The Dream Thief E-Book

Kari Kilgore

• Herausgeber: Spiral Publishing, Ltd.
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

In the glittering, steam-driven high society of Waldron’s Gate, no one needs to dream.
Karl Gilmore spends his days caring for people with broken minds. The Dream Thief fulfills twisted fantasies.
The seductive lure of irresistible power threatens to destroy all they both hold dear.
A wildly imaginative tale of the seedy underbelly of the perfect Engine World city and beyond.
An epic adventure of airships and monsters, love and heartbreak.

An excerpt from The Dream Thief:
Karl Gilmore thought he knew every way the human mind could break.
The first thing to interrupt the whirlwind of Karl’s thoughts was realizing Mrs. Labine had come in with the big group that started all of this. 
The second was her fingers digging into his forearm.
“Don’t miss it.” Her voice was a high-pitched hiss; the repeated words so fast they ran together. “Dontmissitdontmissitdontmissit.” 
Karl covered her hand with his own. He was sure she was drawing blood.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Labine. What do you think I’m missing?”
“No one ever looks, no one ever sees,” she whispered, her face twisted into a grimace, pale blue eyes narrowed. “It’s the stealing that does it. Too much, too much, stealing too much. Stealing the night. Everything breaks.”
“Nothing like that can happen here, okay?” he said. “Everybody’s safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
She pulled against her thick leather restraints, trying to reach him with her other hand. He wasn’t in any danger from her, but letting a new patient get too upset threw everyone into an uproar.
“Nothing works when the thief is about. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Everything breaks, no matter what you do. Stealing my bloody sleep away after everything else. Don’t. Miss. It. Don’t miss it. Dontmissit...”

Leseprobe

To Sean, Johnny (and Dave), and everyone involved with Fiction Unboxed and Engine World.

Thank you for Building the door to such grand adventures and for sharing the key.

What a delightful playground we have here!

The Dream Thief

Kari Kilgore

Spiral Publishing, Ltd.

Chapter 1

Karl Gilmore stepped off of the clanging trolley while it was still moving, but only just. His mother's long-ago admonition to never do such a thing lodged too clearly in his mind for him to jump off like teenaged boys seemed to do at every stop.

The heady sweet lilacs seemed to fill his whole body, while a thousand memories of growing up on this street filled his mind. Victorian houses, every available surface embellished and decorated with sometimes gaudy colors, stretched as far as he could see in both directions. His family's a couple of blocks away stood out as the only three-story version, Karl's boyhood turret room towering above everything else at the front. He'd seen far finer homes in posh districts where various Ministry Directors lived, but none as charming and odd to his eyes as the Gilmore residence.

He walked far enough to get out of everyone else’s way before he stopped and took a deep breath, same as he did every time he made the trip to Waldron's Gate. All the other passengers, either boarding or exiting the crowded car, had continued on to their destinations. Karl stood alone on the sidewalk warmed by the morning sun, waiting for his habitual signal to walk the rest of the way.

The dark green cotton shirt and brown pants his sisters bought him for these visits felt stiff and uncomfortable from rare use. A bit of discomfort was better than scaring people with his normal charcoal-gray work clothes. That uniform was so well known that he didn't need the badge that let him into and out of Joffrey Columns, the asylum where Karl had worked for more than ten years now. Just about anyone out here in the world would shy away from the uniform alone.

The brick clock tower several blocks away chimed the hour, and Karl's feet started moving without his brain's input. Ten in the morning. Time to go. No need to cause extra stress by arriving early. And definitely no need to arrive late enough to upset his parents. The smoother these visits went for everyone, the better.

Karl's eyes found the Blunderbuss in the distance, the massive chrome bell end not putting out as much white smoke as usual on a Sunday afternoon. His father and most of his brothers and sisters were Builders at the Ministry of Manifestation, using the mysterious power of the Blunderbuss to create just about everything the citizens of Waldron's Gate and other cities throughout Alterra needed.

From viewboxes and talkboxes to train rails and parts for enormous airships, and just about everything in between, the Blunderbuss provided. All it required was the talent, the ability to receive plans and designs from the Aether and send them into reality.

Karl had inherited his father's great height and strength, his nearly perfect memory, and even the hazel eyes that had marked Builders in his family for generations. Following in Arthur Gilmore's footsteps had been almost a foregone conclusion throughout most of Karl's childhood. After all, every one of his brothers, sisters, and cousins who had those eyes had that same ability.

But despite his family's expectations, and his own, and no matter how hard he tried in training, Karl didn't have the slightest trace of Builder talent.

