Why did you write your best poetry after your shrew of a wife kicked you out?
Wichtig shoved the thought aside. The past was useless, an anchor drowning you in an ocean of self-doubt and recrimination. If it couldn’t be changed, what was the point in remembering it?
Damn it. What was it Bedeckt always said about the past?
Those who live in the past are content to defeat it? No. That made no sense. Of course much of what the old goat said was meaningless shite disguised as wisdom.
Gods I’m bored. He needed something to do, something to be. Was he still the Greatest Swordsman in the World if he was here in the Afterdeath? How long before the living forgot him? The thought sent a shiver of fear dancing cold fingers down his spine. Could there be anything worse than being unknown?
A plate of meat that might have been chicken, if chickens looked more like cats, and a haphazard scattering of vegetable matter arrived with a pint of grey ale. Wichtig swilled the ale and scowled at the flavour. How the hells does something taste grey?
Shoving the vegetables to the side of the plate—plant matter was what food ate—he wolfed down the chicken, spitting out the whiskers and claws.
Those who regret the past are inept and defeated. Closer, but not quite. And it sounded a little too intelligent for something Bedeckt would say. Those who invent the past… Hmm. That had potential.
Where the hells was Bedeckt?
What if he arrived with Stehlen and that huge Swordswoman, Lebendig, in tow? And what was Lebendig to Stehlen? Were they lovers? Wichtig tried to imagine a soft moment between the Kleptic and the muscled Swordswoman and failed. He shuddered at the resulting mental image, all tongues and grubby fingers.
Stehlen killed the Swordswoman back in Neidrig when they were still alive. Here in the Afterdeath, Lebendig was bound to the person who slay her. Imagine, being bound to serve a murderous bitch like Stehlen. Did Lebendig pretend to like Stehlen—trying to make the best of a bad situation—or did she see something in the Kleptic she genuinely appreciated? They seemed happy. Well, as happy as Stehlen ever seemed.
He’d pity the Swordswoman but that, like any emotion involving other people’s well-being, was pointless.
Thinking of Lebendig and how she was forced to serve Stehlen, Wichtig decided waiting in this boring city for the old man wasn’t so bad. At least he was free, unbound by the Warrior’s Credo. Why Morgen freed him Wichtig couldn’t guess. Not that it mattered. He had no intention of thanking the little shite who killed him.
Gratitude. Another useless emotion.
Come to think of it, there weren’t a lot of useful emotions, unless it was other people feeling them.
The barmaid brought another pint of ale, dropping it before Wichtig without a word.
“Wait,” he said, when she turned to leave. “You died in this inn.”
She stood still, only the set of her shoulders showing tension. She pointed at the bar. “Right there. She cut my throat, called me a whore.” She shook her head. “I never even saw who it was. She left me there, bleeding all over the floor.” The barmaid stared at her hands. “I tried to stop the blood.”
That sounded like Stehlen, but why the whore comment? Was she really that jealous? Wichtig made a note to tease her about it later. In front of Lebendig. “Why are you still here? I’d be anywhere but here.”
She shrugged, the slightest lift of shoulders. “It’s a job. Still need money.”
The barmaid left. Wichtig again watched the swing of her arse, and again failed to summon any real interest. Still need money. She was right, of course. Why else would the Warrior’s Credo insist you bring wealth and weapons? Wichtig chuckled a humourless grunt. He died a pauper, Stehlen having stolen everything. He owed her for that.
Yes, a day of reckoning, that’s exactly what I need.
He gave Stehlen so much over the years, gifting her with his friendship and insightful advice. He couldn’t remember how many times he bought her drinks. He’d have his payback, but it would be foolish to rush into such an endeavour. The Kleptic, for all her faults and weaknesses, was dangerous. Simply killing her was the boring kind of vengeance a small mind like Stehlen’s would dream up. Wichtig knew his was no small and boring mind. He’d bide his time.
‘No one steals from me.’ Stehlen said that like it was the worst crime imaginable. Funny, considering how much time she spent thieving from her closest friends. What could he steal that would hurt her the most?
Wichtig grinned and downed his ale.
Lebendig.
He laughed aloud and waved at the barmaid for another pint. No woman could resist his Gefahrgeist charms. I’ll bed the big Swordswoman, steal her away from the thieving bitch.