is called a map,” he said. “The Capped do not need them, so you have not seen one before. It tells you how to reach the . Look, there. That signifies the sea. And here, at the bottom, the mountains.”

The difference was in his white shaved head, on which the darker metal tracery of the Cap stood out like a spider’s web. His hair would soon grow again, over and around the metal, and, with thick black hair such as he had, in a few months the Cap would be almost unnoticeable.

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