He turned up the pale brick walkway toward his parents' broad porch, noticing changes in the discrete area where his mother tested out new color combinations. Anyone who didn’t know where to look would miss Mrs. Gilmore’s experimental corner, appropriately exposed to sun and shade during the day. From her neat squares painted close together, Karl suspected the current purple, gold, and light brown were about to give way to orange, blue, and pink.

Sometimes he was relieved to live in an unchanging sprawling red brick building along the outskirts of Joffrey Columns. As he knocked on the purple door, he corrected himself. He was relieved most of the time.

"Hey, Karl!" Andy, his little brother, grinned from ear to ear. "Glad you could join us for a change."

"Yeah, kid," Karl said, catching his brother in a quick hug. "Tell me you won't be out the door the second Mother gives the okay."

"Sooner if I can manage. Fair warning. We've got a bunch of cousins here for brunch."

Karl tried not to frown as he followed Andy toward the dining room at the back of the house. The thick flowery rugs did feel good under his feet instead of the wood, stone, and concrete he normally walked on all day long. But the knickknacks, photos, and various collections on every surface looked way too cluttered and congested compared to his nearly empty apartment.

"I wouldn’t call that warning fair," he said to Andy right before they turned the corner. "Wish you'd gotten word to me before I left."

"That's exactly why I didn't." Andy stopped, hands on his hips. He was a smaller, nearly perfect duplicate of Karl, from the messy hair to the easily tanned skin to the promise of height to come in his lanky fifteen-year-old build. "I need to talk to you about something, Karl."

"A letter or the talkbox not good enough?"

"No," Andy said. He stared at the rug for a few seconds, tracing the outline of a rose with one bare foot. "Got to do this face to face, and not where someone else can listen in. Make sure we get the time before you leave."

Before Karl could ask questions, his normally cheerful and carefree brother turned the corner into the swirling mass of noisy relatives. Karl couldn't think of anything to do but follow him.

Doing his best to keep up with family chatter left Karl exhausted long before the cook had the famously huge Gilmore family brunch on the table. Even when he attempted to give his brain the day off, it was determined to catalog every bit of gossip and news with the person who delivered it.

Who'd been promoted, who had a dispute with a neighbor, who was falling into or out of love. The benefit was he didn't have to pretend to be interested whether he wanted to be or not. And staying quiet in a crowd like this was the best way to keep his own life private.

That only lasted until all the cousins went home. Their traditional Sunday afternoon gathering in the second-floor family room gave Karl's mother the perfect chance for a bit of affectionate cross-examination. Of course if he visited more often, or called, she might not have felt the need to investigate him so thoroughly when she had the chance.

Karl remembered playing with puzzles and toys, or later reading on the colorful pillows piled up at one end of the room during these long afternoons. He'd watched his older brothers and sister sitting in the wingback chairs and sofa around the fireplace with their parents, envious and wondering what the quiet conversations were about. Andy still joined their youngest sisters sometimes, but he usually stayed close when Karl was around.

When Klia Gilmore set her delicate pink teacup down with a sigh, Karl knew he was in her sights.

"Karl, you seem so tired today," she said. "Have you been getting enough days off?"

He decided not to mention the mass of socializing he'd just been through.

"We normally get enough days off, sure. Longer hours than usual lately. That's all."

"Maybe you just need a change of scenery," his mother said. Her slow smile and blush warned Karl he wasn't going to like the next words. "I hear there's a new house going up over on Juniper Street, set up for young single men your age. And a house a couple of blocks over for single women, too."

"That would be a long trip every day, Mother," Karl said. "Housing out at the Columns isn't exactly luxurious, but it's free. You know that."

Something in his tone made Karl's father glance up over the edge of his broadsheet. Arthur Gilmore didn't tolerate any sort of sharp talk, certainly not in the evenings. Karl had lived away for ten years, but he still knew when to smile and keep his mouth shut. He did both.

"Maybe I should move over there," Andy said with a grin.

Karl couldn't stop himself from grinning back.

"Not quite yet, young man," their mother said. Her pursed mouth said more than her words or the brisk shake of her head. "You'll stay here until you have eighteen years, same as all your brothers and sisters."

She picked up her teacup again, noticed it was empty, and refilled everyone's with sweet, mint-and-bergamot-flavored water.

"That reminds me," she said. "I heard from Rethia this morning. She went to the doctor, and the baby is strong and healthy as ever. She was hoping they'd say she could keep working, but she's on leave just like the first time. I told her the Ministry would manage just fine without her. The baby will be a lot healthier for it. I think she's happier when she can fret about something."

Karl glanced at their father to make sure he was buried in his paper again, then winked at Andy. As was almost always the case on these obligatory visits home, his little brother had rescued him from their mother's clutches. Or at least from her questions. Karl's impending niece or nephew, the eighth so far, was much safer territory.

