Milo chuckled at the statement, recalling his brief encounter with the mastermind behind Nicht-KAT. You had only to lock eyes with the man to know he was capable of great and terrible things.
“So, if your whole goal was to help Jorge, and by extension, the German Empire, why is Marid sending me on errands?” Milo asked. “Wouldn’t it make sense to keep me at Ifreedahm so I completed my studies quicker and got on to helping turn the tide?”
Rihyani took another toke and sent the smoke curling out of her nostrils before answering.
“Ideally, yes,” she said. “But the Bashlek is concerned, with good reason, about such a force stomping around his mountains and caverns. Ifreedahm is one of the largest gatherings of the Folk in the world, and while no official edict has been made, Marid has made it known his alliance with humans by taking you in. If the army even accidentally stumbles across ghuls and lives are lost, what do you think is going to happen?”
Milo nodded, seeing her point.
“They’ll say I betrayed him, and he looks weak,” he said. “And from what I’ve seen, I imagine he won’t last long on top with that being the case.”
Rihyani let out another plume of smoke, nodding slowly.
“Even worse than that is what it would do to the cause,” the contessa added. “Not to seem cold, but Marid, for all his assistance, is not key. What is key is proving that the Folk can work with humans and human fear and ignorance will not win out. In this case, Marid’s self-interest runs perfectly alongside the greater movement.”
Milo’s stomach settled like a lump in his belly, and he felt a drowsiness that reminded him he’d only slept a handful of hours before Imrah had woken him for his lessons. He noticed Rihyani watching him through the haze of smoke. Shaking off the lethargy, he squared his shoulders and met the fey’s eyes.
“I guess that tells me what I’m doing,” he said, rising from his seat on the floor. “I’ll be back as soon as I can with word of what is being done to keep our forces off the mountain.”
Rihyani smiled, her teeth flashing white and sharp behind her dark lips.
“I appreciate you taking this so seriously. I’m glad to find we can be allies.”
“Is that what we are?” Milo said, holding out a hand to her.
The contessa took his hand, her skin surprisingly cool but still soft and smooth.
“I don’t see why not,” she said, snapping the nearly spent cigarillo into the ether with a twitch of her fingers.
“If we are allies, there is one thing I’m going to need from you very soon,” Milo said softly, staring intently into her eyes.
Enigmatic but clearly intrigued, the fey stared back.
“Oh,” she breathed. “What would that be?”
Milo released the hand he’d been holding and raised his own to do a flapping imitation of Rihyani’s magical gesture.
“You're going to need to teach me that trick, only I want cigarettes. Students shouldn’t be putting on airs.”
“I can’t remember much from our last conversation,” Captain Lokkemand growled as he massaged his temples with one hand and gripped the map table with the other. “But it seems that you’ve forgotten even more than I have.”
Milo took another drink of water from his canteen before responding. The heat in the tent was smothering, and both men had not only shed their surcoats but also had their sleeves rolled up to the elbow and collars undone.
“Captain.” Milo swallowed, doing his level best to ignore the sweat dripping down both their noses. “I understand your situation and that of the division, but we are talking about avoiding another front for the war to be fought on. Surely, there has to be some way we can keep them away from the ghuls, or at least direct them around.”
Lokkemand frowned at Milo before gesturing at the map.
“I understand you’re not really an officer, Volkohne,” he said tartly. “But you can read a map, can’t you? What’s this?”
His fingers stabbed down at a city south and east of Bamyan, its location marked with a star. If Milo was reading the topography of the map correctly, it sat at a lower elevation, and the slope of the land progressively descended from there.
“A city, sir,” Milo said with a forced level tone, wiping sweat from his eyes as he squinted at the name beneath the captain’s finger. “Kabul.”
“Yes, Kabul, the capital of this hellhole,” Lokkemand spat, then traced a furious line with his fingers farther south and east, past a border. “And what is this?”
Milo felt the longer this dragged on, the less chance he would have of winning Lokkemand over, but a combination of heat and fatigue was making a difficult conversation even more daunting.
“India, sir.”
“And who controls India?”
“The British,” Milo said before quickly adding. “But Captain, we are already fighting the British in the west. What I’m talking about is preventing a completely new conflict, one—”
Lokkemand silenced Milo with a dismissive flick of his hand, forcing the magus to grind his teeth as he bit his tongue.
“Yes, yes, you’ve covered that,” the captain snapped. “But what you haven’t explained is how you expect me to redirect the flow of this river. You come in here with alarms about an apocalyptic war with monsters, but I have my own world-ending crisis with humans right now.”
His finger stabbed down at Bamyan.
“Epp may be a monster in the making, but he isn’t stupid. Pushing to Kabul has to succeed and well enough that he can push on to India without too much delay. That means a greater concentration of forces right here, a few short hours from the prize. The ghul king can moan all he wants about soldiers on his mountain, but I’ve got problems of my own right now.”
Lokkemand turned from the map with a growl in his chest, hands bunching into fists.
