7. SEVEN #3
Thedexemore halted in his retreat and loped back down the dune. “You can talk to him?”
“I can move my fingers at him comprehensively, sure.”
the giant signaled.
Niklaus couldn’t even call him a critic. Latouda had said as much, and he hadn’t signaled to her in over a year.
“Can you… help me to understand him?” The wince on the little brat’s face sparked joy.
Niklaus grinned. “Let’s start over. Won’t you introduce me to your friend?”
Thedexemore’s enormous pupils rolled back into his head as he squeezed his eyes shut. “This is Niklaus Meyernes,” he said to the man. “Meyernes, this is my…” He trailed off.
Something changed in the mute’s face, so subtle as to be indescribable.
Niklaus’s mouth fell open before he could close it. That was damn well near enough a compliment. “Yes, yes! Delighted.” It took every iota of self-control not to skip over and plant a kiss on the man’s sweat-slicked forehead.
Astonishingly, he looked equally pleased.
Well, he blinked twice, anyway. Then he stared until Niklaus felt exposed for the very manipulation he intended.
He almost turned and fled. How low would he sink?
He had never been a man of discipline, yet he obeyed the moss’s every compulsion.
This man was his shot at winning more of it.
He was about to open his mouth, but the mute signaled first.
That was impossibly convenient. Niklaus suppressed his glee. “I’m sure I can be of assistance. What can I do for you?”
The seconds stretched on without answer.
In the east, the first saffron rays of sun stretched over the desert.
The hint of a breeze tugged grains of sand into a faint cloud around their feet.
Soon, Niklaus would need to get to the mess tent with Thedexemore in tow, or his least favorite people would start to ask questions.
Or perhaps they would just celebrate his disappearance.
“Well?” he prompted.
So he wasn’t entirely bereft of intelligence. “You first. I insist.”
“Well, good luck finding another translator.” Niklaus tossed the pair another wave and began back up the dune. He was playing with fire, but the only thing he’d ever truly possessed was an uncanny ability to inflict burns.
His stomach knotted as he trudged away. Was he proud of his action? No. But he couldn’t help that his mental space shared a stall with an addictive personality and sometimes the smell carried over.
Footsteps behind him, too soft for the man that made them. He inserted himself into Niklaus’s path, hands already moving.
Translating was one thing. Stealing Red Wing property for an individual he was certain he’d find on the Red Wing’s restriction list was another entirely. “Is that all?”
His expression flickered.
“What did he say?” Thedexemore ventured.
Niklaus ignored him. “Easy,” he told the mute. Revoked or not, his personal keyset contained a master key to all of Aetech’s stores. He just couldn’t use the plates. “I’ll have it to you in the morning—so long as you uphold your end of the deal.”
Niklaus’s heart pounded in his chest. He moistened his cracked lips. “In the northern quadrant, they’ll be holding a rally tonight. The first of three amateur dowagian tournaments this recruitment has scheduled. One for each moon. I want you to enter.”
They both pinned him with looks of distasteful disbelief.
“The betting kiosk?” Thedexemore asked. “You’re going to rig a match?”
Niklaus hushed him with an elbow to the ribs.
the man signaled.
Niklaus clapped his hands together. “You do know how to ask the right questions, don’t you?”
The mute blinked at him, expression doleful.
Thedexemore elbowed Niklaus back. “I want you to ask him something.”
As if Niklaus wasn’t in the middle of a negotiation. “They go for three rounds. Lose the first. Win the next two.”
The mute stood still. Fates have mercy, if only his mental processing power moved half as fast as his hands.
“Please,” Thedexemore whined.
Niklaus kept his mouth shut and let the silence work for him.
“Yes.”
The giant tightened his jaw.
Well, that answered that question. This man was on the Red Wing’s restriction list, just as Niklaus was. No pen. No paper. No weapons. A prisoner on a very, very long leash.
“Can do.” He would figure out the logistics later. With a grin, he started back up the dunes a second time. “Let’s go, kid.”
Thedexemore hesitated before following at his heels, expression sour. “What could you possibly need to bet on him for? You’ve as much money as a Pazirian prince.”
Niklaus waved a finger. “Ah. Not exactly. Red Wing punitive actions extend further than kicking me to clean-up duty.”
Thedexemore chewed on the thought. “You mean that as long as you’re in this desert, you’re broke?”
“And you’ve displayed that you have something between your ears. Congratulations.”
Thedexemore scowled, and Niklaus hated himself. Withdrawal was a cruel mistress, and she was rubbing off on him.
He made a peace offering. “I’ll interpret for you. Tomorrow.”
The boy issued a disbelieving grunt.
“What were you so keen to ask him, anyway?”
“His name.”
Niklaus turned his head so that the Azadonian couldn’t see his shame. There were likely to be murderers who were better men than him.