Swarm and Steel, page 22
“I have bad news,” said Pharisäer stepping closer and running a hand over Blutblüte’s pommel to draw Hölle’s eye and remind her of she’d been stabbed with that very weapon.
Hölle’s attention darted to the sword and flinched away. She rubbed her belly, hunching as if trying to protect it from further harm. “Tell me.”
“Two of your priests clashed on the street this morning. They wiped out a dozen houses and killed scores of people before the Geld Guard brought them down.”
Hölle retreated toward her bed and Pharisäer followed.
“It gets worse,” continued Pharisäer. “For some reason the idiots were wearing the vestments of Täuschung priests.” She shook her head in disgust. “And now the church is under investigation. Apparently one of your Geisteskranken has been talking to the wrong people, telling them what goes on in the basement, telling people the truth about the Departings. Most of your sane priests have been arrested and there’s talk of the Verzweiflung Banking Conglomerate getting involved,” Pharisäer lied. In Geld the bank was the highest court. “There’s going to be an inquest. They might even freeze the Täuschung accounts.” Most of this was purest fantasy, made up on the spot. “We might be destitute inside of a week. And if the Verzweiflung get hold of the wrong people, we’ll be fleeing for our lives soon after that.”
Hölle sat, collapsing onto the bed. “Who?” Her shoulders sagged. She blinked rapidly, struggling to comprehend the news.
“The street battle? Virwirrt and Beraubt. I’m guessing Virwirrt was stalking her, thinking she’d be easy prey for his … appetites. Judging from the damage done and how many of the Geld Guard got twisted into unrecognizable smears, I think Beraubt had a belly-full of Auslösekugeln.”
Hölle swore under her breath, staring at the floor between her feet. “I need to—”
“You look awful,” interrupted Pharisäer, stepping closer so Blutblüte’s scabbarded blade touched Hölle’s knee. The woman paled, again flinching. She looked ill, like she might vomit. “Let me help you back into bed.” Pathetic weakling. It was too easy. The woman would crack under the pressure and Pharisäer would replace her. Soon I will be real. She pushed Hölle back, allowing the sword’s pommel to accidentally brush against her several times, and bustled about tucking her in like a caring mother.
“Why now?” asked Hölle. “Who is responsible for this?” She sounded lost, alone.
You are. So alone. I’ll turn everyone against you. “I’ll find out,” promised Pharisäer. “I’ll hunt them down and make them pay. Don’t you worry.” She paused, feigning contemplation. “It’s not your fault. How could you have known making Geisteskranken your inner core of priests would end so badly?” She brushed a greasy strand of hair from Hölle’s eyes. “It’s not your fault. They let you down.”
“We can recover—”
“Shhh. We have to hope the Geld Guard don’t hear about this compound and focus their investigations on the public façade. I’m sending most of the remaining priests away. We can’t chance these idiots spilling what they know. I’ll keep the few we can trust. Not to worry, I’ll hand pick them myself.”
Hölle closed her eyes, sinking deeper into the mattress.
Gods she smells terrible. “I’ll see to everything. You rest and recover. You’ll open your wound if you keep pushing yourself.”
Tears leaked from Hölle’s eyes and Pharisäer wanted to taste them, to savour the woman’s imminent defeat. Was it time? No, thought Pharisäer, not yet. She still clings to some hope, still believes she can turn everything around. Not for long.
“I’ll report back with my findings,” said Pharisäer turning for the door. I’ll ruin everything you’ve built. I’ll burn your life’s work to the ground. You’ll beg me to end your suffering. “Sleep well. May Wahrergott watch over you.” And forgive you your failures.
Zhalen, the Täuschung accountant Pharisäer instructed to sell the church’s holdings littered throughout the city-states, had recently reported the first sales confirmed. Several hundred sane Täuschung priests had been turned out into the streets with no word of explanation. It was time to transfer the funds into her own accounts, put them forever beyond Hölle’s reach.
