Beyond Redemption (44 page)

“Don't you worry,” Erbrechen purred comfortingly. “Never again. I'll keep you clean. Forever.”

The boy smiled tentatively, eyes glistening with hope. “Forever?”

“Forever. I promise.” Erbrechen poked Gehirn with a fat finger. “Tell him I keep my promises.”

“He keeps his promises,” muttered Gehirn.

“Yes, I do,” agreed Erbrechen. “And I take care of my friends.” He beamed happily at the boy. “We are friends, right?”

Morgen looked uncertain.
Damn, he must be strong! Anyone else would have been begging to lick my feet by now
. Better make sure he had the boy under control.

“A bath will feel so good, won't it?” Erbrechen asked.

The boy nodded eagerly. “Yes.”

“You'll feel much better, won't you?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Very.”

“We have delicious stew.”

Morgen licked his lips. “Stew would be nice. After.”

“After you're clean. Of course.” Erbrechen smiled fondly. “It feels good to take care of your friends, doesn't it. Friends always take care of friends. I'm taking care of you. Right?”

“Yes.”

“So we're friends?”

“Yes.”

“Really? We are?” Erbrechen allowed himself to look uncertain, hurt.

“Yes,” said Morgen quickly. “We're friends.”

“Good!”

Erbrechen turned to command Gehirn to warm some water for the boy's bath, but the Hassebrand's clenched jaw, canines exposed in something just shy of a deranged snarl, changed his mind. The woman's cold blue eyes bulged and sweat streamed down her blistered face. Her mouth opened and she looked as if she desperately wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

“You stay where you are,” Erbrechen commanded Gehirn. “You need to rest.” A pulse of heat washed over him as Gehirn clenched her fists. “Rest,” he said forcefully, and the Hassebrand lay back, closing her eyes.

Erbrechen caught Morgen watching with open curiosity. “She worried about you,” he explained. “It exhausted her.”

A dozen men and women dragged a huge iron tub into view. Where they'd found it, Erbrechen had no idea.
Did they drag it from Neidrig on the off chance I'd want a bath? Fools
. He'd never fit into such a small tub. In moments, a chain of bedraggled peasants filled the tub with steaming water.

The boy stood staring at the tub, hesitating for some reason.
Ah, of course. Privacy
. Erbrechen was always alone, even in the thick of a crowd. It was so easy to forget such social niceties.

“You.” Erbrechen pointed at a man squatting nearby, pants down around his ankles. “Two things.” The man stared up at him, eyes round with terror. “Never shite in my presence. It's rude. And put a curtain around the tub. The young lad needs his privacy.” Morgen sagged with gratitude.
Excellent!

The crouched man stood, hiking his pants up.

“Wait!” said Erbrechen, suddenly feeling jovial. “I change my mind. Never shite again. Ever. Anywhere.”

The man winced and nodded. He looked pained, like he was clenching.

Hilarious,
thought Erbrechen.
How long will the the poor bastard hold it?
It was a small thing, but of such small things were life's joys truly made. The thought, he knew, would keep him smiling for days.

Bedeckt, face down on the road, woke with a pained groan, his eyes glued shut with dried blood from the wound in the back of his throbbing skull.

What the hells had the Morgen hit him with, a mountain? He lay moaning for some time before finally struggling to his feet.

How long had he been unconscious?

The sun was high, but obscured by thick cloud. There was no sign of the boy.

Bedeckt crouched over Stehlen's corpse. Her eyes were open and she wore an odd smile, as if pleased with how things had turned out.

Pretty damned unlikely
.

She'd been dead for a while, definitely long enough to have made the journey to the Afterdeath. At this point, anything she carried was fair game. He stopped when he saw her sword lying in the dust of the road. She'd died without a sword in her hands.

“Oh, hells.”

She'd never forgive him.

Well, seeing as he'd killed her, his failure to make sure she died with a sword might not be the first thing on her mind. Then again, with Stehlen, you could never be sure.

She'll be waiting for me.
Never before had he wanted immortality so badly.

“Sorry,” he said to the corpse as he bent to search her pockets. He found a small fortune in gems and several gold coins. Maybe not enough to retire on, but enough to keep him in comfort for a few years. It wasn't stealing, he figured. Most of this had probably once been his. It didn't matter. Even if it hadn't been his, he'd take it anyway.

Stealing from friends wasn't on the list of things he wouldn't do.

Friends.

What a fool.
Men like him didn't have friends.

He should walk away now. Take this loot and find a small house somewhere quiet. Maybe he could invest in something safe and useful like a whorehouse. Forget Morgen. Forget ransoming the boy's life—or death—and call it quits while he still could.

It wasn't enough, though. He knew he'd never invest it. He'd drink and whore it away and be left with nothing. He needed more.

Konig would pay well for Morgen's death.

Bedeckt pushed the thought away and rifled through the rest of Stehlen's clothes and meager belongings.

Hidden under her awful-smelling shirt, he found an unbelievable number of tattered and faded scarves looking like they might once have been brightly colored. He'd never seen them before.