"Arthur," she said, her hand on her husband's arm. "Andy had the highest talent scores in his class last week. He might be at the Ministry before he's sixteen."

She beamed at her youngest son, but her face fell when she turned back to Karl. He tried to keep his own features neutral, and he was usually pretty good at that. No matter what he told himself or saw out in the world, he was terribly self-conscious as a non-Builder in a family loaded to the gills with them.

"Way to go, Andy!" Karl said. "You'll be moving up the ranks before you're twenty." Karl stood, glad to take the excuse his mother's embarrassed silence gave him. "I'd better be on my way. New trainees tomorrow. Have to get an early start."

Klia Gilmore's red cheeks shifted from embarrassment to a flush of pride in an instant. Even if Karl wasn't following in any of the approved family career paths, anyone as high up in the Ministry of Decorum as she was knew bragging rights when she heard them.

"That's wonderful," she said. "How much of the training do you handle now?"

"All of it for these new orderlies," Karl said. "And most for junior nurses. I made head trainer a few weeks ago."

"Oh, why didn't you tell us?" she said, tears in her light brown eyes.

Karl winced at his mother's genuinely stricken expression. He wondered why he waited to drop these good news bombs until he was ready to leave. Some kind of perverse need to run down his own accomplishments? His excuse to himself about not wanting announcements in all the papers didn't make sense when he didn't even live here anymore.

"I'm sorry, Mother. I just forgot. We've had a lot of new recruits lately. Probably could use more days off with so much going on. Lots of great bonus pay, though."

To Karl's surprise, that got his father to look over the edge of his broadsheet again. Mr. Gilmore raised his eyebrows just a tiny bit and nodded, but everyone at the grown-up end of the room saw it. That was the biggest approval Karl or anyone else was likely to get.

Andy and their mother turned to Karl, the admiration plain. Not so much over the pay. Only his father would be impressed by that. Everyone else was impressed at those eyebrows and that nod.

"In any case, I need to get back," he said. "Thank you for brunch, Mother. It was great to see all the cousins. Give Rethia my love, and let me know about that new niece or nephew. Has she been to a psychic to see what she's having? She's due in, what, a month or so?"

Everyone knew Karl didn't believe in psychics or fortune-tellers any more than he believed some Imp cavorted in The Pit or Jonah circled a great mythical ocean surrounding Alterra. But most everyone played along with those games when someone was pregnant.

"She's due in eight weeks," his mother said, getting to her feet. "But we'd better see you before then. She doesn't want to know which it is, silly goose. I keep telling her that takes so much of the stress away, but you know how she is."

She caught Karl up in a great, tight hug, then stepped aside so the others could do the same.

"That I do, Mother," Karl said. "I think she just likes surprises. I'll get back as soon as I can."

Klia managed to wipe her eyes discretely before she smiled at her middle child. Rethia was the other one Karl would like to see a lot more often. He'd have to make time to do that when the baby drama was over.

"Surprises always suited the two of you better than me," Karl's mother said. She caught Andy in a one-armed hug as he tried to pass by. "And this is another one just like you. See you again soon, Karl?"

He nodded, then grunted when Andy caught his arm and pulled him forward.

"I'll walk you to the corner, big Brother," Andy said. "Be right back."

He almost pushed Karl out the door before anyone else could respond.

Several people were out for Sunday afternoon strolls when Karl and Andy stepped onto the porch. Young couples not much older than Andy, married couples not much older than Karl. Pushing brass-and-leather strollers, pulling brightly painted wagons, walking hand in hand, huge colorful dresses contrasting with dark jackets. The peaceful scene sat uneasily alongside whatever was bothering the younger Gilmore.

"What's up, little Brother?" Karl said.

Andy shook his head, dark brown curls floating over his high forehead. Karl kept his unruly hair a good bit shorter, but otherwise he could have been looking into a mirror. A younger, better rested mirror.

"You know how it is," Andy said. "Can't say a word without Mother overhearing or Father disapproving. I just wanted a minute or two with someone I can talk to."

Karl smiled with one side of his mouth, and though Andy tried to fight it, the two of them burst into laughter. From the day Andy was born, Karl felt a year or two older rather than more than ten. In that moment, he felt like they were exactly the same silly age.

"Out with it, kid."

Andy was still smiling, but his eyes were serious in a heartbeat. He looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching as they walked away from the house.

"I hate to bug you about work," Andy said. "I know you can't say much of anything anyway."

Karl counted ten strides while he waited for his brother to go on. When they were too far from the house for anyone to see them, he detoured onto an ornate wrought iron bench against the row of lilacs.

Unless someone hiked up to the tallest point in their parents' house, the tiny window in Karl's rounded turret bedroom, no one would know where they were. Andy sat beside him and sighed in perfect imitation of their mother.