LEGS CROSSED, SPINE STRAIGHT, the very image of demur decorum, Pharisäer sat before the Senior Accounts Officer. The old banker looked like she’d eaten something so sour it sucked the front of her face half-way through to the back of her skull. Even here, deep within the bowels of the Verzweiflung Banking Conglomerate’s Geld branch, the woman’s huge black geldwechsler remained teetering atop her wizened skull. The stupid bankers clearly feared comfort.
What they apparently didn’t fear was an ostentatious display of wealth. The interior of the building was finished in white marble veined in arterial red. Every railing was polished brass, unsullied by even a single fingerprint. High above, colossal candelabrum held countless thousands of candles. Those chandeliers, thirty feet or more over Pharisäer’s head, were wrought in lustrous gold.
Fantastic wealth, beyond reach. No doubt the message was no accident. Glancing about, she saw no means of reaching those candles. Yet all remained lit.
Pharisäer returned her attention to the banker hunched behind an ornate desk carved of green and black granite no doubt imported from the Gezackt mountains on the far side of the world. She eyed the woman’s hat. One little touch and I can knock that silly thing off the old hag. Pharisäer kept her face emotionless. In a few minutes she would be one of the wealthiest women in all Geld, and to be the wealthiest in Geld meant to be the wealthiest in all the world.
Zahlen, the Täuschung accountant, had informed Pharisäer that he’d sold several properties. The funds from those deals had of course been deposited in the church’s Verzweiflung accounts. The Conglomerate had its fingers in every major transaction. Once Pharisäer transferred the money into her own accounts, Hölle would be shattered by the loss.
I’ll tell her the bank foreclosed on the properties. Pharisäer couldn’t wait to see Hölle’s face when she heard the news. She’d crawl back into bed and cry, never thinking to leave her room and ascertain the truth for herself. One more support pillar kicked out from under what remained of the woman’s crumbling sanity.
Pharisäer felt good. She felt strong. Alive.
The Senior Accounts Officer made a show of examining Pharisäer, gaze lingering on the black leather sheathing her legs and ass. Zerfall might have been a crazy bitch, but she had great taste in clothes. Pharisäer had barely been able to squeeze into the pants.
“How can I help you?” asked the banker, looking anything but helpful. “If you wish to open an account—”
“I have an account.”
She didn’t look pleased at the interruption, taking another moment to consider Pharisäer with dark eyes sunk deep in wrinkles. “You are quite mistaken—”
“I am Zerf—”
The banker stopped her with a raised hand. “I am entirely aware of who you are,” she said. “And I am entirely aware of what you are.”
What I am. Pharisäer’s chest tightened. She wanted to crawl under this desk and hide away from those hard and knowing eyes. “I am the head of the Täuschung. I am Zerfall—”
“You are not.” The old woman shuffled papers on her desk, looking impatient to get back to the important work awaiting her. The real work, dealing with real people.
“I am—”
“A Fragment. We would be happy to arrange an account for you, but what kind of bank would we be if we allowed people’s delusions to access their funds? Hmn? No. Quite.”
There was no bend in the woman, no give. When the world ended, when time turned her desk to dust, she would remain.
Pharisäer contemplated the fantastic wealth Zahlen recently deposited into the Täuschung accounts. Accounts Pharisäer could not access.
It doesn’t matter. This will still hurt Hölle. She’ll think the money gone, she won’t think to check. She almost believed it.
The old banker leaned forward, geldwechsler tilting precariously but remaining atop her head. “Or you can return to us when you are real.” She sat back, clearly dismissing Pharisäer. “If there is nothing else we can help you with …”
AN HOUR LATER PHARISÄER realized that, while Hölle remained fantastically wealthy, she had managed to beggar herself. Though the Täuschung coffers were swollen from the sales of several churches and properties, Pharisäer could not access the accounts. Not yet.
Somehow the bank knew she was a Fragment.
A temporary setback, nothing more.
Once Hölle was dead, Pharisäer would be real. It would all be hers.
HÖLLE LAY IN BED, contemplating the utter failure of everything she worked to achieve for the last four hundred years. Her tears had dried.
How had it gone wrong? The church ran smoothly for centuries. Why had her Geisteskranken priests suddenly began fighting in the streets?
