“Something is breaking you,” Stehlen whispered to the carved Bedeckt. She blinked away tears with a growl and glared rage at the wooden toy, gripping it until her hand hurt.
This wasn’t possible. Wichtig doubting? Bedeckt losing his much vaunted sanity? The carvings must be a lie, some deception played by Morgen. Had he known she would steal them? Had she been predictable, walked into an elaborate trap like the dumbest Swordsman?
Setting those two aside, she turned her attention to the carved Stehlen. And there it was, perfectly her. Hating and ugly and scared and desperate. Pinched features vomited disgust at the world. How could anything be so hideous, so loathsome? How had Bedeckt stayed with her all those years? He should have killed her to rid the world of its most foul mistake.
She wanted to dissect the toy. She wanted to carve away the hate and the ugly. She wanted to cut out everything wrong with her life until all that remained was beautiful and happy.
Wichtig, with those long artist’s fingers, would be perfect for this. She imagined her nose less narrow, her chin less pointed. She envisioned soft, dark eyes instead of yellow shards of rage. Teeth, white and straight. He could carve this and make me beautiful.
Stehlen bit the inside of her cheek, tasting blood. She drew a narrow-bladed knife, holding it near the tip, and glared at the carving, deciding what to slash away first. There was so much wrong with it. She hated every nook and cranny, every fold of wood. Swallowing, she realized there was no part she wanted to keep.
She wanted to burn it.
She wanted to carve it to nothing.
After checking the blade and wiping it clean of prints and smudges, Stehlen returned the knife to its place. She loved that knife. She loved all her knives. Knives never lied.
Glancing at Lebendig, checking she still slept, Stehlen knew what she must do. She couldn’t trust herself with these carvings. None of them.
And you trust her?
Stehlen crawled to Lebendig’s pack. Spiders were clumsy and noisy in comparison. After wrapping the toys in cloth, she hid them at the bottom. Returning to her corner, she sat and waited for Lebendig to wake.
It felt odd to give someone something rather than to take. She never gave anyone anything other than death and pain. It felt like Lebendig gave her something instead of the other way around.
When Lebendig awoke, she sat up, spilling the sheets to her waist and stretched, twisting and rolling her shoulders to loosen any knots. Seeing Stehlen sitting in the corner, surrounded by the various things she stole in the last day, she lifted an eyebrow and said nothing. Stehlen loved her for that easy acceptance. Lebendig had a way of making petty theft in the desperate hope of punishment seem somehow…if not sane, at least less than completely insane.
Stehlen examined the Swordswoman. She looks better. Maybe not at her best, but at least she didn’t look like she was about to pass out from exhaustion.
After braiding her hair, Lebendig rose and dressed with the same grace and economy she did everything. After checking the lay and draw of her swords, she turned her attention to Stehlen.
“I am going to kill him,” Lebendig said.
Stehlen nodded slow acceptance. “You want to be the Greatest.”
“I don’t care about that any more,” said her lover.
Stehlen wanted to believe the big woman. She wanted to believe Lebendig would kill Wichtig solely for her love. She wanted to believe, but nothing she knew of Swordsmen would allow that. And she remembered her own carving in intimate detail.
No one could love me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Since the fall of the Menschheit Letzte Imperium, the city-states have been in a continual state of war. While years may pass where no open fighting occurs, do not be deceived. The struggle continues, fought by assassins and spies. There is but one exception: Geldangelegenheiten has never once fought a war. It has never been invaded, nor attacked the borders of its neighbours. It has, however, funded every war since the fall of the Imperium. In fact, Geldangelegenheiten funded both sides in every single one of those wars.
—Geschichts Verdreher - Historian/Philosopher
Even with fifteen thousand men and women working hard, it took Morgen’s soldiers most of the day to clean the Gottlos garrison to the point he was happy with it. Why were so few Geisteskranken obsessed with cleanliness and perfection? Had he more of them in his cadres of the mad, the job could have been finished faster. After that, it took most of another day to reach Unbrauchbar.