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

decoration. He'd always meant to get a rug for the floor when he came back from spending time in his parents' tastefully decorated home. A few paintings for the walls. At least a tablecloth for the minuscule kitchen table. And then he fell back into his routine and forgot all about it.

The bedroom beyond wasn't much better. Hardly anything but his gray uniforms hung in the wardrobe. He came back from the Gate with new sheets when someone in his family got worried enough about him and shoved them into his hands. Same with new street clothes or shoes. He still had all the same kitchenware his mother gave each of her children for their eighteenth birthdays, his rarely taken out of the cupboards.

His adult apartment was a bit larger than his turret bedroom but every bit as neglected. George had managed to turn his similar space in the maintenance wing into a pleasant little home. Maybe Karl should hire him to do the same here.

At least everything was fairly neat. There wasn't enough here to get messy.

Karl had a feeling his dull, predictable life was about to get terribly messy.

He closed his eyes, seriously considering ignoring that and everything else and going straight to bed—until a knock on the door rattled his teeth. That could only be one person this time of day.

"What are you getting me into, Karl?" George said when Karl opened the door. "If you want a little on the side, there are easier ways to accomplish that."

He looked as doubtful as Karl had ever seen him, but he was carrying a huge brown bag.

"Good to see you too, Georgie. If it were something that simple, you'd be the last one I'd ask for help."

George dropped the bag at Karl's feet and walked inside.

"Bring anything good back?" George said. "Anything that won't give me a new disease?"

"Bottle of whiskey from the Northlands in the kitchen. I hear it's strong enough to sterilize whatever you drink it out of and still tastes better than that rotgut you make." All manner of clothes and shoes and badges were in the canvas duffel, everything Karl had asked for and more. "How many people do you think I'm dealing with here?"

"Just wanted to be sure I wouldn't have to go back in for more," George said. "When does this bad idea arrive?"

He handed Karl a cafei cup filled with an unwise amount of the dark, almost oily spirit Loretta had provided as a bribe. Karl barely managed not to cough at the explosion of heat in his throat and belly.

"Watch that stuff," he said, proud that he wasn't wheezing. "They could use this in surgery. She'll be on the nine o'clock train to Swan Gate, and she’ll smuggle in on a fishing boat just like everyone else who isn’t supposed to be here. It's up to me to get her past the guards."

George nearly collapsed onto the couch beside Karl, managing not to spill his own booze before he finished it without so much as a grimace.

"I'm tougher than I look," he said. "This won't be your first time doing that, right? Bringing in entertainment for the evening?"

"Yeah, actually, it will be," Karl said. "I've never smuggled anyone in or out of here. I'm not quite the charity case you think I am."

"I never thought that at all," George said. "I just thought you were cheap. Seriously, do you have this under control?"

"I am cheap. You got me there." Karl drained the rest of his whiskey. "Just look at this place. I'm also the most careful cheap bastard you'll ever meet. I know the routine as well as anybody does. The guards don't seem to bother watching too closely as long as we're not idiots about it."

George snorted. "Mainly because most of the guards are idiots. I’ve never seen a single one near the docks unless we have a shipment coming in. Listen, Karl, you were right about one thing. Since you left, things have been calm around here. No new admissions, and the ’sters have been quieter than they've been for a long time."

Relief at the improvement hit Karl as hard as the whiskey, followed immediately by horror at more proof of the damage Loretta had done.

"At least I managed to accomplish that much," he said. "I don't want to get you any more mixed up in this than you already are."

"Don't worry," George said. "I don't plan to be. Just don't get yourself caught. Almost time, lover boy."

"Bloody Crown, you are an asshole." Karl pulled out a long, dark coat like he'd seen outside maintenance crews wearing before. "Appreciate the help anyway."

"You'd better," George said, getting to his feet. "I might visit you in here after you're finally locked up, but I'm not going to risk my neck if you get packed off to Stensue or something. To tell you the truth, I'm glad to finally be figuring this thing out, doing something. The past few months were grinding me down to the bone. Let me know how it goes."

"Sure thing. Thanks, George."

Karl had to admit he hadn't seen George with such a spring in his step for quite a long time. If nothing else, breaking that damned gyro-compass and getting Loretta away from the Gate for a few days would let everyone out here catch up on their rest.

Too bad Karl could never take the credit. He knew he'd get plenty of blame if things went wrong. He walked in the opposite direction, toward the exit.

Several people were milling around on the close-trimmed lawn, moving between the towering trees and clumps of flowering bushes, trying to seem more casual than they were. Typical for sundown on a Friday evening.

Karl knew he'd be one of many heading out to meet a weekend visitor. Anyone with a fishing boat—and a valuable contract to supply the huge population at the local asylum—wasn’t going to be stupid about who they brought in and took out after hours.