Beyond Redemption (23 page)

She sucked in another breath. “We rot unheeded and unneeded. We fall away to dust.” Some small fragment of scalp flaked away and fell with its few attached hairs to the floor between her bony feet. “We are nothing and yet denied the nothing we desire.”

Konig stepped forward and placed his hands on her desiccated shoulders, forcing her to meet his eyes. He turned the full force of his Gefahrgeist power upon her.

All communication is manipulation.

“You are worthless, but you serve something greater than yourself. I am your purpose. Your service defines you. Without service you will be denied even a moment of value, the slightest taste of intent with direction. You serve because in those rare moments you find yourself valued.” He stared into those dark, empty sockets; his own unshakable belief in himself—the paradoxical result of his self-doubt and feelings of inferiority—protected him from fear. “I have need of you.”

“We will serve,” she whispered with the last of her foul breath.

No need to ask if the other Cotardist assassins agreed; they were nothing without her, lost in pits of self-loathing, animated only by her need.

The cost of service would be high, but Konig knew she would pay it. Her need to serve something greater than herself left no choice.

There was a polite knock at Konig's door before it swung open and Meineigener reentered, followed by a young woman
and three rough-looking men. The girl, Asena, was slightly built and long-legged, her arms thin but wiry with muscle. Her olive-shaped eyes, an unnatural green fading gradually to dark, mottled pupils tilted at an odd angle, slanted up and out. She would have been attractive if not for the matted brown tangle of gray-streaked hair and the obvious disdain she had for her attire. She wore clothes as if unaccustomed to being dressed. The three men ranged in size from half a foot shorter than Asena to the massive and shaggy Bär, who towered over seven feet in height. Bär made Meineigener, not a small man by any means, look like a child. Konig couldn't help but think of the man as a slab of walking muscle with all the intellect of a pair of cheap shoes.

Asena bowed impatiently to Konig and he caught a quick glimpse of small breasts as her shirt fell open . . . and he couldn't help but think of Gehirn. Though he thanked the Gods she wasn't here—the Hassebrand had an unhealthy fascination with Asena, turning every encounter into a near-death experience—he was concerned at her lack of communication. Gehirn had many faults, but lack of loyalty was not one. More likely the Hassebrand had discovered something important and decided to handle it on her own—in the hopes of impressing Konig—rather than return and report.
Gods damn it all!
If Schwacher were alive, checking on Gehirn would have been simple. Why had he not done it sooner?

A thought occurred to Konig: Could the murders at the temple in Gottlos be connected to the theft of Morgen? Calling something a coincidence just meant you didn't have enough information to see the connections. Konig pushed these thoughts aside. First things first.

He would have to handle Asena much differently from Anomie. “Asena, I have—”

“We don't need that bitch!” Anomie wheezed. She had forgotten
to take the breath necessary to power her words. “The Schatten Mörder—”

“Will learn not to interrupt me again.” Konig turned the force of his will against Anomie and let displeasure pour from his eyes like poison. “You serve. You obey. Or”—he paused to draw a slow breath—“I have no use for you.”

Anomie's empty sockets lowered and she stared mutely at the floor. Her shoulders hunched with anger but she remained quiet.

Asena laughed, a guttural bark. “Your pet doesn't know its place.”

Konig turned his attention to her. “An interesting choice of words,” he observed. Asena possessed a fierce loyalty, like a well trained but extremely dangerous dog. Where Anomie needed to feel worthless and despised, Asena craved praise and love. Unable to supply the latter, Konig faked it as best he could. He'd discovered Asena when she was a child, sleeping in the city's gutters, starved for both food and attention. She had immediately latched onto him, looking to him as both father and leader of the pack. For years she'd slept curled at the foot of his bed, refusing to leave his side and whining piteously when sent away. Later, when she'd begun to develop into a beautiful young woman, he'd sent her to separate chambers. Her proximity and need made him uncomfortable. He alternately regretted the decision—she would have done anything he asked—and believed he had made the right choice. Asena would make a fitting partner, but he dared not let anyone become too close, too valuable. He understood all too clearly what love did to people.

If communication was manipulation, emotion was the fulcrum on which the leverage was applied.

