Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Chaos Came Early ❯ Experiments ( Chapter 9 )

For Phoenix, fellow Schu-lover, and all the gang of Ass Anon. You've enriched my life and dirtied my mind, and I thank you.

Do I have to say it? They're not mine. If they were, I'd need a much bigger bed. And some really strong tranquilizers.

*******

Experiments

::Oh, Mr. Bradley Crawford, sir,:: Schuldig called in a sing-song, instantly raising the hair on the back of the American's neck, ::I think you should see this...::

::What?::

::I could never dream of spoiling it for you.::

He had a bad feeling—

“Mr. Crawford, you do not agree?”

The American shook his head. “Sorry, I was thinking of something else.” He moved the markers. “If you come this way, you'll have the prevailing wind in your face. Your—camels—are unwashed. Being downwind might keep the element of surprise for a few extra seconds.”

The Mahdi cocked his head, considering.

::You're gonna miss it,:: Schuldig sang. ::And you'll regret it!::

“It is, of course, your decision.” Crawford started for the door. “If you'll excuse me, gentlemen—”

Once outside, Crawford walked quickly. Very quickly. His Sight, as usual, did not tell him what Schuldig was up to. But his own knowledge of the boy told him anything that made the German so happy needed immediate investigation. ::Schuldig, what have you done?::

::It's not me,:: the telepath denied, mental voice tinged with laughter. ::Oh, just wait till you see!::

Crawford walked faster. If it wasn't Schuldig's display he was hurrying towards—it must be Farfarello's.

The smell of fresh blood confirmed his guess as he ducked into the tent. No one was in the main area, Farfarello's voice was chanting from his “room.” Crawford yanked the curtain aside. And counted to ten. Then did it again.

Schuldig sat cross-legged on the dresser, his grin and body glitter making him look like an evil sprite. An evil, peeling sprite, still recovering from the sunburn. Farfarello looked oddly like an altar boy, in a native's white robe and holding a heavy book. He didn't look up from the Quran, and didn't stop chanting.

The imam did not stop bleeding. Or dying.

Crawford pinched his nose and wondered if this were really his very first Farfarello-induced headache. He normally associated the pain with Schuldig, but—

Later.

“Farfarello, what did I tell you about killing our allies?”

::He isn't dead,:: Schuldig projected, scratching at his shoulder as Farfarello continued chanting. ::It's an experiment. The fool told Farfie as long as his faith was strong, he couldn't be harmed by infidels.::

::And the Quran?::

::Well, obviously,:: Schuldig was positively gleeful, ::his faith wasn't strong enough. So Farf thought he'd help it along.::

::At least he gagged him.::

::Farf 's not stupid, Crawford. He didn't want anyone interfering with the spirit of scientific inquiry.::

Schuldig didn't have to be so damned happy about it.

Crawford sighed and adjusted his glasses and Looked at options.

Every route he could See that had the body in their tent when discovered, led to disaster. Well, of course. He Looked at ways to get the evidence elsewhere.

“Mullah,” called a voice from the entrance. “It is time—honored one? Mr. Crawford?”

Instantly Schuldig was down from the dresser, a knife appearing from nowhere. Why couldn't he have picked up quiet obedience from Farfarello instead of that?

“Mr. Crawford?” The voice had come inside, it was the boy-student Schuldig had abused. Crawford shook his head.

::Hide the knife. Go tell him to bring the Mahdi, only the Mahdi.::

When he Looked at options, he could not See what might result from the use of Schuldig. But he could Look at what happened if he pulled this off—and he liked what he saw.

Farfarello went on chanting. Schuldig ducked back through the curtains. “I sent him running, but what—“

“Can you control the imam?”

The German rolled his eyes. “Can I control one feeble old man who's nearly dead? Ja, Herr Crawford, I think I can manage it.”

“Don't let him speak till I tell you.” Crawford knelt and cut the gag off the imam, then started binding his injuries. He still wouldn't survive—Farfarello had been both creative and thorough—but he didn't want to leave too much up to Schuldig's questionable control. He'd seen the boy do amazing things, certainly, but if he got distracted— “Link all of us.”

::And Jokshan begat Sheba, and Dedan. And the sons of Dedan were Asshurim, and Letushim, and Leummim...::

Sigh.