“Epp and his cronies don’t just want intelligence and logistic support and strings pulled and special dispensations. Oh no, that’s just because we’re good friends. They also want me to coordinate an effort to find out what happened to their missing patrols as if this worm-bored backwater couldn’t swallow an entire division with barely a whimper. Wouldn’t be surprised the drunken Bavarian idiots just got lost and will show up in a few weeks, trailing after the rearguard.”
Given that the captain’s sweat stank like it had been distilled, it was more than odd that he would be critical of others' alcohol consumption, but that wasn’t what piqued Milo’s attention.
Missing patrols?
“Missing patrols, sir?” Milo asked, feeling the hairs on his neck pricking up.
Lokkemand squinted at Milo after mopping at his face with a handkerchief.
“Yes,” the captain replied. “A few smaller patrols went missing after the general advance was issued. It’s not unheard of, especially in this rough terrain and with so many men, but when more were sent out and only half returned, I had Bavarians by the bucket demanding I do something.”
Milo supposed it was possible to lose your way in the mountains, but after the revelation in the tunnels, he doubted that was the only thing in play.
“I tried first to just give them search grids to use,” Lokkemand said, nodding at the map, where Milo could see overlapping lines penciled in certain areas. “When they pressed it, I reminded them that technically Nicht-KAT wasn’t military intelligence, and they went whining to the Rider. Epp came strutting in here and made it clear he wants to be close to full strength before pushing on to Kabul.”
“What did he expect you to do?” Milo asked, looking surreptitiously over his shoulder at the collection of typists. Not a crack squad of jaegers, that was for sure.
“How should I know?” Lokkemand huffed, grabbing his chair and dragging it closer before plopping down. “Men like Epp make declarations and expect subordinates to figure it out from there. I’m not saying he isn’t a capable commander, but when it comes down to it, the man is an ass.”
Milo didn’t know if telling Lokkemand about the
jelly thing in the tunnels would help the situation, but the germ of an idea was beginning to form. With some finagling, he might take something off the beleaguered captain’s plate and protect Ifreedahm at the same time.
“So, what if the patrols weren’t lost?” Milo asked carefully. “What if they were killed in a treacherous ambush?”
Lokkemand narrowed his eyes at Milo.
“Is that a confession or a question?”
Milo swallowed and tried to keep the nervous flutter in his stomach from affecting his voice.
“A question, sir,” he replied crisply. “If the men were all tragically lost, I assume you couldn’t just give your word that they were dead. What would have to happen for that to take place?”
Lokkemand leaned forward in his chair, a bead of sweat dripping from his nose onto the map below.
“I suppose,” he began gingerly, “I’d need some sort of evidence of their demise. Bodies mostly, along with damaged bits of their kit. Uniforms, broken equipment, and weapons. Even if the enemy took everything serviceable, it would be odd if there wasn’t something left.”
“Of course,” Milo said, nodding to himself. “And you wouldn’t necessarily need to have every soul accounted for. Some might have been taken prisoner or something.”
Lokkemand swiped his face again with his damp handkerchief, nodding very slowly.
“That’s true,” he said, watching Milo warily. “Do you have something in mind, Volkohne?”
Milo met the man’s pointed gaze and felt his stomach do a little flip-flop. Was he really ready to do this?
“Yes, Captain, I might,” Milo said, forcing a smile. “But I’ll need two things.”
Lokkemand was losing the struggle to keep a hopeful look off his features.
“Yes? What?” the captain said a little too quickly.
“I’ll need about a week,” Milo said, watching his commanding officer’s expression closely. “And how quickly can you get me as many dead bodies as possible?”
21
A Complicity
“Impossible,” was Imrah’s response when Milo introduced his plan to her. “Mad and impossible.”
“But you made yours in a matter of hours,” Milo pressed, pointing at her flesh-shrouded figure. “If you teach me how to make skin-suits like that and we had all the materials, we could make half a dozen a day, and with nearly a week, that should be more than enough to cover the majority of bodies.”
The ghul princess snarled and began to pace the common room. Milo’s eyes were burning out of his skull with fatigue, but he’d avoided his bedroll so he could talk to his teacher as soon as she returned from wherever she’d been sulking. The contessa had left with word for the Bashlek to gather the supplies they would need for his scheme.
“Just teach me how to do it, he says,” Imrah muttered to herself as she stalked back and forth. “As if it were that easy. As though he could just pick up what some ghuls never master.”
“Oh, come off it!”
The words had surged out of Milo’s weary mouth before his brain could stop them.
“What?” Imrah hissed, rounding on him.
Milo knew he was supposed to be working on tact and that you caught more flies with honey, but right then, indignation was the only thing keeping him upright.
“Don’t act like you think I can’t learn it, or that you don’t want to give it a shot. For every challenge you’ve put in front of me, I’ve come out on top, from that first fetish in the tunnel to the soul well. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, or that we might not be able to pull it off, but I know if it seems so impossible, you want to give it a shot just to stick it to all those leeches in Ifreedahm, not the least your own father.”
His little rant finished, Milo leaned against the wall to hide the fact that he was winded. Imrah stared at him for a full pained minute, jaw working. Then she gave a frustrated clack of her teeth.