“I need you both,” said Konig, glancing from Asena to Anomie. “The god-child, Morgen, has been taken.”

Asena snarled in sudden anger. She often watched over the
young boy and felt a protective love for him. Morgen's way of making people feel valued appealed to her needs.

Anomie groaned. “He hugged me once, offered to cure me. I was afraid.”

“Dead and still a coward,” snapped Asena.

“Witless, fawning bitch,” wheezed Anomie.

“Silence!” snapped Konig. “I need you both. We can't be sure where the thieves have taken him. They killed Schwacher, my only Mirrorist. There is much ground to cover and not much time. Where,” he asked the roomful of people, “would the kidnappers take Morgen?”

“Neidrig,” answered Asena immediately. “It is close and our influence there is nonexistent.”

“N-no. No,” stammered Aufschlag. When everyone turned to look at him he swallowed uncomfortably and glanced about as if surprised by the sudden attention. “It's . . .” He swallowed again and pressed flat a greasy fringe of hair. “It is too obvious. If they knew well enough to slay our only Mirrorist, they would not flee to the first place we would look.”

Aufschlag made sense.

Konig noticed Acceptance staring at the Chief Scientist, head cocked at an angle, right hand on chin; the same pose Konig often used when deep in thought.

“True,” said Konig. “So where, then?”

“North,” Aufschlag stated. “The Schatten Mörder and Tiergeist should go north.”

“Perhaps,” suggested Asena, “one group should go to Neidrig while the other travels north. Whoever finds the kidnappers can slay them and return with the child.”

Konig shook his head. “No. Spending that much time in the company of assassins might pollute Morgen.” The Theocrat didn't apologize for the harshness of his words. He paced the
room, hand on chin. “Morgen must be pure when he Ascends.” He stopped and stared at the two groups. There was a reason he had summoned assassins to find the boy. “Kill the boy the moment you find him. Kill the thieves afterward. Morgen must die untainted by violence and murder. Kill him before he is polluted beyond redemption.” He had more to ask of his assassins: whoever killed Morgen must die at Konig's own hand to ensure they—and whomever they killed—served him in the Afterdeath. That small detail he'd save for later; while he might not doubt his assassins' loyalty, trust was for fools. “Return immediately to me when he's dead.” Risky, but he had no choice.

Anomie bowed low. “It will be as you wish.”

Asena remained quiet, her face betraying inner turmoil.

“No!” Again all eyes turned to Aufschlag. “Morgen is not ready to Ascend,” he added quickly.” He gestured to Konig. “You
know
we have to control his environment. Any damage done by the thieves or rescuers can be undone. We must control every aspect of his Ascension.” Aufschlag paused to draw a gasping breath. “If the boy is brutally murdered by a gang of assassins in some back alley, there is no telling what damage might be done to his mind.”

“I would not let him suffer,” Asena said quietly, eyes damp.

Konig didn't have time for this. His Doppels were growing in strength. His reflections were becoming bolder and more solid.
Morgen must Ascend before it's too late
. Yet Aufschlag spoke the truth. The idea of Morgen's Ascension happening somewhere beyond Konig's control terrified him. Perhaps the boy
should
be brought back to Selbsthass, if just to ascertain the extent of any damage done.

Konig glanced at Aufschlag's flushed face. Was the scientist's concern really for the Ascension? Had his feelings for the boy gotten the better of his reason? Konig had watched Aufschlag torture uncountable peasants in search of the key to directed
delusion. One child couldn't possibly achieve what a thousand screaming mothers watching their children slain could not. The Chief Scientist was cold and calculating . . . and invaluable.

“Perhaps,” whispered Konig.

Acceptance cleared his throat, ducking his head in apology when Konig scowled at him. “Our Mirrorist powers are growing. Perhaps we can make use of them.” The Doppel cradled tender ribs. His expression suggested talking was painful.

“
My
Mirrorist powers,” Konig corrected.

“Of course,” Acceptance agreed quickly. “Perhaps your reflections can tell you who took Morgen.”

Konig gave Acceptance a searching look and the Doppel averted his bruised and battered eye. Was Acceptance up to something or simply conforming to his nature and seeking acceptance? Konig understood how much the Doppel craved the feeling of belonging; he felt the same hunger.

