Neither Pil nor Harik showed that they heard me.
“In exchange for all this,” Pil said, “I’ll ask Fingit, through you, to give me to Lutigan.”
“You sure as hell will not!” I yelled. “How do you even know about that?”
She ignored that question. “Bib, I think maybe I should belong to the God of War. It might be better. After all, they named me the Knife.”
“Those names don’t mean piddle on the porch!” I pointed at her even though I knew she couldn’t see me. “The most horrible sorcerer I ever met was named the Farmer.”
Harik cleared his throat. “I am still here. In case you’ve forgotten.”
“That’s my offer, Mighty Harik,” Pil said.
“Knife, are you not concerned that you should instead be making this offer to Fingit, who owns you? He might be angry.”
“Are you concerned?” Pil said it like a challenge.
“Not even the tiniest bit. Pretend I said nothing about Fingit.”
“Who?” Pil smiled, although she wasn’t aware of it. “So, Mighty Harik, I say it again. That’s my offer.”
“And a pathetic one it is,” Harik said, almost without interest. “Listen to me, Knife. There will be no power for the Murderer, nor will I discuss Memweck’s vulnerabilities. I will end the Murderer’s obligation to murder each day, but once you offer yourself to Lutigan, you shall dedicate your next one hundred kills to me. I can already hear him raging about that. And you will give up all your memories of the recent ocean voyage you made to the northern kingdoms.”
Pil paused for two seconds. “Maybe . . . maybe you needn’t provide Bib any power. He’s tricky and mean, so he can get by without it. But he needs to know how to kill Memweck. That’s not negotiable. I’ll dedicate thirty kills to you instead of a hundred. That way, I won’t have to listen to Lutigan complain as much. About the memories—”
“You stop right there!” I stood in front of Pil’s unseeing face. “You’re too young to be dedicating murders and losing memories! That sort of shit kills new sorcerers.” It was a ridiculous statement on my part. Thousands of sorcerers younger than Pil had lived through more ignorant and self-destructive things. “Besides, you have no idea what you’re offering. Fingit is a kindly uncle with candy and ponies compared to Lutigan.”
“No, Bib. It’s just exactly like you told me.” Pil said it with patience, as if she were teaching me to tie my shoes. “I’m responsible for everything in my life. Well, I don’t like what’s happening now, so I’m doing something about it.”
I didn’t enjoy Pil reminding me that I was a bumbling hypocrite. I hated even more that she was pointing out that I always had choices, just maybe not good ones. I stepped toward Harik and pointed my sword at him. “Ignore this young woman. She doesn’t know you perverted, ass-tucking barnyard rats the way I do. This deal benefits me, so I should pay my side.”
“This is my negotiation!” Pil shouted, her face set in hard lines.
“Hush!” I boomed.
Pil flinched and shook her head. I felt the force of my own voice bouncing between my ears.
Harik stretched like a giant cat with the ego of a god, which was about the same as the ego of a cat. “You know what I want most, Murderer.”
I had no conception of what he wanted most, so I nodded. Then I stood tall like one of those ignorant heroes on the battlefield.
Harik said, “Trade me all your memories of the Tooth. Do yourself a good turn. Trade them to me.”
I crossed my arms. “God of Death, I know that you gods understand all about existence. But now I see that existence must be far simpler than I was led to think. You understand it, but you can’t comprehend that I will never give up my memories of her. Your ignorance is sort of sad.”
Harik sniffed and turned back to Pil. “The Murderer has proven as disappointing as ever, Knife. Shall we continue negotiations?”
“No!” I snapped. “How about something else? Something simple.”
Harik grumped, “Simple. How boring.”
I made myself laugh. “I think simple is good for us right now. If you’d rather have a five-cornered deal with secret obligations, unilateral options, and somebody humping a gargoyle on the temple roof, I will oblige and give a fine accounting of myself. But that sounds arduous, and I am not suited to great effort at this time.”
Harik shook his head. “No. That was too sarcastic to bear, even for me. Knife, let us continue.”
Without thinking, I shouted, “I know what you want next! What you want if you can’t dig out my memories.”
Harik raised an eyebrow. “Of course you do. Say it.”
I had yelled by reflex, not knowing what I’d say next. Then the answer slammed me like a barn door. I didn’t want to say it. It was the last damn thing I wanted to say. I stared at Harik for a time that seemed awfully long.
“You can say it, Murderer.” Harik spoke in a bright tone. I felt like his dog.
I whispered, “You want the book.”
“Good! Yes! Give it to me, and I shall lift your obligation for two murders each day. You may have none of the other things the Knife was mumbling about.”
I clutched the book in its pouch under my shirt, squeezed it hard, and stared at Harik some more.
Pil whispered, “Don’t, Bib. Let me do this.”
Harik laughed. “She cannot help you. The book will not help you. Trust me.”
I shouted, “Trust you? I wouldn’t trust you to save me from drowning if all you had to do was flap your ass cheeks from a mile away!”
“Do not test me, Murderer. I shall allow you time to decide. You have ten seconds.”
I threw myself out of the Gods’ Realm toward home, but Harik dragged me back. I searched my mind for a better offer, but my creativity failed. I must have made a mistake of some kind, but I couldn’t grasp it.
