“Sleeping rolls?”
Bedeckt drew her sleeping roll from her saddle bag and dropped it at her feet.
“That looks awfully thin,” she said.
“It’s enough.”
“I get cold easily.”
Bedeckt grunted his apathy. “I’ll light the fire. If you can make sure it stays lit while I hunt—”
“Don’t bother. You won’t catch anything. Tonight we’re eating whatever food you purchased.”
“How do you know—”
Zukunft looked at him like he might be a little dull.
Grumbling, he set about lighting the fire. Once he had a decent blaze, he dug food from his saddlebags and shared it out.
They ate in silence, Bedeckt ignoring Zukunft as she watched him through the flames. She didn’t eat so much as nibble. Bedeckt, raining crumbs upon his gut, wondered if perhaps she shared a little of Morgen’s obsession.
When she finished, she belched happily and grinned at Bedeckt.
“It’s getting cold,” she said, huddling her arms about her and shivering dramatically.
“It is.”
“This sleeping roll looks pretty thin,” she repeated.
“It is.” It was all they could afford.
“We could share one,” Zukunft said. “For warmth.”
“I’m still hungry,” said Bedeckt, rising with the usual crackle of arthritic knees. “I’m going to see if I can find something to kill.” He stalked off into the night without looking back.
“Have fun,” he heard her say, voice soft, with a hint of what might have been mocking laughter.
Bedeckt didn’t find anything worth eating but killed something anyway. On the way back to camp he tripped and fell on the bow, snapping it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ancient kings and queens—those who ruled before the rise of the Menschheit Letzte Imperium—were buried in tombs lined with gold and piled deep with jewels. Their personal guard, favoured servants, dogs and horses were buried alongside them to serve and entertain in the Afterdeath.
Do they rule there still?
—Geschichts Verdreher - Historian/Philosopher
Morgen, the smug shite, leaned back in his chair and said, “Better grab your swords.”
Wichtig collected his matched blades from the table and Morgen was gone. Wichtig, unwilling to show his surprise, lifted an eyebrow, glancing about the tavern. The boy might be a god, but he couldn’t resist showing off, trying to impress the man who—
Is it a little brighter in here?
Blinking, Wichtig turned to the bar. A man he didn’t recognize worked behind the counter. Had they changed shifts without his noticing?
A barmaid approached his table, young and pretty, with a spattering of pale freckles beneath blue eyes. He wanted to write her eyes a poem. Her breasts too.
“Can I get you a pint?” she asked, eyes lingering and appraising.
Wichtig flashed his best smile, the one that melted women and made men want to smash his face. Of all his many smiles, this was by far his favourite. “Please. And your name is?”
“Reinigen,” she said, and spun away with a flip of golden brown hair.
She’s certainly friendlier than…Wichtig searched his memory and came up empty. Whatever her name was. Death really stole the life from some people.
Gold hair. Blue eyes.
Wichtig examined the other patrons in the tavern. They seemed happy, fat and prosperous.
Something…
Reinigen brought him a pint of amber ale with a frothing head and sat it upon the table before him. She smelled of fresh baked bread and beer and scented soap and he wanted to rut her more than he wanted to rut anything since…since he died.
Wichtig caught her hand in his, caressed the softness of her skin with his fingertips. Lifting it to his nose he breathed deep of her scents, eyes closing in pleasure. Her hand was warm and he felt the beat of her heart.
“Can I help you?” she asked. She made no effort to retrieve her hand.
“You’re alive,” said Wichtig in wonder. “So alive.”
She stared at him with those amazing blue eyes, watching as he grabbed the pint and downed it in one go.
“Flavour,” he said, slamming the empty mug to the table. “Actual flavour!” He licked his lips. “Food. More ale.”
She coughed politely and he realized he still held her hand.
He released her. “Sorry. What was your name?”
“Reinigen,” she answered.
“Of course.”
She left to fetch his order and Wichtig slid his fingers across the tabletop, feeling the grain of the wood. He breathed deep, enjoying the scents of a tavern common-room. Ale, sweat, cooking food, wood, and the stale breath of gods knew how many patrons past. It was beautiful, the most amazing smell. His nostrils flared at the thought of burying his face between the barmaid’s thighs and what he might scent there.
I had no idea it was so amazing to be alive! All of this, the scents and the colours, each and every sensation, he’d taken it all for granted. Never again! He would sample and enjoy every pleasure life had to offer. Gods only know when I might die again. And death was shite.