Schuld slapped the side of the cart and chuckled.
“Soon,” he said. “Soon.”
That evening, as they were gathering kindling for a campfire, Pete said to Schuld, “You took him in entirely, I’d say. That business about wanting to see Lufteufel preserved in his art, I mean.”
“Pride,” Schuld replied. “It was easy. Got his mind off me and onto himself quickly. Now I am a part of his Pilg: Guide. I will speak to him again later this evening, confidentially. Perhaps if you were to take a brief walk after dinner. . .”
“Of course.”
“When I have finished, any second thoughts he may have had as to my sincerity will be laid to rest. Everything should proceed smoothly afterward.”
The subtlety and sense of timing of a thermostat or a cardiac pacemaker, Pete decided — that’s what it takes to be a hunter — a feeling for the rhythm of things and a power over them. This is going well. Only Tibor must not really see Lufteufel. . .
“I believe you,” Pete said. Then, “I don’t quite know how to put this, though, so I will simply be direct: Do either of the two religions involved in this mean anything to you personally?”
A huge stick snapped between Schuld’s hands.
“No,” he said.
“I didn’t think so, but I wanted to clear that up first. As you know, one of them means something to me.”
“Obviously.”
“What I am getting at is the fact that we Christians would not be overjoyed at seeing Lufteufel actually represented in that mural.”
“A false religion, a false god, as you would have it. What difference does it make what they stick in their church?”
“Power,” Pete said. “You can appreciate that. From a strictly temporal standpoint, having the real thing — as they see it — would give them something more. Call it mana. If we suddenly had a piece of the True Cross, it would whip up our zeal a bit, put a little more fire into our activities. You must be familiar with the phenomenon. Call it inspiration.”
Schuld laughed.
“Whatever Tibor paints, they will believe it is the real thing. The results will be the same.”
He wants me to say that I believe in the God of Wrath and am afraid of him, Pete thought. I won’t do it.
“Such being the case, we would as soon it were not Lufteufel,” Pete said.
“Why?’
“Because we would look on that as blasphemy, as a mockery of God as we see Him. They would be deifying not just any man, but the man responsible for all our present woes, the man you yourself referred to as an inhuman monster.”
Schuld snapped another stick.
“Yes, of course,” he said. “He doesn’t deserve a neatly dug hole in the ground, let alone worship. I see your point. What do you propose doing?”
“Use us for your cover,” Pete said, “as you had planned. Locate him. Get as close as you feel necessary to satisfy yourself as to his identity. Then tell Tibor you were mistaken. He is not the man. Our ways part there. We go on, continuing our search. You remain behind or depart and double back — whichever is easier — and do what you must do. Lufteufel is thus removed from our field of consideration.”
“What will you do then?”
“I don’t know. Keep going. Maybe locate a substitute. I don’t know. But at least Carleton Lufteufel will be out of the picture.”
“That, then, is your real reason for being here? Not just the protection of Tibor?”
“It might have figured in the decision — a little.”
Schuld laughed again.
“How far were you willing to go to insure Tiber’s not seeing him? I wonder. Might it extend to actual violence?”
Pete snapped a stick of his own.
“You said it,” he said. “I didn’t.”
“I may be doing you people a favor just by doing my job,” Schuld said.
“Maybe.”
“Too bad I didn’t know about it sooner. If a man is going to labor for two masters, he might as well draw good wages from both of them.”
“Christianity is broke,” Pete said. “But I’ll remember you in my prayers.”
Schuld slapped him on the shoulder.
“Pete, I like you,” he said. “Okay. We’ll do it your way. Tibor doesn’t have to know.”
“Thanks.”
Beneath that Swiss movement, Pete wondered as they headed back, what is the spark — the mainspring — really like, hunter? The money they will pay you? The hate? Or something else?
There came a sharp yelp. Schuld had kicked Toby, who had emerged before him, snarling. It could have been an accident, but, “Damn dog!” he said. “It hates me.”
SIXTEEN
Pete Sands set up his radio gear by moonlight, working in the middle of a small glade about a quarter of a mile back along the road from the site of their encampment.
Neat, he thought, the way it worked out, Schuld’s suggesting what I was going to do anyway: take this walk.
He plugged in the earphone, cranked the transmitter.
“Dr. Abernathy,” he said, raising the microphone. “Pete Sands here. Hello?”
There followed a brief burst of static, then, “Hello, Pete. This is Abernathy. How is it going?”
“I’ve located Tibor,” Pete said.
“Is he aware of your presence?”
“Yes. We are traveling together now. I am calling from just outside our camp.”
“Oh. So you have joined him. What are your plans?”
“They are somewhat complicated,” Pete said. “There is a third party involved — a fellow named Jack Schuld. I met him yesterday. He saved my life, actually. He seems to have a pretty good idea as to Lufteufel’s whereabouts. He has offered to guide us to him. We may reach the place tomorrow.”
Pete smiled at the sharp intake of breath on the other end. He continued: “I have made a deal with him, however. He will not point him out to Tibor. He is going to confess to a case of mistaken identity and we will bypass the real Lufteufel and continue on.”
“Wait a minute, Pete. I do not understand you. Why go through all that in the first place then? Why go that route at all?”
“Well,” Pete said lamely, “he will do me this favor in return for our company on the way.”
“Pete, what ate you leaving out? It doesn’t make sense. There has to be more to it than that.”
“All right. He is an assassin. He is on his way to kill Lufteufel. He thinks he would seem less suspicious traveling in the company of an inc.”
“Pete! That makes you a party to murder!”
“Not really. I disapprove of murder. We discussed that earlier. And he may even have a legal right to do this — as an executioner. He is in the employ of a police organization — at least he says he is, and I believe him. Whatever, I am powerless to stop him, no matter what my feelings. If you got a good look at him, you would know what I mean. I thought you would be happy to learn –”
“– of a man’s death. Pete, I don’t like this at all.”
“Then suggest something else, sir.”
“Could you get away from this Schuld? You and Tibor sneak off during the night? Just go on by yourselves?”
“Too late. Tiber would not cooperate if I couldn’t give him an awfully good reason — and I can’t. He believes Schuld can show him his man. And I am certain we could not sneak off anyway. Schuld is too alert a fellow. He’s a hunter.”
“Do you think you could warn Lufteufel when you reach him?”
“No,” Pete said, “not now that I’ve set it up for Tibor to miss him completely or only to glimpse him without knowing who he is. I didn’t think you would take it this way.”
“I am trying to protect you from an occasion for sin.”
“I don’t see it as such.”
“. . . Most likely mortal.”
“I hope not. I guess that I am going to have to play it by ear now. I will let you know what happens.”
“Wait, Pete! Listen! Try to find some way to part company with that Schuld fellow as fast as possible. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t even be going near Lufteufel. You are not responsible for Schuld’s actions unless you are in a position to influence them by action or the withholding of action yourself. Morally as well as practically, you are better off without him. Get out! Get away from him!”
“And leave Tibor?”
“No, take Tibor with you.”
“Against his will? Kidnap him, you mean?”
There was silence, then a little static.
Finally, “I don’t know how to tell you to do it,” he said. “That is your problem. But you must look for a way.”
“I will see what I can do,” Pete said, “but it doesn’t look promising.”