How long had she carried these? A long time, judging from their sour smell and sorry state. The scarves looked old enough to date back to her childhood. Try as he might, Bedeckt couldn't
picture Stehlen as a child. She'd been a crazy murderous thieving bitch every second of every day he'd known her. He couldn't imagine her elsewise.

Except in the alley
. She'd been warm and alive. Had she said she loved him? He couldn't remember; that night was an alcohol-induced blur.

She said she loved you just before you killed her.

Oh, shite.

Bedeckt cursed the gods and jammed the faded scarves into a pocket. What the hells he planned on doing with them, he had no idea. Dumping the coins and stones into his left boot, he stood with a groan. His knees made wet popping noises and his back ached from crouching. He should say something.

Spoiling meat, Stehlen called Wichtig's corpse. Was she nothing more?

He couldn't be so lucky. Someday he'd die and there she'd be . . . waiting.

Strange, he hadn't felt the need to say something as he'd stood over Wichtig's corpse. Maybe Stehlen was right. Maybe he was growing soft.

“To hells with you,” he told the corpse. He had the feeling he'd see her soon enough anyway.

He examined his surroundings and spotted Launisch and the other horses.
His
horses, he supposed. They hadn't wandered far, and pulled at the tough grass nearby.

Launisch approached and gently nuzzled at his chest.

“Sorry,” said Bedeckt. “I don't have any apples.”

“Ppfft!” answered Launisch.

My mirror never shows me what I want to see. I can't possibly be that fat and ugly!

—F
ETT
H
ÄSSLICH
, M
IRRORIST

H
aving swept the mirror dust from the floor, Acceptance and Trepidation stood in Konig's chambers. Acceptance's hands were bleeding from countless slivers, whereas Trepidation seemed to have managed not to cut himself at all. Acceptance hated him; the cowardly Doppel was far too careful.

The Theocrat was elsewhere, trying to find out why none of his spies in Neidrig could be contacted.

Acceptance watched Trepidation's nervous twitching with annoyance. “What are you afraid of?” he demanded.

“Konig,” answered Trepidation, staring at the floor. “If he finds your mirror, he'll kill us both.”

“Best he not find it. My reflections have shown me something disturbing.”

Trepidation's head came up suddenly.
Interesting
.

“They've shown me the boy,” Acceptance said, watching his fellow Doppel closely. Trepidation might have relaxed fractionally, but it was difficult to tell. The fool was always wound so damned tight. “Morgen will never return here.”

“So Konig is doomed.”

“Yes,” Acceptance agreed. “We will soon rule.”

“You will rule,” Trepidation corrected. “I will follow.”

“Do you fear me so?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“How will we dispose of Konig? He is still dangerous.”

Acceptance laughed nastily, hiding the ruin of his mouth behind a slim-fingered hand. “Easy. I will do what he would never expect from me.”

“Which is?”

“Violence.”

“Just you?” Trepidation asked. “Not we?”

“Yes. He will serve me in the Afterdeath.”

Trepidation's lip quivered and he blinked rapidly. He looked like he was struggling to hold back tears.
Pathetic
. Living his entire life in terror of every choice made him weak. Once Konig was dead, killing Trepidation would be easy.

“You are with me?” Acceptance asked.

“Yes,” answered Trepidation.

“Good. He will be here soon.”

As soon as Konig stepped into his chambers, he knew something was up. Acceptance smiled openly, for once not hiding his mouth behind his hand. Trepidation looked to be on the verge of tears.

“What happened?” Konig demanded.

Acceptance sketched a mocking bow. “You have failed.”

“Failed? How?”
What the hells is the gods-damned Doppel talking about?

“It is too late.” Acceptance laughed, drooling through the broken gaps in his teeth. “Morgen is not returning.”

Konig's gut soured. “No,” he said in desperate denial.

“And he has been infected. Poisoned,” said Acceptance, moving closer.

Tears stung Konig's face. “No,” he whispered. “You lie. He will be our god. We made him.”

“Oh,
we
is it now?” Acceptance demanded sarcastically. The Doppel stepped forward, closing the distance between them. “Morgen is no god! You've made nothing! He's an insane child riddled with delusion.”

“You—”

Acceptance lunged forward, knife in hand, but stopped just shy of thrusting the blade into Konig's chest. Konig stared into the Doppel's eyes, surprised.

“They showed me . . .” Acceptance slid to the floor, a knife protruding from the base of his skull.

Trepidation stood behind him, watching with terrified eyes.

“You saved me,” said Konig.

“No,” said Trepidation.

Konig backed away warily but the Doppel didn't follow.

“You're no match for me,” hissed Konig. “I'll kill you in a heartbeat.”

“I know. It doesn't matter. Morgen knows you sent assassins to kill him. He knows you used him. He knows you never loved him. You are incapable of such emotion. It's over. Your man-made god is in ruins. When he Ascends he will come for vengeance.”

“How . . . how do you know?”

Trepidation knelt by Acceptance's body, rolling the corpse onto its back. From within the dead Doppel's robe he drew forth a small mirror. He held it up and Konig flinched away.

