“Ever think that making a god was a bad idea?”
It was Aufschlag’s idea and Failure stole it, made it his own. He made the man Chief Scientist of the Geborene Damonen—put him in charge of his most important works—and Aufschlag betrayed him. I gave him everything. He remembered pushing the knife into his friend’s chest, watching the life fade from dull eyes. “No.”
Konig snorted. He had none of Failure’s practised class or poise.
What part of me is he? Failure couldn’t understand how this man came from his psyche. There must be some connection, something linking the two. If he could but figure it out, it might provide some point of leverage. And leverage was everything.
“I need you to fetch three Geborene priests for me,” said Failure, hating his helplessness.
“Can’t get them yourself?” said Konig, knowing the answer. He grinned at the Reflection, waiting.
Failure hated that smirk. Men in positions of power should never grin, never show anything but calm control. This escaped Reflection was a fool. “You know I can’t,” he said. “Please, will you bring them here?”
Konig shrugged, examined his unkempt fingernails. “Maybe later.”
“Do it now—” Failure stopped, breathed calm. Here in his mirror he could do nothing. Konig was his eyes and hands in the world beyond. “If you don’t do it now we will never control Morgen. The choice is yours.”
“Who do you want?” Konig asked.
“Erdbehüter, Ungeist, and Drache.”
Konig’s mouth fell open, his lips moving in mute disbelief. “Are…are you mad?”
“They will—”
“Morgen told me to send them far from Selbsthass on some make-work quest. He wants them far from the city before they—”
“That’s why they’re perfect. They aren’t part of his cadre of Geisteskranken. They won’t be missed.”
“They’re near the Pinnacle. Any one of them could snap!” Words rushed from Konig in a panic. “Morgen drove Erdbehüter hard to finish the wall. It broke her. Rocks move whenever she is near. Sometimes they crush people. She has no control. Ungeist…” He shivered, huddling his arms about his chest.
“Calm—”
“He looks inside you, sees the evil there. You know we have evil.”
“I can handle—”
“Your inner demons manifest. He sets them free. They claw their way out!” Hysteria tinged Konig’s voice, scaling it upward in pitch. “And Drache? She’s a gods-damned Therianthrope dragon! Her breath—”
“Silence!”
Konig sputtered to a stop, glaring at Failure. “You do not command me.”
“Then control yourself. They are exactly what I need.” He didn’t want to tell Konig any more than necessary, but he needed the fool to understand. He shared the parts Konig would figure out on his own and hoped it was enough. “Bedeckt killed Morgen. They will kill Bedeckt for us. Through them we will regain control of our god.” Except there was no we, there was only Failure.
“If they can’t control themselves, how can you control them?”
It was a good question and one Failure dare not examine too closely. Doubt was weakness. “I can.”
The Theocrat studied him, striking the pose—one hand on chin, the other holding that elbow—Failure always took when thinking. “Will your Gefahrgeist power reach beyond the mirror?”
Another good question. Perhaps not as stupid as Failure thought. “Yes.”
“I will be the go-between,” said Konig. “Once you’ve bound them, all orders will come through me.” He grinned at his Reflection. “I won’t have you turning them against me.”
Failure growled frustration and argued but it was all for show. Allowing Konig to be the point of contact once Failure bent the three Geisteskranken to his will would serve as an added layer of protection should things go badly. Morgen would believe Konig acted against him.
“What about Bedeckt?” asked Konig. “Nacht said—”
“Lies and distractions,” snapped Failure. “Now please, fetch the priests.”
Three priests, a dumpy middle-aged matron, a woman in her early twenties, and one short but surprisingly solid man, gathered in Konig’s chambers. The Theocrat stood behind them, arms crossed over his chest, face set in a serious expression like he might actually be thinking. Though all wore the white of the Geborene, nothing could hide the madness lurking behind their eyes, the rotting filth of their souls. They were perfect.