This time he wouldn’t squander his life chasing foolish goals.
When the barmaid returned with a plate of food and another pint, he stuffed as much into his belly as he could manage and savoured every sip of ale. After, stomach stretched and uncomfortable, he sat back and contemplated his future. There were important things he put off doing for far too long. He needed to find his wife. Would she still be in Traurig? Probably. And Fluch, his son. He needed to see his son again, to hold the precocious little brat in his arms and smell that baby smell.
He’s not a baby any more.
Right. Wichtig left them almost five years ago. Fluch would be a little boy, getting into little boy trouble. Wichtig grinned at the thought. I’ll make a wonderful father. No man who hadn’t died and returned to life could bring the perspective Wichtig had to fatherhood. No more chasing dreams, no more petty crime. Morgen could stick pigs. Bedeckt might have abandoned Wichtig—and that still stung—but it didn’t matter. He was wealthy. He’d return to his family a success. His wife would have to admit he’d been right all along.
Grinning in triumph, Wichtig reached for the pouch of coins.
It was gone.
“Shite,” he said. The little bastard tricked me somehow. But how, and why? He must have known Wichtig would notice the money was missing once returned to life. What then did the godling want? Did he think Wichtig would still pursue Bedeckt and kill the man? Why would he? He hadn’t been paid. It didn’t matter he’d already decided to betray the boy, that was irrelevant.
No matter what angle Wichtig viewed it from, he couldn’t see how Morgen benefited. Unless…
The boy must be afraid of me. He must have sent me here to stop me from doing something important in the Afterdeath. But what would Morgen expect him to do once he discovered the money missing? Did he think Wichtig would give up and go away? Did he think the Swordsman might still kill Bedeckt in hopes of payment? Would the boy pay him if he killed the old man? What about the lad’s other promises, First Sword of the Geborene and all that? Was all of it a lie?
He’ll assume I’ll abandon the quest. That meant Morgen’s promises of wealth and fame were shite.
Wichtig thought of Fluch and his wife. Shite. He couldn’t return now, penniless and without prospects. That would be embarrassing.
Bedeckt. Somehow everything revolved around the old man. Wichtig would have to find him. Whether to kill him or not was a decision he’d make later. The bastard betrayed and abandoned him, but if he was wealthy, perhaps Wichtig could settle for robbing him. Or robbing and then killing.
I should have asked Morgen more questions. Where had Bedeckt started in this reality? Had he sat right here in the tavern, or had he been returned to life while back in Neidrig? Why the hells hadn’t the boy thought to tell him this stuff? Come to think of it, could he trust anything the boy said? Yes, he decided. Morgen was a shite, but not bright enough to lie to a Gefahrgeist of Wichtig’s calibre. At least not about everything.
Wichtig scowled at his pint mug, empty once again. Why did Bedeckt not bring me with him? Why leave me behind? His gut soured and tightened; must be something he ate. Wichtig bit his bottom lip, eyes hot and wet. How could he abandon me? Abandoning Stehlen he understood. She was a murderous Kleptic bitch. You couldn’t trust her as far as you could kick her and she was ungodly ugly to boot. If Morgen told Wichtig that Bedeckt fled the Afterdeath simply to escape Stehlen, he would have believed him.
But Wichtig?
I was his friend. His only friend. How many times did I save his worthless hide? And what do I get in return? Nothing. Bedeckt could have used Morgen to return them all to life. Selfish bastard!
The barmaid returned, flashing blue eyes and an expanse of freckled thigh. She stopped at his table, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You all right?”
He dragged his sleeve across his face in rough anger. He considered flashing his favourite smile but decided to play up the hurt angle instead. Women loved that kind of thing, they couldn’t resist nursing wounded birds.
“Fine,” he said, being sure to let her know with the tone he was anything but.
She rubbed his back comfortingly and he flexed so she felt the hard ridges of muscle.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“A friend, an old friend, a dear old friend…” Wichtig decided to change the story. Being abandoned made him sound pathetic—as much as they loved wounded birds, women loathed weak and pathetic men. And getting all emotional about an old man seemed a little suspect. “She’s dead.” He held her with his flat grey eyes, willing her to need to comfort him. Knowing she would.
“That’s awful! Was she—was she your wife?”
Wichtig considered playing that angle and abandoned it. “No. Just an old friend. I came to visit. I was going to stay on her estate. I had no idea.”