“The reflections showed Acceptance what will happen.”

“How did you know he would try and kill me?” Konig asked.

“He made a mistake,” answered Trepidation. “He underestimated my fear.”

“Acceptance lied?” Konig asked, annoyed at how desperate he sounded.

Trepidation shook his head sorrowfully. “No.”

“If I can return him to Selbsthass—”

“You cannot change who he has become.”

“Then we shall start again,” said Konig, with more confidence than he felt.

“You cannot stop what you have set in motion. He will be our god, but he will not be the god you wanted.”

Konig glared at Trepidation and the Doppel quivered in fear. “I am not finished yet. If I kill the boy he will have to obey me.”

Trepidation bowed his head meekly. “True. But we are too late—”

“You don't know. Not for sure. Only a fool trusts Doppels and reflections.”

The Doppel licked his lips and Konig saw the resolve fade as Trepidation's shoulders dropped and the fight seemed to leak from him.

“We go to fetch the boy.”

“We?” asked Trepidation.

“Of course. You didn't think I'd leave you here alone, do you?”

“Of course not,” said the Doppel, sagging further in on himself.

“Ready my Dysmorphics.”

“Of course.”

Trepidation hated the Dysmorphics and Konig knew it. The great lunks were as massively stupid as they were massively muscled. Any one of them—men and women alike—could crush him
dead in an instant. Fearing such obscene strength seemed only sane.

“What should I do with this mirror?” Trepidation asked.

Konig flinched again as Trepidation lifted it toward him, and the Doppel quashed the urge to gloat.

“Break it,” commanded Konig. “Shatter it to dust.”

“Of course.”

Without a second glance at Acceptance's corpse, Konig left the room.

Things had almost gone according to plan. The reflections hadn't shown Konig chasing after the boy, but then maybe they hadn't known. Or maybe they'd sought to hide something from him.

Does it change anything?

Sadly, yes. It meant Konig still had some breath of hope. It meant the man was not yet finished.

Konig's hope would have to be extinguished before Trepidation could take his place as Theocrat. But how to extinguish a man's hope?

Trepidation placed Acceptance's mirror faceup on the floor. From his pocket he drew his own mirror and, unwrapping it, placed it beside the first. Two of him—one in each mirror—stared back. Neither showed the damage Acceptance had suffered.
What the hells does that mean?
With Acceptance dead, had his reflections died too? Were these now Trepidation's own reflections? He saw no way to know for sure.

“Which of you shall I keep?” he asked the reflections, and they glanced nervously at each other.

One began pantomiming elaborate actions while the other watched with fearful eyes. There was his answer. He never would dare something so bold as what the capering reflection suggested. He would have watched with dawning terror, much as the second mirror was doing.

The second reflection glanced nervously at the first and pantomimed whispering in someone's ear. Secrecy born of fear. Trepidation understood perfectly. He lifted the mirror to his ear to listen and screamed when small hands clutched at the lobe. He yanked the mirror away but the hands remained and a small copy of himself forced itself ever deeper into his ear.

Trepidation screamed again. Impossible agony. It entered his skull.

The reflection in the other mirror clapped happily.

Free!

Konig's reflection stood tall, stretching his arms. It felt good to finally be real. Or at least as real as a Doppel.

The charade could end. There had never been any reflections but those of Konig. It had been an act from the very beginning. Everything the fools had seen and listened to had been Konig's reflections all along. They'd beaten each other to match Acceptance's wounds and feigned fear to trick Trepidation. The Doppels had never been Mirrorists, only Konig.

The reflection glanced down at the second mirror. The reflection within waited, hand held up, ready to be pulled free. He laughed at the reflection and brought his heel down on the mirror. He stomped it again and again. Then he fetched a hammer to reduce it to dust. When finished with the mirror, he tossed the hammer aside.

The second mirror, the one he'd crawled from, he lifted from the floor. When he held it up to his face, he saw nothing but the room behind him.

It's empty. Perfect.

Slipping the mirror into his robes, he left to prepare the Dysmorphics as Konig had ordered Trepidation to do. The reflection had no fear of the huge brutes. He saw them as tools, little more.

“I am Konig,” he said, testing the words. “I am Konig. Konig Furimmer. High Priest of the Geborene Damonen. Theocrat of Selbsthass.” He narrowed his eyes, facing an imaginary audience. “I am Konig.”
Yes, perfect.
“My Doppel plots treason.”

Morgen lay curled on Erbrechen's litter, sleeping. Gehirn studied him. The boy's face twitched and he moaned quietly, plagued with worries and nightmares Gehirn could all too well imagine. She had to save him. One clean act before insanity took her. She needed something to cling to, something not tainted by the filth of Erbrechen's soul. The Slaver would twist the boy, foul him to the core of his being, and then kill him.

“No.” Gehirn stood, turning toward the Slaver. She'd turn the fat bastard to ash before—

Erbrechen smiled childish innocence at Gehirn's wrath. “Heat the stew, would you?”

Gehirn hesitated.
Kill him now
.

“Heat the stew,” said the Slaver more forcefully, all warmth gone from his voice.