"Come on, what's going on?" Karl said. "You were out of there like a shot before Mother could say a word."

Andy smiled, but this time it was worried rather than amused.

"It's just...I've been hearing a bunch of talk, probably mostly bullshit. But it's been going on for a long time."

He stopped again, looking at the slightly less grand row of houses across the street. They were painted just as elaborately and kept just as neatly, but most were one floor, too small for more than a couple of people.

"Talk about what?" Karl said.

Andy turned to him, barely fifteen but looking a lot older in that moment. He squinted into the distance and chewed his lower lip.

"I suddenly know a lot of people with family members out at the Columns, Karl. A lot."

Karl tried to hide it, but he knew his maddeningly observant brother caught that brief twist of his mouth. Again, Andy was just like their mother.

"You know I can't—"

"I know you can't say much. I do," Andy said. "But hear me out, okay?" He waited until Karl nodded. "I'm used to people having to go every now and then. We all are. But this is different. I've counted more than ten in the last month, and I know I haven't caught all of them. A lot of people keep it really quiet, you know?"

That was how most folks outside of their family felt and acted about Karl working out at Joffrey Columns. Don't talk about the crazy house at all, or it might happen to you.

"I know. Ten people isn't all that unusual, Andy."

"No, that's not all of it. I heard you say you've been busy lately, and I'd bet it wasn't just from new trainees, was it?" Karl looked into his brother's eyes, not trying to hide his scowl. This was definitely crossing the line. "Let's try this. If you weren't extra busy with new patients, what are all the new trainees for?"

"You got me, kid," Karl said. "We've had a heavy workload lately, sure. I'm not sure why you're so worried about it, though. Our family isn't exactly susceptible to that kind of trouble, not for a long time."

"This is more than that," Andy said. "Do you get to see the paperwork, the intake, whatever you call it? The things that have to be filled out when someone new gets there?"

"I see it for my new patients, yeah," he said. "But not for everyone. That's not exactly my department."

Karl was more than a little nervous now, and he had to force himself not to look over his shoulder. That oath of secrecy he'd taken when he got the job at the Columns was burning in his mind, brighter than the sun.

"Well, you might want to look around a little bit," Andy said. "A whole lot of kids I know, kids from right around here, have had parents or brothers or sisters heading out your way over the past few months. And none of them had much of a history of crazy in the family, either."

Karl blinked, and before he could stop it his mind was spinning through the names and faces he'd come across since his own birthday three months ago. No one he knew, not personally. He had an idea the Director kept that from happening for a very good reason.

But now that he thought more about it, he had seen a few more family names that he recognized than usual. And since families tended to stay in the same neighborhoods...

"You have seen something," Andy said.

"You know I—"

"Yeah, I know. Listen, I'm not asking you to say a word. I'm just asking you to take a look around. That's all. I'm not the only one who's getting a little worried. No one's sure if it's the newest Builds, something that went pear-shaped during a big push on a new project, or maybe something in the water. Hell, it could be something as simple as a bad batch of Crumble, not that that wouldn't be a disaster. But I'm getting more than a little bit worried. Our whole family could get caught up in whatever this is."

Karl tried to let that roll off his shoulders, knowing Andy didn't mean to hurt his feelings like other people in the family sometimes did. But it did hurt, just a little.

When he was back here, surrounded by the handsome old houses and breathing in the sweet scent of lilacs from this street, he never forgot for even one second that he was no Builder. Everyone in his family could get caught up in something going wrong.

Everyone but him.

"Sure thing," Karl finally said. "I'll keep my eyes open, okay? Don't worry so much. You'll be old before your time."

Andy closed his eyes, and his shoulders sagged. He nodded and smiled.

"Thank you, Karl. I appreciate this. You better run, or you'll miss the last train out. Don't want to end up in Mother's clutches overnight."

Chapter 2

Loretta Schofield placed a black leather bag on the cafei table in front of her. Like everything else in this massive house, the table was the finest available—for any amount of rittern. The expanse of deep brown oak was carved into an elaborate scene complete with elves, dragons, and the mysterious robed figures of Alterra’s distant past. In properly devout fashion, the glittering Crown rode high in the sky, and Jonah the whale god swam in his heavenly ocean surrounding the land. A perfect sheet of glass covered the whole thing, the shimmering effect creating an even stronger sense of fantasy.

She tried not to shudder at placing such a horrific object, far more suited for nightmares than fairy tales, on top of it.

Mrs. Roma Norwood was one of her wealthiest, and therefore best, clients. The chubby woman, just shy of old age but doing her best to fight it, opened the bag and pulled out a glass case with brass fittings. She let out a deep sigh and cradled the hideous thing Loretta had just given her against her substantial bosom.

