"Fear will keep their mouths shut." I chose English, and his pulse, even and strong, dropped a little. They practice a fine control over their meat processes, the righteous. That is not what truly distinguishes them. There has to be an unsteady, explosive quality to them, married to an obsessive urge. He had both in spades, as they say.
I needed each, and more, for my plan.
The one before me had almost everything I required. Enough to serve, at least. He was also perilously close to deciding I was not worth negotiating with.
He moved as if to leave, and my right hand came down atop his left wrist, rattling the table. The glances shot in our direction fled like skittering insects. I did not tighten my grip, despite the temptation. "Easy, Herr Karma." I mimicked his Berliner accent, just for fun. "I have something you need, and I am disposed to be friendly."
"Friendly is not a word I associate with der Teufel." He showed his teeth, and the fine silver chain dipping below his shirt collar ran with a soft, inimical glow. Normally he would have copper charms tied in his hair, or silver, elemental metal that carries the charge of their . . . belief.
It is that which makes the truly righteous more than mildly irritating, into something approaching dangerous.
"It is a good thing you are simply dealing with my father's shadow, then." A ripple passed through me, and I let go of him, one finger at a time. No few of his fellow creatures around us were ripe for the plucking, but I was not there for pleasure. "Listen, Herr Jager. There is an event coming, one that will make it possible to seal Argoth away." Saying even that much of his name was a calculated risk, but one well worth taking at the moment.
"Oh?" Herr Karma's blue eyes narrowed, their irises threaded with faint lines of lavender and gold. Muscle packed onto his deceptively lean frame; the guns and knives and other articles he carried, all the items of his trade, were not half as dangerous as a purity of purpose. They call themselves hunters, as they have from the beginning, in every language humankind is capable of mouthing.
I nodded and finished peeling my hand away. Admired the fineness of my digits in this form, tapping each well-buffed fingernail once against the dirt-and-oil-sodden surface of the table. He had not even ordered a beer, this warrior. "They will bomb this city soon."
"And?" A faint restive movement. There would be silver loaded along the flat of every blade he carried, and a thin coating of it on his bullets, too. The charge they carried could fracture the shells of my kind, and once the crust is broken, the innards may be tainted.
It was an unpleasant thought. "He will be distracted."
"Not enough."
Now for a little sweetening of the bait. "There might be a weapon I can give you."
"Might be?" One sandy eyebrow lifted fractionally.
"Come now, Jack." My tongue flicked out, wet my lips.
He didn't flinch. Instead, he studied me, the thick scar along the underside of his jaw glaring white. Their healing sorcery is slow and painful, as such things go, but still practical. "What's in it for you?"
Always the dance, with your kind. Only fools take the first offer. At least he was interested. "Perhaps I weary of this constant battle."
Blue eyes narrowed. Leather creaked slightly as he shifted, his gaze softening as his peripheral vision took in the room over my shoulder. "Try again."
I suppressed a certain irritation. "I want out from under my father's thumb."
"Why?"
"That doesn't concern you, mein kleiner Jager."
"For the second time, try again." His tone plainly shouted that I wouldn't get a third attempt.
"I am his shadow, Karma. His placeholder. It doesn't occur to you that I might wish to be more?"
He settled back in his chair, examining me. I half turned to flag a slim slattern-haired Fraulein in a filthy apron and a sack of a dress, my thumb and finger held high. She paled under her uneven rouge and hurried to fetch two half liters of the best this smelly zoo-place had to offer. When they arrived, they were a pleasant surprise. Nut-brown with good foam and a strong scent, a rarity in these rationed times. Perhaps the owner here was a friend of Herr Karma's.
It might be profitable to seek a closer acquaintance myself.
I drained half of mine in long slow gulps, enjoying the taste and the envy of your kind pressing around me, a warm blanket.
"When?" the hunter said, finally, his beer sitting untouched and obedient before him.
I did not bother to hide the smile stretching my approximation of a face. "Soon, Herr Karma." I produced a calling card, flicking it between my elegant fingers, and offered it to him. "You will need strength to fight him. The price is something I think you'll find acceptable."
"The fuck you say," he muttered in English, and lunged to his feet, chair legs making a high, thin sawing sound. His coat flapped once as he left, taking the stairs two at a time in his haste. His boots were old, their tread worn almost through, hailing from the years before the war when good leather and a fine sole were a matter of course.
He took the card with him, though. I settled back in my chair and smiled into my beer.