The Wrong Side of the Dawn

It was dawn. Brad stared at the streamers of light bouncing off the snow through weary eyes. All night? Had he really been reading that dossier all night? The grey sky shone as the Sun edged through the crevices between the mountains, it's light preceding it in a parade of glory. Brad grimaced. Seeing dawn because he was up early was a matter of professional pride; seeing dawn because he was up late just meant he'd been an idiot and forgotten to check the time again.

This was the third night in a row he'd failed to sleep. He'd been reading obsessively since he'd received the documents, interrupted only Schuldig's visit and his body's own demands, which were growing fewer and further between. Brad frowned; that in itself was a bad sign. When was the last time he'd eaten, gone to the bathroom, or even moved?

He stretched and wandered around the apartment in an attempt to coax sluggish blood back into dry veins. His appetite was dulled by failure to eat properly, so that despite his hunger the thought of eating made him feel physically sick. Still, Brad Crawford was nothing if not a practical man, and he forced himself to eat. Luke warm pasta, no seasoning, not even butter, was all he could stomach for now. It rekindled his appetite, but the only other thing he could find in the cupboards was stale bread and instant porridge.

"So bland you might as well be English," a sardonic voice drawled. Brad's head snapped up, tired eyes taking a moment to focus on the man in the corner. It took him several seconds to recognise his guest, despite their 'intimate' acquaintance.

"What the fuck happened to your hair?" Brad gaped.

Schuldig ran his fingers through the green-white locks. "Bored. Turns out bleach does funny things if you go swimming in a chlorinated pool."

"I could have told you that," Brad grumped. Schuldig chuckled. Brad took a moment to collect himself, trying to force his sleep-addled mind into some semblance of consciousness, shutting out his gift in an attempt to cling to the present.  Schuldig handed him a large mug of coffee and he drank it voraciously.

"Ja, ja," Schuldig said with a dismissive wave. "Personally, I like it this colour."

"What are you doing here?" Brad asked when he could think more clearly. Dammit, he really had to start sleeping again. "I thought you vowed to make my life a living hell."

"And yet you accepted coffee from me?" Schuldig asked with an arced eyebrow.

Horror filled Brad's face, leeching the blood from his already papery-pale skin. The future rolled its red carpet out before his eyes, red with his own blood. Before he could do anything to help himself he collapsed, twitching, at Schuldig's feet.

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," Schuldig smirked at the paralysed American. "Of course, I'm far from effeminate, but still, you should have known better. Dear Brad, you of all people should have known better. I'm far from trustworthy at the best of times, a trait you instilled in me yourself."

No one commented as Schuldig strode through Rosenkreuz's corridors, Brad's limp body limp over his shoulder.

* * *

Schuldig sprawled across the floor at the foot of Jei's bed. Jei was carving complex Celtic patterns into his thighs with a plastic spoon.

"Ye put him where?" Jei asked, only partially interested. The intricate Celtic knot was hard to created with a curved edge, but he was doing his best. His fellow countrymen would have been proud of the result.

"Those dungeons. You know, the one beneath the institute from when this place was a functioning castle. Where that Japanese kid killed the old guy."

"I'm surprised he hasn't been called up on that yet."

"They don't know it was him. 'sides, from Hertz's reaction, I don't think the old bastard was well liked."

"I got a glimpse of the body," Jei said conversationally. "Looked like Hertz. Maybe a relation?"

"Maybe," Schuldig agreed, disinterested. "How are you at reading?"

"Fair enough, for a bairn my age," Jei finally paid Schuldig a little more attention. "It's about this thing your Brad was reading, ain't it?"

"Ja. I can read enough to get by, but it'd take me years to get through that lot. I'd drug Brad and take it from his head, but he's not going to fall for that again. He'll probably only eat food he's grown and prepared himself from now on."

Jei rolled his tawny eyes. "Are needles so hard to get hold of?" he asked the universe in general. "Ye don't have to ask permission!"

Schuldig smirked. "Okay, fine, you have point. I'll see what I can find to open his mind a little. I'll have to wipe it of this particular encounter afterwards, or we won't survive the night. Hertz is already looking for him. Not particularly hard, but he has acknowledged that Brad's gone AWOL."

"They won't notice he's got no idea where's he's been for the past few days?" Jei asked sceptically. "You think he won't suspect something?"

"I'll fill the gap. He's got to have something in there he'd liked to have done. As for Hertz and co? You think they'll actually give a damn?"

"True."