"I simply cannot understand how you're able to do this over and over again, Ms. Schofield."

"It's my pleasure, Mrs. Norwood," she said. "This one was difficult to locate, but I hope it's everything you were looking for."

Loretta had long ago stopped wondering why people wanted the things they did, wanted them so badly that they'd pay a fortune for something they only dared show a few others. Friends and neighbors as caught up in this sick mania as they were. As long as they paid well, and paid reliably, she didn't care.

"And you've never seen another one like it?" Mrs. Norwood said.

The woman stared at Loretta, her eyes heavily painted and made up, but pretty enough. That kohl and powder did help distract from the thick layers all over the rest of her face.

"No, Mrs. Norwood. Neither I nor any of my suppliers have ever seen anything like this before." Loretta leaned closer, the black leather around her waist and torso creaking. "None of your neighbors will have, either."

Those eyes were wider for a second before proper Mrs. Norwood leaned back into a most girlish fit of giggling.

"Oh dear, you've once again read my mind," she said. "If we're to be on such intimate terms, please do call me Roma. May I ask you a question? About a silly rumor I've heard?"

"Of course you may, Roma," Loretta said, bracing herself for whatever nonsense was to come. "One of the ways I keep my trade healthy is by keeping up with what my neighbors are most excited about."

Mrs. Norwood leaned forward and whispered.

"I've heard some of my friends talk about special items that come all the way from Aerohead, hidden away in the haunted houses there. That's why they're so rare and take so long to find. Do your treasures come from there?"

Loretta smiled, amused by the question. She'd started that little rumor herself a long time ago.

"You know Aerohead is dangerous," she said, shivering. "I imagine anyone brave enough to venture to that lost city would find wonders without number. If they survived."

She winked as she looked up at Mrs. Norwood.

Roma Norwood covered her mouth and giggled again before getting to her feet in a rustling, perfumed bundle.

"I'll just go speak to Mr. Norwood about the payment. May I take this little treasure with me? You know how seeing a thing helps men to understand the value. Poor dears."

Loretta inclined her head, and her smile was genuine. Neither Mr. Norwood nor any of the other spouses ever argued about payment, or the prices she charged. At least none of the houses she visited more than once. A husband, or a wife, who argued about such things would lose the services of Ms. Loretta Schofield—permanently.

"Of course you may," Loretta said. "I know I can trust you, Roma."

The older woman grinned, looking years younger despite the powders and potions caked onto her skin. She made a show of arranging her fashionably cumbersome rust-colored dress before she swept through the broad lattice-topped archway toward the back of the house.

Loretta took in a deep, perfume-free breath as soon as she heard the door to Mr. Norwood's study close. If the lady of this fine house hadn't wanted to take the thing with her, Loretta would have insisted.

She knew it was like any other treasure she mysteriously found, created in the night from whatever substance floated down out of the Aether and through a Builder's mind at the Ministry of Manifestation. It could just have well have looked like an ancient pocket watch, a stolen sheaf of top-secret military papers from Stensue, or a bundle of pressed flowers from a long-ago first date. All of the fake trinkets she peddled came from the same place.

The fact that the occupants of this particularly wealthy household were happy to believe she'd somehow procured the petrified left hand of a deformed child—a child with seven perfect fingers and a double-jointed thumb—was more than enough for Loretta to want the damned thing far away from her.

These negotiations between Mr. and Mrs. Norwood could go on for ages even though the outcome was never in doubt. Loretta stood and walked around the room, looking at the more conventional collection displayed all around her. Every little bit of information helped in her line of work.

Coin was never an object inside the walls of these fine old houses, by far the finest and most elaborate in all of Waldron's Gate, probably in all of Alterra. Loretta knew which houses held Directors, but what they directed made no difference to her. She was much more interested in what they, and their spouses, desired.

A burst of giggly, girlish laughter floated from the back of the house. Loretta rolled her eyes and continued her investigations. No matter how desperately her clients longed for anything new to set them apart from their peers, their routines inside their own homes rarely varied. She didn't want—or need—to know the particulars.

She knew the rittern would be forthcoming, and that she had at least another ten minutes to wait. She gathered her heavy black skirts and stepped closer to the fireplace.

The mantels might seem to hold the most important items in any of these houses, and in this case that meant the most expensive. The most expensive things the residents were willing to have on public display, at least.

Mrs. Norwood kept her decor fresh and surprising, with something different out on every visit. It never occurred to Loretta that Roma might have done that to impress her with what she already owned.

The only thing that ever impressed her in her clients' houses was the payment and how quickly it moved into her hands. The current seemingly careless arrangement of gems and stones, including a precious dragon stone, red at the heart and blue around the faceted edges, made no impression. She'd seen the real treasure vault only a few weeks ago, during her last visit.

