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

trolley stop. His mind happily switched to something it could easily sort through, and Karl felt a dizzying shift in perspective.

He saw his neighborhood from even higher up, just like he had with that amazing map in the Director of Public Relations’ office. He picked out Rethia's house, and that led him to the other ones he'd matched up with admissions over the past few months. He let the ones in between, the ones that didn't quite fit, slip out of his mind. Karl could just about hear a ticking sound as his eyes moved from one house to another, marking each of them in the overlapping spirals.

From Rethia's, he shifted to what should be next, another house with a smaller rounded turret up the street. If the pattern held true, and he still hadn't seen any reason to think it wouldn't, whatever was happening would happen there next.

"There!" he whispered, leaning forward, the windowsill digging into his ribs.

That time he was sure he'd seen someone walking down the intersecting street. Whoever it was wore dark clothes and blended into the dim light almost well enough to be invisible. Nighttime walkers, certainly past midnight, were exceedingly rare in Waldron's Gate. It just wasn't done.

His mother would surely have been able to give a good reason from her work at the Ministry of Decorum, but Karl suspected it had something to do with Crumble. He had a brief thought that his wakefulness might have been because he couldn't remember when he'd last had any. He saw the shape again, turning the corner toward the next house in the pattern.

"To The Pit with this."

He sat down again, long enough to put his shoes back on, and grabbed his jacket on the way out. He walked as quietly as he could down three more creaky flights of stairs, hoping the house was still as noisy settling down at night as he remembered. He stood for several seconds with his hand on the cool brass of the front doorknob, listening to see if he'd disturbed anyone. If he had, they were being quiet about it.

Karl stepped out into the night.

As far as Karl could see on a moonless night, the only illumination was the greatly reduced streetlights, turned down low to conserve gas while everyone slept. He went out to the center of the trolley tracks where hardly any light reached and tried to keep his steps quiet, wishing for grass to walk on.

The figure had looked small from four floors up, and Karl hoped that was the truth. He had no restraints or anything at all to subdue someone who tried to resist whatever it was he thought he'd be able to do. Nothing beyond a stern "Stop that!" was coming to his mind at the moment.

He didn't see anyone now, but he knew exactly where the dark figure would be heading. Assuming Karl wasn't too far past his last dose of Crumble and imagining the whole thing, of course.

Or maybe he'd just find another person who couldn't sleep and had decided to wander around at night. For no reason. When no one else ever did.

He'd just about convinced himself to turn around and go back to bed when he caught motion out of the corner of his eye. Someone crossing the yard of the house he'd expected, walking away from him and turning the corner out of sight.

Karl froze, not sure if he should chase the guy or try to hide. If he stood right here, whoever it was would see him on the next turn. He walked as fast as he could into the deeper shadow of a big tree in the next yard over.

He waited, holding his breath, still not quite convinced he'd seen anything at all. Tales of hallucinations and other strange things happening when people missed too much Crumble were persistent enough that he couldn't quite dismiss them, though he'd never been brave enough to test it on purpose for himself. He hadn't missed much, but stress and sleeplessness made everything worse. He'd decided to walk around the house to make sure when the shadow moved around the far side of the yard.

The person was small, and he didn't see Karl crouching beside the tree. He carried some kind of stick, one that looked heavy enough to do some real damage if it contacted Karl's head, for example. Karl drew back when the stick sprouted three legs.

The stranger slung some kind of pack off of his back, and Karl's jaw dropped. The twisting movement made it clear he wasn't watching a boy or a small man. This person clad in all black, skulking around in the middle of the night, was a woman. He had to restrain women all the time, and he'd been attacked by more than his fair share. He knew how strong women were, but he relaxed a tiny bit.

She pulled something out of the bag and raised it onto the tripod. Woman or not, Karl's heart sped up at the sight of it. He hadn't seen many, and he'd never touched one, but he was certain that was a revolver.

He'd never seen anyone outside of Waldron's Guard or Constable Law carrying any sort of blaster, and he'd certainly never heard of a revolver people used at night. Karl was pretty sure even the official Bronzed Revolvers did not swing around slowly and aim themselves, but that didn't matter. All worries about his sister and even the horrifying ’ster forgotten, Karl crept forward.

She bent to get something else out of the bag. Karl was sure she hadn't heard him, and now he was walking on soft grass. Part of his early training and experience, before he or anyone else realized he'd ever be more than a huge and strong orderly who could subdue the tough ones, was how to take patients down without hurting them or getting himself hurt.

He couldn't see any weapons, but it was possible she had something other