Beyond Redemption (36 page)

Morgen watched Bedeckt gingerly descend the stairs to the inn's main room. Reaching the bottom, the huge man glared about, eyes slitted against the morning sun streaming in through open windows. Bedeckt grimaced when he spotted their table, looked like he contemplated sitting elsewhere, and finally—still wearing a single boot—stomped over to join them. If any of the inn's other patrons noticed anything amiss, they kept it to themselves.

Wichtig bellowed, “Good morning, sunshine!”

Bedeckt collapsed heavily into a chair and scowled at Wichtig. “Where are we?”

“No idea,” answered Wichtig. “I was dead when we arrived.” He sniffed at the plate of beans and greasy sausage before him. “Food is good, though.”

Bedeckt paled, his eyes flinching away from the plate. “Stehlen?” he asked without looking at her.

“Don't know. I was a bit busy keeping an eye on the boy and carrying the World's Greatest Corpse.”

Wichtig winked at Morgen.

Bedeckt flagged down the barkeep and ordered a pint of ale. “Who the hells were those people?”

“Therianthropes,” Wichtig answered.

Stehlen snorted. “With all the fuss and commotion the moron”—she gestured toward Wichtig with her thin nose—“caused with his little outing the other day . . . I'm guessing it was some locals looking to kill the World's Greatest . . . Moron,” she finished lamely.

“I would have gone with idiot. Or imbecile, addlepate, dimwit, dolt, fool, dunce, or simpleton,” said Wichtig. “But not moron. Overusing a word reduces its effectiveness.”

“Or hammers home a point with repetition,” said Stehlen.

“I knew them,” admitted Morgen. “Asena.”

All three adults stared at him.

“Asena?” Bedeckt asked.

“She leads Konig's Tiergeist.”

“What are Tiergeist?” Bedeckt asked Morgen.

“Therianthrope assassins. There are also the Schatten Mörder—they're Cotardists.”

“Hells,” swore Wichtig. “I hate Cotardists. Damned hard to kill dead things.”

The more Morgen thought about it, the less sense it made. “You both serve Konig. Why would he send assassins against you?”

“Perhaps he didn't,” said Bedeckt. “Konig told us to sneak you out of Selbsthass, but not much more. Perhaps it is the Tiergeist we are to protect you from.”

Morgen couldn't believe Asena would ever hurt him, although, thinking back, he
had
thought Stich would kill him. The memory sent cold shivers of fear coursing down his spine. Thoughts of being swarmed by filthy, glistening black scorpions made him want to wash again. He remembered seeing Asena standing across the street, watching as her Tiergeist attacked Bedeckt and Wichtig. In his mind's eye Morgen saw her indecision as she stared back at him. Had she been deciding whether or not she should kill him?
Why would it be a choice, though—why would she want to hurt me?
Back in Selbsthass she'd always been so nice, protective even.

What had Asena called across the street just before Stehlen killed her? Morgen stared into the bar's polished brass rails, replaying the scene in dull reflections.

Morgen, I've come to take you
— And then she crumpled as Stehlen coalesced behind her. Had Asena come to take him prisoner, or did she think she was rescuing him? She hadn't looked like she intended him harm. She rather looked like she'd made up her mind and a great weight had been lifted from her heart. But if Asena thought taking Morgen away from Bedeckt, Stehlen, and
Wichtig was saving him, what did it mean? Did she believe she could do a better job of protecting him? Did it mean Bedeckt couldn't be trusted?

“Morgen,” said Bedeckt, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Stehlen told me those scorpions tried to kill you.”

Bedeckt was right. Stich had definitely been intent on killing him. But what about Asena?

Morgen sighed. Nothing but questions. No answers and no way of getting them. Aufschlag would say the clues were all there, but try as he might, he couldn't fit them together. The reflections became, as always, uncooperative when it came to showing the details of his own future; all he ever saw there was flame. Bedeckt's future looked strangely similar. What did it mean? He wasn't sure what Ascension would be like, but surely it would be a spectacle. Would Bedeckt be burned in the flames of Morgen's Ascension?

Stehlen leaned forward, elbows on the table, yellowy eyes bright and wet. “We have to leave Neidrig. I say south, cross the Flussrand River back into Gottlos.”

“Gottlos?” said Wichtig, sounding incredulous. “Really? After last time? Remember the temple?”

“Gottlos is a big place,” Stehlen said defensively.

Morgen pretended not to listen and kept his attention locked on the bar. Back in Selbsthass, mere days before Bedeckt arrived to take him away, Morgen had overheard a couple of acolytes talking about an attack on a Geborene temple in Gottlos. Was there a connection?

Morgen stifled his frustration. Questions, questions, and more questions. He needed answers.

“Something wrong?” Bedeckt asked.

Wichtig answered before Morgen could decide what to say. “Leave him alone. He needs time to think.”

Morgen focused on the bar rail, searching the reflections in its muted luster.
Tell me what I need! Show me my future!

Shadows and reflections commingled in a twisting web, and through those murky strands he recognized glimpses of Neidrig. But there wasn't just a web; a spider, fat and hungry, presided over it. Morgen saw the faces of children, entangled and wrapped tight, trapped so they might later be sucked dry. The web constricted, choking the city.

He saw nothing of himself.

Show me!

The reflections danced and he saw a long dirt road, a thousand small and bloody footprints.

Are those mine?

He saw a knife in a small, filthy hand. The knife was Stehlen's, he recognized it immediately. The hand . . . no, it was far too dirty to be his.