That generally took at least four deliveries, sometimes more, but the people eager to engage Loretta's services were always just as eager to share what they already had. The premise was to make sure she understood what sort of things they liked, and of course to make sure there was no duplication. She never had any doubt that these wealthy collectors were as excited to show off to her as to any other trusted guest. Quite likely more so.

Her quick eyes and quicker mind noted the color scheme in this public area of the house: warm violets, yellows, and tans. The Norwoods had carefully, if not consciously, reproduced that same palate in the most private room in the house, but they'd shifted the hues.

That room, hidden behind a massive bookshelf filled with real, and rare, books, was decorated in much deeper purples, golds, and browns. The lighting in that secure inner room was tasteful yet effective. Every single macabre curio was displayed to its best possible advantage.

On the wall opposite the fireplace, Loretta found another clue to the hidden desires of this most demure and socially acceptable couple. A huge shadowbox, larger than Loretta could have lifted by herself, was filled with perfectly lifelike insects, every one pierced through with a color-coordinated enameled pin.

Some of the specimens were too foreign and strange to have come from nearby, and Loretta wondered if some of them had come from far distant corners of Alterra. She wasn't the only one trading in such strange and exotic items, even if she was by far the most successful.

Loretta had the advantage of never being limited by her clients' desires or their imaginations. She was only empowered by them.

She was leaning closer to a display of what looked like pressed flowers and leaves, wondering if any were of more dubious origin, when she heard the study door open.

Loretta settled herself on the sofa, arranging her skirt and her features appropriately. Not too eager, not too concerned, and definitely not showing too much leg. Polite interest was far more effective than smug certainty, and flirting wouldn't get her anywhere with Mrs. Norwood. With some of her neighbors, certainly, but not here.

Loretta had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep that carefully distant expression when Mr. Olsen Norwood walked in.

Mr. Norwood, Director of the Post for all of Alterra, Loretta reminded herself. He was not overly tall or large or even overly bald or pompous-looking like so many Directors were. This man was past middle age and not trying to hide it, and everything about his appearance was decidedly average. Short gray hair, perfectly tailored pants and jacket, polished black shoes.

Everything except his eyes. Cold and green, Mr. Norwood's eyes bored right through to Loretta's soul.

Roma was again beaming, her hand on her husband's arm and an entirely natural flush on her cheeks. Loretta got to her feet as gracefully as she could.

"Ms. Loretta Schofield, I'd like you to meet my husband, Olsen Norwood."

"Mr. Norwood," she said, this time with a proper bow of her head. "I'm very pleased to meet you, sir."

"Please, dear lady, do have a seat." Mr. Norwood appeared to fuss over his wife, helping her arrange her voluminous skirts, but his gaze never left Loretta's. He sat across from both of them in a high-backed upholstered chair. "We've been so well pleased with your efforts on our behalf over the past few months. I thought it was high time I met such a talented procurer. I did not expect such a lovely young maiden as yourself."

This time, Loretta felt color rising in her own cheeks. She was nowhere near Roma Norwood's age, but she was hardly what anyone would call young. And maiden was not a term she or anyone else had applied to herself since she was barely out of play clothes.

"You are too kind, sir," she said. "I have a strong and loyal network of suppliers who range far and wide for my most valued clientele. Such as yourself."

Mrs. Norwood giggled at Loretta's words, but the only reaction her husband showed was the twitch of an eyebrow. Flattery wasn't gong to work with this one, and flirting with him in front of his wife would likely be disastrous.

"I'm certain that would be an interesting gathering," Mr. Norwood said before he finally focused on his wife. Roma took his blatant cue.

"Ms. Schofield, speaking of gatherings, we're having a sort of a party here in a few weeks’ time," she said. "An after-hours affair, if you take my meaning. When I showed this most delightful addition to our collection to my husband, he was so pleased he suggested we invite you to join us."

She raised her hands, and the light of the fire caught the glass case. Loretta had been so focused on Mr. Norwood that she hadn't noticed the woman was carrying that hideous thing. He cleared his throat, regaining her full attention.

"I can promise you would make the acquaintance of a most interesting circle of friends," he said.

Those disquieting green eyes flashed back to Loretta, and she forced herself to look back without flinching. Nothing about this man put her in a social or relaxed mood. In fact, everything about him had her wanting to get out of here and never darken the door again, no matter how well and willingly he paid.

"Mr. and Mrs. Norwood, I certainly do appreciate the thought and the invitation." She bowed her head again as she got to her feet. "One thing about my endeavors is my clientele are generally eager to remain...unaware of each other. And I am duty and honor bound to respect their wishes. I'm sure you can appreciate how awkward it would be for those who were not in attendance at this party if I were to be recognized in a social situation."