“Even if this was possible, which is in question no matter your boasting,” she said at last, returning to pacing, “We would need many ingredients, most of which are rare enough to be either very hard to come by or very expensive to acquire. Neither of us has the means to acquire the supplies in the time you are talking about.”
Milo crossed his arms as he drew a steadying breath, a smile twitching at one corner of his mouth.
“Your father would.”
“How would my father know about this?” she asked sharply, eyes narrowing. “And why would he go to such an expense?”
“I’m fairly certain staving off exposure and an all-out war with the world is worth a fortune or two,” Milo said, more than a little smug. “And the contessa is on her way to tell him. I’m pretty sure she can convince him.”
Imrah sniffed irritably.
“You really think she can huff and puff and blow that house down?” she spat. “But fine, it seems you have me cornered. I’m pretty sure you didn’t tell the contessa that my cooperation was in doubt on this plan.”
“Well,” Milo muttered, breaking eye contact to scuff a boot at the floor, “I might have made the assumption that you would want to help, if for no other reason than because you wanted to show what you could do with even such a poor student.”
“You are without a doubt the worst human I’ve ever taught,” she replied with a wry look.
Milo raised his gaze and met her look with a small grin.
“I’m fairly certain I’m the only one you’ve ever taught.”
“That doesn’t seem relevant,” she muttered dryly.
“I’m learning things from you all the time.” Milo chuckled and heaved himself off the wall. “But in all seriousness, thank you, Imrah. None of this would be possible without you.”
“I’m still not sure it is possible,” Imrah said with a soft snort. “But I suppose we’re going to find out.”
“All the same,” Milo said, taking a step closer to look earnestly down into her eyes, “thank you.”
Imrah searched his face for some sign of sarcasm or mockery. When she saw nothing but genuine regard, a strange, forlorn look came into her face. The look passed so quickly Milo wasn’t sure it had been there a second later.
“You’re welcome, Milo,” Imrah said softly, then pressed her lips into a restrained line.
Something in the way she was looking at him made Milo forget that he was looking at a monster in a fetching costume. Her face was softer, her eyes not so hard. He had the mad thought that perhaps, in one wild moment, he might kiss her, and she, just as madly, might kiss him back.
Then a wracking yawn overcame Milo, and she looked away.
“Oh, excuse me,” he said as the yawn tapered off. “Well, I guess we’ll get started tomorrow whenever the supplies arrive. For now, I need to get some sleep, and I imagine you’d appreciate some too.”
“Sleep?” Imrah asked, her expression sharpening. “What do you mean, sleep? I thought you were committed to this scheme of yours?”
Milo, who was walking away, swung around, a lead weight in his stomach.
“What do you mean?”
Imrah shook her head and gave a disapproving cluck of her tongue.
“We need to get started with the next lesson right away,” she said with sadistic eagerness. “You might be certain you’ll master the skin-suit, but it is still going to take time.”
“But but but,” Milo gibbered pitifully as he tried to beat his foggy brain into coming up with a plausible excuse. “Don’t we need to wait for the supplies to get here?”
“Oh, I’ve enough supplies here for you to get started on one,” she said, smiling with sickly sweetness. “I mean, you’ve already been introduced to the basic concepts in Fashioning the Fetish, and the process doesn’t have to be perfect the first time around. You have been reading your copy of Fashioning the Fetish, haven’t you?”
“Sure.” Milo groaned and ran both hands over his face to grind his palms into his burning eyes. “Why wouldn’t I have read all those pages when I don’t even have enou
gh time to get a decent night’s sleep?”
Imrah offered him another shake of her head.
“Poor thing,” she cooed in a saccharine voice. “If you are really tired, I have an elixir to help keep you trudging along. You think that might work?”
“Really?” Milo asked, perking up a little. “Well, yeah, I’ll give it a try.”
“Good,” Imrah said sharply, her facade cracking. “Now get to the basement. We’ve got some skin to stitch.”
The elixir was aptly named nightwatch, and to Milo’s great relief, it was not nearly as noxious as it might have been. It was deep blue and produced the aftertaste of sweet onions in the back of his throat. Once he’d ingested it, he could feel the essence-infused liquid in his stomach, and with a little nudge from his focused mind, he set it to work.
It was like being filled with pale, cold morning light after a bleak, dark night. It wasn’t a manic or hot energy, but there was an impetus to it, a momentum that kept his mind and body pushing forward. Every step was like the last surge before the crash into a well-earned rest. It was discombobulating, but he soon found the loping energy intoxicating.
“This is incredible,” Milo chortled as he set about ordering the various ingredients Imrah had instructed him to gather. “How long does this stuff last?”
Milo had experimented with snow and hop when he ran with Roland at Roland’s enthusiastic encouragement, but this was unlike anything he’d ever experienced.
“That depends.” Imrah grunted as she heaved one of the flapping skins off the rack. “The batch you just took should last you for the next six hours. If you haven’t made significant progress in five hours, I’ll show you how to prepare another dose, and we’ll keep going until we know you can’t do it without wasting the supplies.”
Milo nodded, taking the statement in stride as he went over to help her manage her awkwardly flexible burden. It was only once they’d brought it over to the table and laid it out that Milo realized she was talking about repeatedly doping him.
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