Morgen saw a rock at the side of the road and knew that if he really, really tried, he could—just barely—lift it over his head.

Show me—

He saw endless fire.

Odd,
mused Bedeckt.
Why did Wichtig jump to defend Morgen?
The Swordsman had been acting like the boy's personal guardian, obeying his every word.
Damned strange behavior
. Wichtig never did anything unless he saw some angle gaining him an advantage. Bedeckt looked away, glancing at Stehlen to see if she looked as suspicious as he felt. Her face betrayed nothing other than its usual pinched anger. When she noticed his attention she flashed him a quick smile and Bedeckt turned quickly away.

What the hells is Wichtig up to?

Bedeckt decided to let it go, but the last thing he wanted was the boy thinking too deeply about what he had seen and heard. Morgen was young, inexperienced and naïve, but certainly not stupid.

Stehlen drummed impatiently on the table. “We're going east?”

“Yes,” said Morgen. “Eventually.”

“No,” said Bedeckt. “We're going west.”

“Sorry. Yes, west. I . . .” Looking lost, Morgen trailed off.

“Never mind,” said Bedeckt. “It's time to move.”

Stehlen cleared her throat noisily. “We don't have any supplies. We left everything at the Ruchlos Arms. Even the horses.”

“You left Launisch?” Bedeckt asked, forcing himself to remain calm. His horse was probably fine. Probably still there, right where they'd left him. If not, someone would pay.

“Some of us,” said Wichtig softly, “beat a rather unseemly retreat.”

“And some of us got killed and had to be carried,” snapped Stehlen.

“Perhaps not our most shining moment,” Bedeckt admitted. “Though Stehlen did well. She got you out”—he gestured at Wichtig with his half hand—“and saved the boy.” When he saw Stehlen practically preening at the compliment, he suppressed a shudder. He'd have to be more careful what he said until whatever this was passed.

“She left my gods-damned swords in the street.”

“I should have dropped you to go get them?”

“She probably stole your missing boot,” said Wichtig. “Just to get back at you for being a lousy—”

“Wichtig!” Morgen admonished.

The Swordsman's mouth snapped shut. “Fine.” He glanced at Bedeckt. “Why did she leave the other boot?”

Why indeed?
Rather than face the answer, Bedeckt ignored the question. “Stehlen, go get our horses. Try not to kill anyone. I'm going to find some boots.” He stared at Stehlen for a moment, wondering whether he should ask.
What the hells?
What did he care what they thought? “Stehlen?”

“Yes?” She stared straight at him, something she rarely did.

“Could you get Launisch a couple of apples?”

She gave a disappointed snort, stood, and left the room without looking back.

“And I'll get myself some new swords,” said Wichtig, watching Stehlen's departure with a strange smirk. “Who has money? All mine strangely disappeared shortly after my death.”

“No. You stay here with the boy.”

“I need swords.”

“I'll find you some swords,” said Bedeckt uncomfortably.

“You have money?” Wichtig asked. “I need quality blades, not kitchen steel.”

Bedeckt's discomfort grew. “I'll get whatever I can find.” He leaned forward to push himself out of his chair and stopped. “You were really dead?”

“Yes,” answered Wichtig, voice strangely flat.

“There was an Afterdeath?”

Wichtig let out a slow breath and nodded. “It was like—”

“No. I don't want to know.”

Coward
. Wichtig, who had only picked at his breakfast, watched as Bedeckt pushed himself to his feet with a grunt, knees popping, and then exited the inn's main doors.
That's right, run away again.

He shrugged off the foul mood. After all, this was a fine day to be
not
dead. Life offered far too many chances to entertain one's self at the expense of others. Adding those coins to Bedeckt's boot while the old goat lay passed out on the floor may have been Wichtig's greatest prank ever. Bedeckt would assume Stehlen put them there either because she felt guilty for her previous thefts, because she was offering payment for services rendered, or because she had suddenly fallen in love. Wichtig wasn't sure which
would be funnier. It didn't matter. It would leave Bedeckt crazy with worry and drive a wedge between him and Stehlen.

Wichtig entertained himself with such thoughts as he returned to their rented room with Morgen in tow.

When Bedeckt returned an hour later, wearing a new boot on his right foot and the same old boot on the left, he offered Wichtig a serviceable pair of blades.

Wichtig grunted his thanks as he tested their balance. “Not bad,” he admitted.

Stehlen arrived shortly after, displaying a beautiful pair of matched blades in ornate leather sheaths. She dumped them on the bed dismissively.

“These should do,” she said.

Wichtig dropped the blades Bedeckt had brought on the bed and collected the new blades. “Those look familiar.”

“I took them from a Swordswoman. Apparently she was supposed to be quite good.”

“I thought I asked you not to kill anyone,” said Bedeckt. When Stehlen flashed him an apologetic smile he looked away, mumbling to himself.

Wichtig stifled his annoyance. Letting Stehlen know she got to him would gain nothing. He picked up the blades and spun them about in a tight training pattern he hadn't practiced since he'd been in the Geldangelegenheiten palace guard. The blades moved with flawless ease, their balance easily a match to his lost swords.
No, not lost,
he reminded himself. Stehlen left them behind on purpose. He wanted to rekindle his anger, but these new weapons almost made up for the loss.

Are these blades a peace offering?
No, no. It was more likely she was trying to manipulate him. He almost chuckled out loud. Nobody manipulated Wichtig. If she expected him to be grateful, she was wrong.