The Dream Thief, Kari Kilgore [reading well TXT] 📗

worry about one more person into his aching and weary mind.

His night with Loretta and his cowardly predawn escape only made his stubborn indecision worse. His mother couldn't possibly have gotten the horrifying...thing anywhere else. Janie swore him to secrecy, not that he would have known who to tell, and she insisted the glass box had only been there for a week or so. That was a lot to trust from such a young child, but she had no reason to lie to him.

Apparently Loretta had, and he had no way to know how many times. That combined with the death of Rethia's baby was too much. No matter how badly it hurt.

The change in the shaw camps from his first trip out here might have seemed subtle if Karl didn't know the reason for it. The noise level was noticeably higher, for one thing. Where most of the camps had been grouped evenly together and organized, now there were several clusters with spaces in between.

The neat aisles between the camps had deteriorated too, with stacks of goods and equipment making travel difficult. Despite Rhysto's clear flaws as a man, he'd somehow managed to keep large groups of men from fighting with each other for a long time.

One camp toward the middle had several pilots and crew milling around pretending not to look at each other, and Karl wondered if the massive rectangular block of wood, rounded on one end, was Rhysto's ship. The dark gray airbag above was sleek and pointed on both ends, more like the military ships from Stensue than a normal balloon. It also looked it was overdue for repairs, with flattened areas all around.

Karl knew he'd imagined the general air of menace and danger on that first trip to meet Bill. Compared to now, it simply hadn't been there. Today he wished he had that damned revolver, still tucked away in his wardrobe.

Particularly in that teeming space where he was sure Rhysto formerly held strict control, he would have sworn he could smell the tension. He breathed much more easily as he approached the far end where the independent shaws still anchored. The chaos stayed behind him.

Karl recognized Calder standing guard outside Bill's immaculate camp. The slender red-haired man nodded at Karl, then stepped into the red-and-black tent. Karl tried not to think of Rullin doing the same thing on that first day. Bill's younger brother was nowhere in sight.

After several seconds, Calder stepped out and held the tent flap open. Karl shook his hand as he ducked inside. Bill stood in the middle of a room lit only by hanging gas lamps, beside a low, round table and several huge pillows on a thick wool rug.

"Karl Gilmore," Bill said. "I was sure Calder's eyes were deceiving him. Good to see you." Bill stepped past Karl's outstretched hand into a quick hug. "Please have a seat. I expect you have a most interesting reason for braving the madness out there alone."

The thick pillow on the ground wasn't what Karl expected, but it was more comfortable than it looked. Bill poured each of them a generous serving of what smelled like Northlands whiskey, setting the dark green tumblers on the table between them. An earthy scent Karl couldn't identify drifted from a bronze pyramid on the table.

It was hard to believe he'd just walked through the outskirts of Waldron's Gate rather than into some exotic land from an old storybook. They each held their glasses high.

"To adventure!" Bill said with a wicked half grin Karl couldn't help returning.

"And to routine," Karl said.

"Indeed. Now, what brings you to my most humble camp?"

"I don't know if I'd call it humble," Karl said. "It's certainly one of the more organized camps these days."

Bill laughed and poured each of them another.

"I never expected to give Rhysto any measure of respect, certainly in death. But he did keep the savages more or less in line as it turns out. The absence of leadership has been great for business, for the independents, at least. Even the worst of pilots have enough commissions to keep themselves occupied most days."

"Anyone suspect what's really going on yet?" Karl said.

"No, no one to be worried about," Bill said. "Parliament doesn't appreciate the dear man's absence, and I'd imagine at least a few of them are afraid he'll try to cash in on whatever favors they owe when he returns. Thus far everyone is assuming he'll come back from his bender at some point. We're not even up to his longest disappearing act yet. Meanwhile, they squabble. We profit."

"I'm glad to hear it. How've you been otherwise, Bill?"

The pilot smiled, but it was not a happy expression.

"Not as well as I'd hoped. About as well as I expected. My brother continues to defy me at every turn. I do at least seem to have him confined and properly guarded. I'm certain you know what my turn at a difficult question will be."

Karl drained his glass and stared at one of the lamps through it.

"Gemma's doing well," he said. "She's a pleasure to have around, if a little hard to keep up with."

"And her granddaughter?"

The pilot didn't sound or look like he was teasing. He sounded sympathetic. Especially with Bill's surprisingly warm welcome, Karl knew his instinct to come here was a good one.

He still hated every word he was about to say.

"Loretta is doing quite well herself. Her business is thriving. A lot more than I'd like."

"You don't strike me as the woman-locked-at-home-in-the-kitchen type," Bill said.

"No. My mother would have my hide for that. My aunts and sisters, too."

"Tell me what brings you out here, my friend."

Karl drew his knees close to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.

"She's broken at least one promise," he said. "Probably more than one that impacts my family. And something she did might have... I have a funeral to attend tomorrow. Loretta's actions probably helped bring it about. Before she made that promise, but the timing