Roma seemed disappointed, but her smile was sympathetic. She put the deformed hand gently on the display table in front of her and drew out a silvery beaded and embroidered purse.

Loretta turned back to Mr. Norwood, who was also standing. His smile was slight and not the least bit sympathetic. His eyes pinned her as effectively as those enameled insect pins. The light green even coordinated with the black of her garments.

"We all must run our businesses as we see fit, Ms. Schofield, of course," he said. "I do hope we'll be seeing you before too terribly much time has passed."

He held out his hand, and Loretta could think of nothing else to do but offer hers. His grip was strong, just on the edge of painful, but not as uncomfortable as his gaze.

"Indeed, sir," she said. "That would be my pleasure."

He stared at her until his wife finished fumbling in her purse, and Loretta remained frozen to the spot. When Roma spoke, her husband abruptly dropped Loretta's hand, turned on his heel, and strode out of the room.

"Thank you again, Loretta," she said. "I look forward to our next visit."

Loretta grasped the older woman's hands, mainly to hide the way her own were shaking.

"Thank you, Roma. I'll be watchful for your next treasure."

Loretta made her escape, walking as quickly across the huge porch and down the stairs as she dared. Once she was out of range of the windows, she increased her pace until she was almost running.

Nothing particularly sinister had happened back there, but every hard-won survival tactic and instinct was on full alert. She had no intention of ever darkening the door of that grand home as long as she lived.

That conviction lasted until Loretta was seated on the trolley and feeling calm enough to open her own black leather purse. She blinked, certain she had left her last payment in there by mistake. No, she remembered clearing out her purse the same way she always did before she headed out for a delivery.

Mrs. Norwood had given her more than twice her absurd asking price for that nasty piece of work, nearly three times the ritterns they'd agreed upon. With her husband sitting right there, it could not possibly have been an accident.

Loretta closed the bag, re-secured it in the folds of her skirts, and stared out at the rows of flowers passing her by. She'd taken a lot of difficult actions in her life, and made a lot of harder decisions.

The extreme generosity of Olsen and Roma Norwood had turned an obvious choice into a decidedly more complicated one.

Chapter 3

Karl jumped when a harsh buzzer sounded through the train. He'd gotten so far into pondering Andy's fears that he had no idea where he was. Almost everyone sitting around him in the first passenger car was quiet or downright grim. Hardly the usual ride through the countryside on an early Sunday evening. The only times he’d encountered groups who could be so somber or weary were heading out to the working-class neighborhoods of the Doer District back in Waldron’s Gate.

The people who’d been talking or seeming to enjoy themselves left the train as the shudders and jolts of detaching rear cars rumbled under Karl’s feet. Most were no doubt bound for the fishing village at the end of the public train line. Only a handful ever rode farther. The obvious reason was the restricted access leading out to Joffrey Columns, of course.

Karl knew there was another, deeper explanation, the same reason people who lived in Waldron's Gate hardly ever went to the Convenience. They both dealt with used up, discarded, often ruined things no one wanted to think about if they didn't have to.

The Convenience dealt with garbage. The Columns with minds.

A larger crowd than made sense for a remote fishing village walked under the Swan’s Gate sign in the middle of the narrow wooden platform, heading toward those empty cars. Neither the villagers nor the train conductors would pay any attention to how those women, and a few men, seemed to disappear once they were away from the station every weekend.

Karl knew without asking that quite a few of them would be going to the other end of the train line, then taking the trolley out to the Convenience. Employees at either extreme of society often didn't have the energy or optimism for relationships, especially at the Columns. That didn't mean certain physical needs went away. Quite a few people worked at one place or the other—likely both—filling those needs.

The head conductor, her dark blue uniform accented with generous amounts of brass echoing Constable Law back in the Gate, strolled through the nearly empty car. Karl held his badge in his hand, but she recognized him and most of the rest. She nodded at them, only checking the identification of a few before closing the front door of the car behind her.

The much lighter train, now only the engine and this one silent compartment, jerked back into motion. Karl closed his eyes, relieved that only the last fifteen minutes of a nearly two-hour journey remained. He had no desire to watch the empty, marshy grassland passing by after so many trips over the years.

When Karl opened his eyes, the train was approaching the towering front wall of Joffrey Columns. The dark gray stones were easily three times Karl’s height, broken only by a passage large enough for the steam locomotive to pass through. A metal strip circled the opening, the top black with soot from countless smokestacks. A heavy lattice gate made of the same metal stood to one side to allow passage.

On his first tour of the grounds before he’d ever taken the job, Karl had asked about that odd metal strip. It didn’t anchor the swinging gate, and it didn’t look thick enough to reinforce the stone blocks that were already wider than Karl’s long arms. That was his first experience with asking one too many questions out here, a habit he still struggled with.

