“You are?” asked the K?rperidentit?t.
“No one steals from me,” said Stehlen, ignoring the query.
“He’s yours?”
Interesting question, Stehlen decided. Yes, he is mine. Bedeckt too. She would do as she chose with them. She examined the woman, naked and ruined and reeking of infection run riot, and decided she didn’t like her. And she definitely didn’t like the damage done to Wichtig’s beautiful body. “Everything is mine. Just a question of whether I’ve taken it yet.”
“Kleptic,” spat the woman.
“K?rperidentit?t,” Stehlen spat back.
The woman lifted her saw, showing Stehlen the bright edge stained red with Wichtig’s blood. “You have so many useless appendages,” she said, hobbling closer. “Let me take them from you. Let me optimize your mortal coil.”
Stehlen grinned yellow teeth and the woman blanched. “I know you, K?rperidentit?t.” Her own knives hung loose in her hands, thirsty. “I see so much you no longer need.” Stehlen slid closer. “I know you want to be rid of them. They’re a curse.”
The K?rperidentit?t hesitated, licking her lips, eyes wet with tears of longing.
Stehlen took the saw from the woman and examined the blade. Finding it wanting, she tossed it aside. “Your fear holds you back. Your fear betrays you. Let me make you what you want to be.”
“I have to feed Arschloch first,” said the woman.
“The dog? I’ve already carved that unnecessary flesh from your life.”
Crying, the K?rperidentit?t leaned her face into what remained of her hands. Slim shoulders shook as she sucked wet sobs of air into her sinus cavity.
Stehlen watched desire and fear do battle. “What is it the doctors always say?” she asked. “Oh, yes. ‘This is going to hurt.’”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The vast majority of the populace is completely sane and unable to alter reality. At least on their own. Bring a crowd together and convince them of something (through advertising, religion, politics, economics, or any other popular mass delusion) and they become—as a group—capable of defining their reality. The sane are not powerless, far from it. In fact, the sane define most of this reality. Almost anywhere you go things fall down, night follows day, politics is real and important, and there’s somewhere to go after you die. Almost.
The sane are even capable of countering, or nullifying, the beliefs of the deranged.
—Vorstellung - Natural Philosopher
With Zukunft pushing on Bedeckt’s arse with all her strength, he was barely able to mount his horse. Arsehole seemed none too pleased at his return and nickered his complaint, rolling huge eyes to glare at him.
“I don’t like it either,” Bedeckt told the beast.
He waited, swaying in the saddle, as Zukunft collected what food she found in the tavern. The rain let up, but her clothing still clung seductively to every curve and swell.
Fool. Bedeckt turned Arsehole south west, pointing the horse in the direction of the bridge at the Gottlos-Selbsthass border. The town remained quiet as they rode out, the horses plodding through the deep shite and mud. If people watched from windows, Bedeckt didn’t see them. His world collapsed to a narrow tunnel of focus.
“It’s sad,” said Zukunft. “You’re obviously wounded and yet no one offers aid.”
“If you saw us from your bedroom window,” said Bedeckt, “would you venture into the rain?”
“Yes,” she said. “We always offered shelter to those in need. Father…” She sighed, closing her eyes as she bowed her head. “Anyway, you look scary, but you’re a big kitten.”
“That,” he said, “I am not.”
The sun rose, warming their backs as they rode. The leather straps, already wrapped tight, tightened as the leather dried. Bedeckt didn’t complain. They were all that kept him upright and in the saddle.
They rode west. To either side the trees glistened emerald green, sparkling with dew in the morning light. The world smelled alive and healthy, rich and deep. Birds danced circles around them, dashing near as if in competition to see who dared get closest to the riders. A rabbit, fur lightening to the white it would become once winter arrived, watched them, ears perked and twitching. Bedeckt imagined how good it would taste with mushrooms and onions, cooked in dark ale, with a dozen pints to wash it down. The rabbit wriggled its nose and disappeared into the brush.
“I love rabbit,” he said.
“Me too,” said Zukunft. “I used to have one. His name was Blacky. He was so friendly. He used to—”
“I bet he tasted great.”
She shot him a mock scowl. “We didn’t eat our pets.”
“Pets.” He laughed, a pained chuckle turning into a fit of coughing. When it subsided, he continued. “Only the wealthy have pets. Everyone else keeps animals for food or breeding. Either way, they have to be useful.”
“I wouldn’t say we were wealthy.”
“Only the wealthy say that. Everyone else knows they’re poor. How many bedrooms did your home have?”
He watched her counting in her head.