Free Beyond Redemption by Michael R. Fletcher Page B

delusions, unstable and dangerous. People too long in her presence had a habit of suddenly droppingdead. Surprisingly, fewer burst into flames than Aufschlag would expect; her delusions were far more insidious.
    And yet he dared not refuse Konig’s request. The Chief Scientist swallowed his fear and excused himself from the proceedings. Gehirn was sure to be found lurking like a damp slug in the deepest bowels of the church.
    AUFSCHLAG FOUND THE Hassebrand, as expected, in the church’s basement. The woman towered a full head over the Chief Scientist but was far too fat and soft to be physically threatening. It wasn’t her physical presence that scared him, it was what went on in that twisted mind. Icy blue eyes on a surprisingly girlish face watched him with hungry interest. She was almost bald, having once again burned her hair to patchy red stubble. He’d never seen her eyebrows and had no idea if she shaved them, couldn’t grow any, or burned them off.
    Did she do it on purpose, Aufschlag wondered, or did her own fires sometimes break from her increasingly tenuous control?
    Even here, in the darkest, coolest part of the church, Gehirn’s robes were sodden, her face bathed in a sheen of sweat. The Hassebrand wore the deep burgundy of a Geborene Bishop even though she held no such rank. The lack of eyebrows gave her an eternally surprised look.
    Gehirn lifted her lips, showing pronounced canines. Aufschlag couldn’t tell if it was a smile, a sneer, or a snarl. Still, it looked out of place in such a childish face.
    â€œKonig sends me his pet scientist,” she said.
    Aufschlag ignored the bait, pretending to examine the sweating face with concern. “You look ill. Jaundiced.”
    Gehirn twitched, blinked rapidly, and frowned suspiciously at Aufschlag. “Someone is poisoning me.”
    â€œNo doubt. You show signs of impending liver failure.”
    â€œThey won’t get me so easily. I am—” Gehirn dug into a fold inher robes and drew out a handful of faded seeds, nuts, and pocket lint. “I am tricky. Self-sufficient. Impenetrable.” She picked at the food before shoving it back into the hidden pocket.
    â€œVery smart. Of course those nuts come from . . . somewhere, don’t they?” Aufschlag ignored the Hassebrand’s darting look. “Konig wants you in his chambers. Now. He has work for you.”
    Aufschlag fled the basement as best he could without looking like he was fleeing.

    There was a soft knock at the door and Konig, working at his desk, glanced up. “Yes?”
    Selbstmörderisch cracked the door open and peeked her head in. A member of his personal cadre of bodyguards, Selbstmörderisch was a Comorbidic. She was both Dysmorphic and Mehrere, grotesquely muscled and usually appearing as two very different—but equally muscular—women.
    â€œYour Holiness, Gehirn Schlechtes is here to see you,” she announced with a surprisingly soft voice.
    â€œShow her in.”
    The Hassebrand, ignoring Selbstmörderisch as if she were beneath notice, ducked her head to clear the doorway and stood, swaddled in heavy robes, before the High Priest. The massive windows had been shuttered for this meeting but the smell of cooking meat still emanated from the fat woman. While she was arguably the most powerful member of the Geborene priesthood, Gehirn’s instability made her dangerous. As such, Konig always handled her carefully. He showed his warmest smile as Gehirn entered.
    â€œOld friend, you look good.”
    â€œI do?” Blue eyes glinted deep in the burgundy hood. Konig was reminded once more that when Gehirn finally snapped, thedeath toll would be catastrophic. “I think someone might be trying to poison me.”
    That again. There was always something with the fat Hassebrand, someone always plotted against her. “I will look into it,” promised Konig sincerely.
    â€œYou will?” asked Gehirn,