“Your dog?” he screamed. “I’ll kill you and your rutting dog you…you…you gods-damned dog sticker.”
Schnitter offered a look of surprised hurt. “That’s not nice. What has Arschloch ever done to you?”
“Aside from eating my sticking toes?”
Frowning into the bowl, she collected a fistful of gauze, and shuffled back to Wichtig’s feet.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sure it’s a very nice dog.”
She ignored him and wrapped his foot. When finished, she struggled back into her gauzy clothes and left him alone, bound tight to a stone table.
Wichtig struggled with renewed vigour, pressing himself against the thick leather binding him to the table. There was no give and he remained helpless.
“I’m sorry,” he screamed. “I’m so sorry!”
Silence answered.
“Don’t optimize me. I like me. What’s left. I can make you happy,” he promised.
Silence.
“What is beauty worth?” he called out, his voice ringing off the stone walls. “I get it now,” he lied. “I understand.” He swallowed, his mind a blur of panicked thought. “Even though you’re—” No, that wasn’t right. “Even after what you’ve done to yourself—” No, that wasn’t quite right either. “After all you’ve optimized,” he said, liking the sound. “You’re still beautiful. I see it now.”
The door swung open and Schnitter returned. The bowl, still clutched in her partial fist, was empty. “You do?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You have so many useless bits.” After stripping back to her naked state she limped to the table and selected a saw, nodding appreciatively at its glinting beauty. “The right tool for the job,” she said. Shuffling closer to stand at the table, she examined him with the eye of a carpenter deciding what to cut away to expose the statue hidden in the wood.
“All the beauty is already on the outside,” said Wichtig. “I’m nothing inside.”
“Nonsense.” She eyed his manhood, shrunken with fear. “No use for that.”
“You could have uses,” Wichtig promised, doing his best to leer lustfully at the ruin of her face.
“No,” said Schnitter. “I could not.” She glanced meaningfully down and Wichtig was glad he couldn’t see whatever was between her legs, hidden by the edge of the table. “You decide,” she said. “Lips, ears, penis, or balls?”
“Go to hell.”
She laughed, prodding his manhood with the flat of the saw’s blade. His balls did their best to crawl up into his belly.
“Can I tell you a secret?” she asked.
“Please,” he said. Please keep talking. Talking is not sawing. Talking is good. Just keep talking. Anything was better than discussing what she’d saw off next. Gods, which would he chose? He’d be hideously ugly without his lips, and losing his ears wouldn’t be much better. He shuddered at the thought of looking like Bedeckt. Without your balls, it doesn’t much matter what you look like. Maybe Morgen could heal him. If he got out of this alive, Morgen would make him whole again. Everything is fine, he told himself. Nothing to worry about.
For once, he didn’t believe himself.
“We’re already in hell,” Schnitter said as if sharing some deep truth. “Look around you. The world responds to our desires, but whose desire does it respond to most strongly? The mad. The deranged. Why are the beliefs of the sane worth so little? Why can I bend reality but those stupid guards can’t?”
“Hacking someone’s toes off hardly constitutes bending reality,” said Wichtig. “Any idiot can do that.”
She scowled, head tilting to one side. Something leaked from her gaping sinus pit. “Like a child, you sway back and forth between promises and threats.” Dragging the wooden lump of her leg behind her, she stood at Wichtig’s side. Tapping his smallest finger with the saw she said, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“I’m a Swordsman,” said Wichtig, pleading. “I need that for a good grip.”
“Fingers are only of use to those with arms.” She gripped the finger, prying it out from the others. “Let’s start here.”
“Let’s not.”
Wichtig twitched and screamed as she sawed his finger off. After holding it aloft for examination, she tossed into the bowl.
Terrified, Wichtig retreated into sarcasm. “Guess I won’t need two swords any more.” His life, everything he was and ever could be, drained from the wound in his hand. If she took his ability to hold a sword, she took everything. What was he without that? Nothing. That’s all I’ve ever had. Severing his fingers killed Wichtig more effectively than if she drove a knife into his heart. Or sawed off all his limbs.
Carved tongue jutting between pink and ragged gums in a look of rapt concentration, Schnitter sawed off the next finger. Even as he screamed Wichtig thanked the gods she took another finger from the same hand rather than starting on the other.
When finished, she tossed it into the waiting bowl and stood panting, gasping for air.