“Please tell me this Kurz killed the idiot,” said Stehlen.
The girl shook her head, hair swishing about slim shoulders. Stehlen wanted to touch it, to bury her face in the soft curve of neck and breathe deep her warmth. Feeling her own face flush with warmth, she pushed the thought away with a sour pang of guilt. Noticing a pink scarf partially concealed beneath the girl’s collar, Stehlen knew a very different hunger. She avoided looking to see if Lebendig noticed.
“He killed Kurz,” said the barmaid. “Everyone is talking about it.”
“Shite,” swore Stehlen. “Anything else?”
Small fists clenched, the barmaid’s eyes turned, pleading, to Lebendig. “He said he was Wichtig Lügner. I know that name. He used to be the Greatest—”
“Yes, yes, we know,” said Stehlen. “Anything useful?”
“Everyone is saying he is Wichtig, returned from the dead.”
“That’s hardly—”
Lebendig handed the barmaid the coin and sent her off with a nod.
“What did you pay her for?” demanded Stehlen, still angry with herself.
Lebendig shrugged. “She needed it more than we.”
“What the hells does that have to do with anything?”
Lebendig shrugged again and gave her that smile she saved for those moments when she thought Stehlen had done something cute.
Pretty sticking rare smile, thought Stehlen. Still, it warmed her. Even if she didn’t understand it.
Stehlen and Lebendig split up. The Swordswoman, with the money Stehlen somehow managed not to steal from her, going in search of horses and the Kleptic asking around to be sure Wichtig went south toward Gottlos. They agreed to meet at the southern gate.
Following the Swordsman’s route through the city was easy. The idiot made a point of stopping often to brag and tell everyone who and what he was. The fop stood out in a crowd of fops. Bedeckt was more difficult to trace, but Stehlen wasn’t worried. Wichtig would lead her straight to the old man.
Once she was sure Lebendig had left the Leichtes Haus, Stehlen returned. She relieved the pretty barmaid of her scarf and everything else, leaving the common room floor slick with blood. Half a dozen patrons and the bartender shared the girl’s fate. Best that no one lived to describe the two women or pass along their interest in Wichtig or what they learned of his destination.
Morgen sent Wichtig to kill Bedeckt and herself to kill them both. She saw no reason to believe he wouldn’t send someone else after her. It’s what she’d do, were she the kind of pathetic worm who didn’t do her own killing.
Noticing the monstrous wall this Selbsthass had—which the one in the Afterdeath lacked— Stehlen put it down to the difference in time. Here they had ten years to build the thing. That they spent the time doing just that spoke volumes of their insecurity.
Stehlen made sure the pink scarf was tucked well out of sight before meeting Lebendig at the gate. The Swordswoman had an uncanny knack for noticing things Stehlen preferred hidden.
The two women rode south. The Swordswoman—always laconic—even quieter than usual, answering Stehlen’s attempts at conversation in grunts and abrupt gestures.
What the hells is wrong with her? Had she seen the scarf? Was she angry with Stehlen for killing everyone in the tavern? I did what had to be done. She wanted to explain but what if it was something entirely different bothering the big woman?
Stehlen wanted to reach out and touch Lebendig, to hold her hand, but couldn’t bring herself to chance rejection. Instead she made one more attempt at conversation.
“Bedeckt always named his damned horses. He had this big brooding brute of a war horse he called Launisch.” Stehlen laughed, a forced snort. “He always talked to it when he thought no one was listening. Idiot.”
“Named mine Ross,” said Lebendig, stroking the animal’s neck.
Stehlen watched Lebendig ignore her for half a mile, wondering what to make of that. The woman seemed neither angry nor tense, just distant, lost in thought.
Gods, why do I always fall for the thoughtful types? In her experience, introspection led only to misery.
Stehlen glared at the back of her own horse’s head and its ears twitched like it thought she was about to tear them off. It was an ornery and ill-tempered beast, always eyeing her with distrust. She had shite luck with horses. Hers were always irritable creatures, prone to violence and likely to make a dash for freedom if she didn’t tether them to something solid.
Why would I name this stupid beast?
She remembered Bedeckt asking her to fetch Launisch apples and make sure the horse was properly brushed and groomed. That alone was worth killing him for.
He treated that damned horse better than he treated me and I— She couldn’t even think the word love, much less say it aloud.
She added that hurt to the ever-growing list.