"It's my fault that you have been awfully quiet, isn't it?"
Eknie seemed genuinely apologetic.
Ted wanted to see her grovel before he would even consider pretending that he had forgiven her.
"You, and the damned sun," he said. "You both want to get way too close to me."
"I am sorry. You can punish me in any way you see fit."
"I could cut off the parts of you that have touched me, and I would not regret it for a fraction of a second. But that's part of the reason for your devotion."
Ted poured her some tea. This time, it was just the regular stuff, loose leaves, bitter aftertaste, not the best he had tasted.
Eknie waited until he gave her a slight nod. Only then did she take a sip, still with smooth and submissive movements.
"This is also true," she said.
"Date cakes…I wonder if we have those. Talk of murder and mutilation, it's always much better if you have something to snack on, am I right, Eknie?"
"I saw some in the cupboard. I don't think they are too dry just yet."
"Right. Hand them to me. It's all right, I forgive you for what you did. But do not think that it will happen twice."
The message did seem to reach her, but Ted didn't know what kind of a reaction he had hoped for. On the other hand, trembling girls were boring, but then again, so were insanely brave ones.
To his relief, Eknie showed neither predisposition. No emotions tarnished her perfect features as she divided the cakes.
Five for him, two for her. That was acceptable. They had not dined yet. In fact, Ted could not remember the last meal he had eaten.
"We need more Fireflies," he said after chewing up a sweet half of a sweet cake. "And it seems to me like we have exhausted the marketplaces and the streets. We need other ways of bulking up the cult."
"Well, the homeless and the addicts have nothing better to do with their time," Eknie said. She put the remaining half of her cake onto her plate and seemingly gazed into nothingness. "I wonder if there is a way of convincing a drunkard to give up the bottle for something supposedly better."
"Not a bad idea at all. I think we have the necessary supplies for rehabilitation. Also, we do have a doctor and two nurses on our team. I would like to seek out some poor sods tonight. If you don't mind coming along, of course. I don't exactly trust people like that to behave nicely. I could use someone who can hit a moving target."
They went hunting for drunkards that night.
"Sorry, cor, but ain't no way we're gonna make it through a single day with nuffin' to drink."
"Sorry, cor, the withdrawal would kill me. I was a well-read man once. I would know, cor."
"Sorry, cor, the paw's got a hold on me. I can't."
With all their rehabilitation plans, Ted and Eknie had forgotten one very important thing while seated in the privileged safety of Ted's new steam-powered car.
The addict wanted to continue feeding the addiction.
It was the most basic fact about intoxication. It felt good to be under the influence. No one would have slept on the streets to afford the next fix for something that did not feel good at any point. Whether it was the booze, corna or the paw, the person using it got something out of it, a fleeting state of temporary pleasure, an illusion of being in a normal state – the exact ins and outs of the mental process could vary, but what never changed was the inner motivation of the user.
Ted leaned back into his leather-covered seat and pressed his hands on the steering wheel, thinking long and hard about the next course of action.
The car was a new invention. It was the fastest thing a regular rich consumer could buy, and it gathered lots of positive attention with its sleek, brass-colored form wherever Ted drove with it. It was the most modern, amazing vehicle, with the puffs of steam accompanying it in a mighty display of newfangled and extremely expensive technology.
Ted knew he inspired envy, and fear, too, as some people tended to hold onto some rather superstitious beliefs about steam technology.
He had enjoyed the night. The drive had been so much fun that it felt dreadfully dull to have to concentrate on anything except the gentle wind and the rain drumming on the retractable roof.
He wanted to drive far into the southern parts of the continent, so far and so fast that not even the rays of sun would be able to catch him. Instead, he was driving through manure and trash, the muddy streets of Neul, and he was unable to break free of the cursed hole of a city. He could smell the leather that covered the seats of his car, but he could also smell the dirt on the street and the booze on the breath of the man who just couldn't give up his bottle.
It was a depressing combination, superiority tainted with the mere presence of the inferior.
Ted sighed.
"All right, what if we give them what they think they want?" he whispered to Eknie.
"Like intoxicants? Where are you going with that? Surely that would affect our reputation?"
Ted drove the car further away from the curious group of homeless drunkards.
He explained his intentions.
They would lure the new recruits into the cult with their intoxicants of choice. Then, while the drunkards and addicts were dazed out of their minds, Ted would instead induce in them a spiritual experience. He did not know what he was going for, but all kinds of illusionary and real visual effects had crossed his mind.
Then he would tell the new recruits that in order to get more of that captivating feeling, they had to be sober.
The folly of the sun god would swipe them off their feet.