Fear. Zerfall kept them in line. Everyone was terrified of her. And now Zerfall was gone. Pharisäer said she would see to the running of the church while Hölle healed. Had it been more difficult that she thought? While she looked identical to Zerfall, there were definitely notable differences. For one thing, Pharisäer had none of Zerfall’s tight wound rage. Even though Hölle found herself increasingly afraid of Pharisäer, it was a different fear. Zerfall had been unstoppable. She knew the words of Wahrergott and dedicated her every waking moment to making them true.
That’s not quite true.
In the early days, the first century after the One True God wrote his words in the minds of the two sisters, Zerfall had been focussed. In the last few decades however more and more of the day to day running of the church fell to Hölle. Zerfall had been increasingly distant. Hölle hadn’t minded taking on the extra responsibilities to help her sister. She was better at the daily minutiae of running a church. Zerfall was too impulsive, too quick to anger.
She was too interested in herself. Which made sense for a Gefahrgeist.
Hölle imagined how angry Zerfall would be at the damage done to her church and shuddered.
It’s not my fault, Pharisäer said—
Pharisäer let her down. It was time to take back the reins of the Täuschung. It was past time.
Hölle climbed from her bed stood waiting for the pain. Nothing. She lifted her shirt and examined the scar, little more than an inch long, where Blutblüte had thrust into her gut. She took a deep breath and held it. No pain.
Good. That’s good.
Releasing her shirt, Hölle reached her fingers high over her head, stretching tall. Again no pain.
That’s very good.
Hinging at the waist, she reached toward the ground. Fingertips a hands’ span from her toes, she bent no farther. She frowned, noticing the clotted dust-balls gathering in the corner. I used to be able to place my hands flat on the floor. It was effortless, not even requiring regular stretching. She hung there, willing herself lower, but gave up after a moment and once again stood straight. She blinked in surprise. She’d been so annoyed with her loss of flexibility, she hadn’t even realized it didn’t hurt in the least.
She tried a few more stretches targeting her stomach and all were painless.
It only hurts when … She released a slow breath. When Pharisäer’s here, Blutblüte at her side, talking about how badly I’ve been wounded. The thought sent a pang of pain into Hölle’s belly.
Had Pharisäer been keeping her bed-ridden?
“She’s here to help.”
Really? She’s doing a terrible job. Your church is in chaos, your priests scattering like cockroaches fleeing a fire. How had it got so bad so fast?
You don’t even know what she is. I wish Aas were here so I could ask him—The thought froze her. Aas was gone, put beyond reach by Pharisäer’s machinations. Coincidence, nothing more. She couldn’t have done this just so I couldn’t talk to the wretch.
There were others she might talk to, but Aas’ Wahnist tendency to spew his vile thoughts meant she could—in some twisted way—trust him. With anyone else she confided in or questioned, she’d never really know their intentions.
Zerfall, sometimes I think I didn’t give you enough credit.
“I don’t need her,” Hölle told the mirror. Her reflection arched an eyebrow. And Pharisäer? it seemed to ask.
There weren’t a lot of options. Either Pharisäer was sent by Wahrergott, or she was something else. The list of other possibilities wasn’t long; if Wahrergott hadn’t sent Pharisäer then she was a manifestation of Hölle’s delusions. Perhaps it wasn’t just her church that was falling apart.
If Pharisäer is a manifestation, you’re losing your mind.
How could one tell? How could she judge her own sanity? What was madness where gods wrote their holy message in the minds of feverish girls and all reality responded to the desires of the people?
“Do you remember a time without me?” Why did that question bother her so much? Why couldn’t she forget that stupid dream?
She tried to shake off her doubts. It was time—no, it was past time—to regain control of her church. The Täuschung needed her.
Hölle walked to the door, reaching for the oak handle. She stopped. She hadn’t left her chambers in weeks.
“It’s not my fault,” she told herself. “I’ve been convalescing.”
She hesitated. Aside from Pharisäer, she’d seen almost no one in that time. What would they think? Would they wonder why she’d been hiding for so long? Would they see her doubts?