The Mahdi arrived, Crawford gave him his instant of shock while the boy wailed and threw himself at his teacher, then spoke.

“My associates found him. They were going to take him to the infirmary, but he said some things...that I thought you should hear.” He waved at the soon-to-be corpse. “He wants to tell you.”

::Now, Schuldig—make him confess. Make it believable.::

The Mahdi knelt beside his teacher and took the dying man's hand.

“Plead to Allah for my forgiveness,” the old man breathed. “I ate dates in daylight during Ramadan.*”

Pages flipped, and Farfarello read, “...so everyone of you who is present during the month should spend it in fasting...”

::Schuldig—::

::Trust me... ::

Not likely.

“My teacher—“

“I refused to ride an ass because I thought it beneath me.”

“Enter the gates of Hell to dwell therein and evil is the abode of the arrogant,” Farfarello read. The Mahdi sent him a glare.

“You are a good and holy man. Allah—“

“Once when a man claimed to read the future in the entrails of a goat, I listened.” The man's voice was gaining strength now, Crawford wondered how Schuldig had done that. “I took five American dollars to decide an argument over the ownership of a lamb. I prayed alone when I could not stand the smell of my brothers.”

“Three do not enter Paradise: an alcoholic, one who abandons kindred, and one believing in magic...”

“My teacher, have you not spoken these things already to Allah?”

“When my cousin went to Europe to become a—a 'drag queen'—I denied he was my cousin.”

The Mahdi looked over his shoulder at Crawford.

“He is dying, honored leader,” Crawford said softly. “He wants to tell you.” ::Schuldig, get to the point!::

::Iyeh, mullah...::

Schuldig was curled up on the dresser, his head on his knees. ::Schu?::

::strong...hurts...::

::Get it over with. I want the Mahdi disgusted and repulsed.::

“I...abused Daoud.”

The mullah's student shook his head, tears streaming down his face. “No, honored teacher, never did you—“ The boy stopped, his face went blank.

::Scheisse! Crawford, I—::

::Finish it!::

“I taught him,” the imam breathed, the Mahdi leaned closer, “that there are things men may do with men....I found verses in the Quran to convince him it was not wrong...”

The Mahdi dropped the hand of the imam and scooped up the boy.

“Let him die,” he said over his shoulder as he turned away.

“And the remains?” Crawford asked.

“Burn them.” The Mahdi turned back. “You will speak no word of this. Any of you.”

“Of course not.” Crawford smiled. ::Get out, Schu!::

On the rug the imam cried out for his son. The Mahdi walked away. As soon as the tent flap fell Crawford grabbed his wild child.

“Shields,” he reminded softly, wrapping the boy in his arms and giving him the foundations. “Shield, Schu, you're all right. Shut out the pain. Farfarello, finish him.”

The Irish boy rolled his eyes, slammed the book shut and did as he was told. In Crawford's arms, Schuldig sighed.

“I...Crawford, I wiped the kid. I didn't mean to, I just had to shut him up and that rat bastard—

“Hush.” This was what the boy needed, to see he wasn't as proficient as he though. Yet. Crawford was impressed Schuldig had managed to touch the boy at all, considering the fight the imam had been giving him. But he didn't say so. “It's all right. This time. The Mahdi will simply believe he's traumatized.”

::Farf's not perfect either!:: Schuldig growled. ::You told him not to be carving up the locals.::

Was that jealousy? Crawford fought a grin, he could use that too.

::You are both young,:: he told his telepath, hopefully managing to keep the amusement out of his sending.

::What are you, a fucking Elder?::

Farfarello walked over to them, stood for a moment looking. Crawford wondered if he were jealous of Schu as well. The American had never even thought of hugging his killer.

The Irish boy reached for Schuldig's neck. The German yelped.

“You fucking freak! I told you only peel me if it's coming off anyway!”

Farfarello looked at the strip of damaged skin between his fingers. “It was.”

“After you yanked on it!”

Crawford gathered his patience and set the boy aside to get them back to practical matters.

Aww, their very first body-disposal as a team.

********

*Ramadan—fasting during the day is part of the celebration of the month of Ramadan.

All bits of the Quran were picked up here and there, I'm afraid I don't own a copy. I hope they are right—but please remember it is just a fanfic, and not meant as a guide to the Islamic faith anyway.