"Don't insult Borchert," said Gous. "Be polite to him, listen to him, don't talk back."
"He's a twelve," said Ramse. "Plus his leg's amputated at the hip. That's commitment for you, eh?"
"He stayed awake for the operation," said Gous.
"But he had anesthetic," said Ramse.
"Still," said Gous.
"What about cauterization?" asked Kline.
"The cauterization?" asked Gous. "Don't know. Ramse, was he anesthetized for that too?"
"Don't know," said Ramse. "Probably. In any case, he didn't self-cauterize."
"Almost nobody does," said Gous.
"Really nobody but you," said Ramse.
The path moved back into trees, descending into a sort of depression. Kline saw, affixed to an old oak, a security camera. Then the path took a sharp curve and started uphill again. It widened into a tree-lined avenue, at the end of which was what looked like an old manor house, or a boarding school, made of gray stone. Kline counted six sets of windows in rows three tall.
They reached the gate, Kline listening to the shells crunching beneath his feet. A guard came out from behind a pillar of the house and stood on the opposite side of the gate, watching them with a single eye.
"What is wanted?" he asked, his hands folded.
"Cut it out," said Ramse. "This isn't ceremonial. We're here to see Borchert."
"Borchert?" said the guard. "What is wanted?"
"Cut it out," said Ramse. "This is Kline."
"Kline?" said the guard, unfolding his arms to reveal hands shorn of all but a thumb, a forefinger, and a middle finger. He took hold of the key and fitted it to the lock. "Why didn't you say so?" the guard said. "Let him enter."
"Are all the guards missing an eye?" asked Kline.
"Yes," Gous said happily. "All of them."
"They made a pact," said Ramse, knocking on the door. "It's a subsect. Whatever else they're missing they cut out the eye once they're initiated. Borchert started down that path," said Ramse. "He was a guard initiate, and then gave it up. What his connection to the guards is now isn't quite clear, is mysterious. That's why he's second in command, not first."
"And the eye's not all," said Gous.
"No?" said Kline.
"Let's just say that a guard can hit all the high notes and none of the low ones."
"Well," said Ramse, "nobody knows about that for certain except the guards. And they don't discuss it."
The door was opened by another guard who asked again, "What is wanted?" This time Ramse brought his heels together and rattled off what to Kline seemed clearly a memorized, ritual response. "Having been faithful in all things, we come to see he who is even more faithful than we."
"That is correct," said the guard. "And what are the three of you?"
"Two ones," said Gous. "And an eight."
"Which is the eight?"
"I am," said Ramse.
"You may enter," said the guard. "The others may not."
"But we're here with Kline," said Ramse. "We're bringing Kline to Borchert."
"Kline?" said the guard. "We've been waiting for him. He can come in, too, the other one will have to wait outside."
Kline felt something on his shoulder and looked back to see Gous' stump lying there. "A pleasure, Mr. Kline," Gous said. "Don't forget me."
"I won't," said Kline, confused.
The guard ushered them through the gate and into a bare, white hall. Before the door closed Kline looked behind him to see Gous on the other side, tilting his head trying to see in.
This guard, Kline saw, had only one hand, all the fingers on it shaved away except for the thumb and the bottom half of the forefinger.
The guard led them down the white hall to a door at the end, knocked three times.
"You're lucky," said Ramse.
"Lucky?"
"To come in," said Ramse. "Normally a one wouldn't be allowed. There had to be a special dispensation."
"I don't feel lucky," said Kline. The guard turned around and looked at him, hard, then turned away, rapped three more times.
"Don't say that," whispered Ramse. "You don't know how hard it was to convince them to bring you."
The door came open, another guard pushing his face out. Ramse and Kline watched their guard push his face in and whisper to the other. They whispered back and forth a few times then the other guard nodded, opened the door.
"Go ahead," said the first guard. "Go through."
Ramse and Kline passed through the door, the second guard letting them come in and then shutting it behind them. Inside was a stairwell. The guard led them up it to the third floor, led them down a hall, past three doors, stopped to knock on a fourth. When a muffled voice answered from behind, he opened it, ushered them in.
The room was large, Spartan in furnishing: a bed sitting low to the floor, a low desk, a small bookshelf, a reclining chair. In the latter sat a man wearing a bathrobe. He was missing an arm and a leg, his robe cut away and left open at shoulder and hip to reveal the planed surfaces, hardly stumps at all. The other arm and leg were intact, though the hand was missing all but two of its fingers, the foot all but the big toe. Both ears, too, had been cut off, leaving only a hole and a shiny patch of flesh on either side of the head. One eyelid was open, revealing a piercing eye, the other closed but deflated, the eye under it clearly absent.
"Ah," said the man. "Mr. Kline, I presume. I had assumed you had refused our invitation several weeks ago."
"It seems not," said Kline.
"He's delighted to be here," said Ramse, quickly. "It's a true pleasure for him, as well as for me, sir, to be granted audience with-"
"I wonder," said Borchert, raising his voice. "Mr. Ramse, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Ramse, "I'm-"
"I wonder, Mr. Ramse, if you'd mind waiting outside. Mr. Kline and I have private matters to discuss."
"Oh," said Ramse, looking crestfallen. "Yes, of course."
"An eight," said Borchert, once Ramse was gone, "though you wouldn't know it to look at him. What does he mean by wearing shoes in here? Where are his manners?"
"Do you want me to take my shoes off?"
"Are you missing any toes?"
"No," said Kline.
"There's no point then, is there?" said Borchert. "But come a little closer and show me your stump."
Kline went closer. He held his missing hand out; Borchert took it deftly between his remaining fingers and thumb and pulled it forward until it was only inches from his face, his eyes dilating.
"Yes, nicely done," said Borchert. "Quite professional. But I'd thought you were a self-cauterizer?"
"I was," said Kline. "It was redone afterwards."
"What a shame," said Borchert, smiling thinly. "Still, a good start nonetheless." He let go of Kline's hand, readjusted himself in his chair. "You're welcome to sit down," he said. "Unfortunately I'm in the only chair. Do feel free to help yourself to the floor."
Kline looked about him, finally settling to the floor, posting his stump against it and bringing the rest of his body down.
"There," said Borchert. "That's better now, isn't it. I suppose you're wondering why you're here."
"The investigation," said Kline.
"The investigation," said Borchert. "That's right. You want the details."
"No," said Kline.
"No?"
"I'm wondering how I can arrange to leave."
"Leave me?" said Borchert. "You find me offensive somehow?"
"Leave this whole place."
"But why, Mr. Kline?" said Borchert, smiling. "This is paradise."
Kline did not say anything.
Borchert let his smile fade slowly, artificially. "I was against bringing you," he said. "I don't mind telling you. No outsiders has always been my policy, and no recruiting. But some of the others were impressed by this story of self-cauterization. Perhaps it's nothing more than a story, Mr. Kline?"