“The reflections do not speak to me,” said Konig.

“Perhaps they need not speak,” suggested Acceptance.

Konig glanced from the Doppel to the massive mirror dominating one wall. Trepidation and Abandonment stood quietly behind Acceptance, and Konig would have suspected their involvement in some plan had they not shared his look of confusion. They had been awfully quiet of late.

“Well?” Konig asked the gathered reflections.

As one, they pointed unerringly at Aufschlag, who made a tight squeaking noise and raised his hands in desperate protest.

“No!” He looked from the mirror to Konig, to Acceptance, and back to the mirror. “They point at something beyond me.” He moved and accusing fingers followed.

“Interesting,” said Konig. “But unclear.”

“They must be saying I am correct,” stammered Aufschlag. “The boy has been taken north and it is too early for Morgen to Ascend. They agree with me.”

Konig stared at the reflections for a moment before turning to Acceptance. “And what do you say?”

Acceptance pointed at the Chief Scientist's shoes.

Konig glanced down and raised an eyebrow. “Shards of broken glass.”

“Broken mirror,” corrected Acceptance.

“Oh,” Aufschlag said. He stared at his feet. “Bad luck indeed.”

“You?”
Konig's chest squeezed tight, crushing his heart. “You betrayed me?”

“Everyone abandons us in the end,” whispered Abandonment from behind Acceptance. Konig knew it to be true.

“He may have poisoned the boy's mind against us,” added Trepidation. “He wants you to bring the boy back so he can finish his work.”

Abandonment hissed agreement. “The experiment is a failure.”

Aufschlag reached imploringly to Konig but kept his eyes averted. “My Theocrat, you know I would never betray you. My actions . . . I did what I had to do. I serve only you.”

Lies, all lies.
“Look at me,” snapped Konig. Aufschlag met his gaze and deflated. “Did you kill Schwacher?”

Aufschlag, eyes red and wet, licked his lips and said, “Yes.”

“He has betrayed us,” growled Abandonment.

Konig ignored the Doppel. “Are you a Wahnvor agent?”

“No! I sought to protect the boy. He isn't ready to Ascend. Konig, you must trust me.”

Konig feigned a hearty laugh, crushing the desire to scream and cry at the betrayal. “Trust you? My dear Aufschlag, I have never trusted you.” His voice trembled and then grew in volume. “You are a tool, nothing more!”

“I didn't mean to hurt you,” whispered Aufschlag.

“Hurt me!” Konig screamed, advancing on the cowering Scientist. “You cannot hurt me! Your foul betrayal was expected. You are a worm. Worthless!”

Asena and Anomie advanced on Aufschlag in hungry expectation, ready to do their Theocrat's will.

“Where,” demanded Konig, “have they taken Morgen?”

“South—” answered Aufschlag, before slamming his teeth closed and clenching his eyes shut.

“Tell me where.”

Aufschlag shook his head.

Konig watched the scientist's inner battle. Torturing Aufschlag would be an admission of weakness, admitting he could not force the truth from the betrayer. Yet somehow Aufschlag had found some means of protecting himself from the wiles of the Gefahrgeist.
How could Aufschlag do this after all I gave the greasy bastard?
Rank and title. The chance to be part of something truly great.
How could Aufschlag turn his back me?
It was inexplicable! What could be more important than creating a god and ensuring Konig's place in both history and the as-yet-unwritten future?

If using Aufschlag had been a mistake, what other mistakes had he made?

Konig took a deep breath and let it slowly escape. “Doppels, hold him.”

The three Doppels grabbed Aufschlag in an instant, pinioning his arms brutally behind his back. Konig was reminded of commanding Trepidation and Abandonment to beat Acceptance. Only this hurt far more.

Konig held his hand out to Meineigener, who stood quietly, watching and waiting. “Your knife.”

Meineigener stepped forward, drew the long knife in a practiced flourish, passed it hilt first to the Theocrat, and returned to his place by the door. The weapon was surprisingly light. Konig admired its brutal simplicity.

“Your Doppels manipulate you,” plead Aufschlag.