“I have no doubts,” she whispered.
Right, Pharisäer took them. Isn’t that what she said?
Yes.
And so you have no doubts.
She licked her lips, staring at the door.
Then why are you hesitating?
“Because I have doubts.”
And you know what that means.
Yes, she did. And she knew someone she could talk to, assuming Pharisäer hadn’t sent the woman away already.
Hölle yanked the door open and snapped a sharp, “You!” at Captain Gedankenlos who stood guard at her door.
Gedankenlos snapped to attention, waiting.
“Is Selbs Bitterkeit in the church?”
“She’s preparing to leave for—”
“Fetch her. Now.” Hölle slammed the door before the man answered.
She stood, breathing hard, her heart pounding. “There, that wasn’t so scary.”
You still haven’t left the room.
“I didn’t need to.”
Selbs, a loyal Täuschung priest, was either a Doppelgangist or a Mehrere. Hölle couldn’t remember. A figment of Selb’s imagination followed her everywhere, hounded her every step. She knows about Fragments. Hölle had questions. Questions she didn’t want to ask. Questions that left her sweating with fear. I need to know.
She didn’t have to wait long for Selbs Bitterkeit’s timid knock. Swinging the door open, Hölle ushered the two women in. Gedankenlos once again stood at his post, expressionless.
The shorter of the two, dark hair lank and greasy, stared at her feet, never once daring eye contact. She shuffled forward, the tatty hem of her filthy robes dragging on the floor. Acne, red and raw and leaking fresh blood, pocked her sallow cheeks and she picked at torn and ragged fingernails. The sour stench of body odour followed her and Hölle backed away in distaste. She’d forgotten how bad the woman smelled.
The second woman, as tall and proud and beautiful as the other was bent and ugly, nodded to Hölle as if in commiseration. Gorgeous blue eyes, framed in a well-maintained mountain of luxurious blond hair, examined Hölle. “You look awful.”
“I have need of your advice,” said Hölle, ignoring the blond.
Red-rimmed eyes darted up, lunging toward eye contact, only to flinch away. “We are unworthy,” the short, dark woman said.
“Well you are,” said the blond.
“And yet still we’ll serve to the best of our meagre abilities,” finished the dark woman.
“You are a Doppelgangist?” Hölle asked.
“No,” they answered in eerie unison, “Mehrere.”
Mehrere. Hölle ground her teeth, hating the word. She nodded as if this was the answer she sought, but wasn’t sure what the difference was. Both types of Geisteskranken manifested as multiple people. “Which is the original?”
“I am,” said the dark woman.
“Good,” said Hölle. “Go stand in the hall.”
The woman bowed with a whimper and fled. The tall blond grinned perfect teeth and showed no hint of fear or deference when Hölle turned to face her.
“You are an aspect of her personality?” Hölle asked, taking in the perfect complexion, statuesque body, and voluptuous curves.
The woman shook her head, hair and eyes dancing. “I am everything Selbs wishes she was. She hates herself. I am what she wants to be so strongly it is breaking her mind.” She smiled, full lips curving up at the corners. “She’s a coward.”
“What do I call you?”
The blunt question received a raised eyebrow, but the woman looked otherwise unperturbed. “My name is Beherrscher.”
“And what do you want?”
“What all manifestations want.” Beherrscher shrugged, blue eyes mischievous. “I want what that other woman wants.”
“Selbs?” Hölle asked, confused.
“No, the one stomping around the halls pretending to be Zerfall.”
Hölle’s breath caught. She’s wrong. She must be wrong. “Who else knows?”
Beherrscher waved a hand, either unaware of the danger she was in or unconcerned. “Not Selbs; she’s an idiot.”
Did it matter who knew about Pharisäer? Hölle couldn’t decide. Too many thoughts battled for dominance. Was Beherrscher correct and Pharisäer a manifestation of Hölle’s decaying mental state? Did Wahrergott have nothing to do with the woman’s sudden appearance in Hölle’s room? “And what does Pharisäer want?”
Beherrscher winked and said, “I think maybe it’s the same the same thing you want.”