Schuldig leant over, dipping his finger in the blood seeping from the shallow cuts on Jei's thigh. "No higher, remember," he cautioned. "We agreed, no cutting off anything 'important'."

"I may be mad, but I'm still male," Jei pointed out. "My knadgers are staying where they are."

"Gűte, gűte," Schuldig leered. He smeared the blood on his finger across Jei's face like war paint, swirls and patterns like the woad patterns of the native Britons. When Jei was suitably attired, naked but for the bloody designs, some cut into the flesh, some 'painted' on, Schuldig leaned over the younger boy. "You're the Celts," he purred, "and I'm the invading Germanic tribes: Angles, Saxons and Jutes. I'm penetrating your homelands and thrusting into your country. You open up before me, fighting, but slowly, slowly, surrendering, inch by painful inch, giving up your bounty."

"The invaders never reached Ireland. Only the English gave up, and they were already of mixed blood: the Romans had already got to them."

"Just play along, will you?"

* * *

"He's where?" Hertz snarled. "Really, woman, do you expect me to do everything for you? If you know where that arschloch is, go and get him!"

"Oh calm down, monsieur Hertz," Madame Dubois sighed theatrically. "This is what you want, non? Keep the garçon out of our way, but unharmed."

"Schuldig is extremely unstable, and as for that Irish boy…" Hertz shook his head. "There's no guarantee they'll let Crawford live."

"So we find ourselves someone else to prepare for the summoning. All of the omens suggest he would be far from advantageous to us, should he live to fulfil that particular destiny." Madame Dubois leant against the desk, crossing her ankles demurely. Hertz almost laughed at the irony, and the smirk that flickered across his worn features did not escape the seer. "At least you don't have to worry about your position. He aims much higher than that," she said nastily.

"Your post is not exactly what he seeks either," Hertz sneered. "He's much more accurate and consistent than you, is that what you fear? He will make a good field operative, but he thinks he can do better than that. He dreams of challenging those above all others."

"So perhaps this interlude will do him good," Madame Dubois said disparagingly. "To be overcome by an old lover? There is nothing more humbling."

"You of all people ought to know that," Hertz leered.

"Well, I suppose it's something you do have little-to-no knowledge of," Madame Dubois gave him a smarmy pout.

This verbal sparring had been the main ingredient of their relationship for over two decades now, a relationship that had never been anything other than professional. As long as both could wound with words they didn't need any other weapons, and along with Greg May, this was what had kept them at the top of Rosenkreuz's hierarchy, but also kept them from going any higher.

"Not all of us can consider ourselves the main contributor to Rosenkreuz's psi-parent stock," Hertz sneered. "You've been providing us with brats to experiment on for years now. Tell me, how much longer can you keep that up?"

"A gentleman never asks a woman's age," Madame Dubois scolded.

"I merely keep you from looking yours," Hertz grumbled.

That was part of their arrangement. Only the Ancient ones had found something resembling true immortality, but with Hertz's healing power he could stave off the frailties of old age, and in return Madame Dubois made certain death did not creep up on them in any manmade form. They didn't like each other, they didn't even trust each other, but they knew each other. Better the devil you know…

And that was what made them both so nervous about the young woman watching the discussion, and the young man they had been discussing. These… these 'children', these young psychics could change everything with their ambition and their power. As long as Herr Hertz, Mr May and Madame Dubois had each other they could keep their posts, the triangle of power making a firm foundation for their authority. However, should any one of them waver, should they disagree on an important issue, should they let each other down, the ambitious children would pry open the cracks and undo everything they had so painstakingly built. As age crept up on all of them these cracks were as obvious as the lines on their faces, and Hertz felt like a wounded gazelle, watching the carrion eaters circle.

"We will give him a week," Hertz decreed abruptly. "If the boys have not returned him to us by then we will take action. Schuldig's affection for the Irish boy can be used, as we have little use for a non-psi, no matter how interesting. The 'scientists' can find themselves a new frog to dissect." He raised an eyebrow at Madame Dubois, who saw the racial-slur for what it was, but made no comment. Hertz would never hand her over to the Laboratories.

"How much do we want the telepath and psychopath to know?" the room's other occupant finally spoke up. "The Ancients have gone to painstaking measures to keep the details of the summoning from the inhabitants of Rosenkreuz, and I would not have their work undone."

"It is hard to keep anything from Schuldig," Hertz told her. "You will learn that for yourself soon enough."

"Oh," Silvia smiled cruelly, "I'm counting on it."