After a sharp reminder to not ask about things that did not concern him, Karl hadn’t argued with the explanation of a solid steel floodgate hidden inside the top of the gate. The towers and massive pulleys at the very top that Karl decided not to ask about matched that story. The thing was no one had heard of a flood that high for hundreds of years.

Karl suspected those gates were built to be closed for other kinds of trouble, much worse than high water. No one he’d ever spoken to remembered them being closed for anything but safety drills.

The three-story brown stone building in front of Karl didn't quite block out the twisting brick columns in the distance when he stepped off the train. He'd never been out to that part of the Columns, where the worst of the patients lived. Human and otherwise. The nurses, orderlies, and flat-out hired muscle who worked out there mostly kept to themselves.

That was about what he'd expected when he took the job at eighteen: an escape from disappointment in himself and a life of abusing his body for not much pay. Getting the chance to use his mind had been a surprise, as was the odd sort of family he found when he left his first one behind.

Back then, Karl had enjoyed watching the giant platform turning the train around like an overgrown child’s toy, pointing it back toward the real world. Now he only joined the silent group streaming through employee entrance, decidedly less grand and intimidating than the one the train would pass back through. Karl had to duck to fit through the wooden door, and unlike the main gate, no one bothered guarding this one from the outside. Karl had passed through a matching gate on the other side that morning.

A few people murmured to each other on the long walk down the blandest corridor in all the land. The walls and ceiling were narrow strips of dark wood that had never been varnished or even sanded, the floor pale stone worn into tracks by countless shuffling feet. No one bothered upgrading to even the oldest dim electrics, leaving dingy gas lamps decades past their prime.

Karl suspected no one wanted the exposure of bright light here.

The end of the line, for this hallway at least, went far past bright to blinding. A scarred and battered wooden desk sat below several painfully glaring electrics, a bored guard behind it. Karl also suspected the bright lights here were on purpose, and that the guard was paying far closer attention than anyone knew.

Five plain wooden doors took up the large wall behind the guard desk, each with a rotating circle in the middle. Green or red, depending upon whether someone was inside for the inspection phase of returning to such a lovely workplace.

"Nice visit?"

Karl blinked, surprised anybody had spoken to him. He usually stood in the line, followed directions, got searched, and went on his way. No one had ever asked him anything so seemingly innocent.

The guard, a young guy Karl had never seen before, even smiled. He did take Karl's badge and record the number in one notebook before he crossed it off of another.

"Sure, same as usual," Karl said. "Family, you know. I live out here for a reason."

"Same here," the guard said, nodding. "Sometimes I wonder if we have the right people on the inside. Go on through. Room three is open."

Karl nodded and walked over to the door with the green circle. The guard waiting inside the small room was an older man he recognized.

"Gilmore," Davis said. "You know the routine. Turn out your pockets and strip. Anything strange happen?"

"No, sir. No more than a typical visit with my family. Didn't take anything out or bring anything in."

He emptied his pockets: a ring stuffed with too many keys, his badge, and some spare coin. Karl got undressed as quickly as he could. He didn't love this part of the routine, but it was indeed routine.

"Arms out, turn in a circle."

Karl did, watching Davis shake out his clothes. He'd thought a few times about telling his parents he wouldn't be visiting anymore because this took way too long. Annoying as the inspection was, that would be a bigger lie than he was comfortable telling.

"Get dressed and back to your apartment," the guard said. "Bit restless in there all day. They're asking for people not on shift to stay out of the way."

Karl stepped into the far busier main corridor, wondering what could have happened since he’d left that morning. He saw more gray-uniformed people walking past in both directions than usual for early Sunday evening, and they all seemed more than little bit nervous. It wasn't a full lockdown. Those were rare enough to fade to rumors, but telling folks to stay in at all was hardly normal. Whatever had the guard anxious was hitting everyone.

Andy had asked him to keep an eye out. Well, this might just be a good time to look around if everyone was distracted. He walked until he should have turned to the left to go to the staff apartments.

Without a backward glance, he turned right toward the medical records offices instead.

Karl stood up tall and walked with a purpose, wanting to look like he had somewhere to be even in his street clothes. He was getting a bit tired and frustrated with his job lately, but he didn't want to get fired or demoted for snooping, either.

He saw lights through the windows of several office doors he passed, but thankfully the records office was dark. He looked over his shoulder to make sure the hall was empty, then tried the door. Locked.

Karl pulled out his ring full of brass keys out and sorted through them. A buddy of his, another escapee from an all-Builder family, worked in maintenance and supply. Just a few weeks ago, he'd given Karl what he claimed was a master key, a special one that would open nearly any door in the place.

George Wood had been trying to work out how to make one for weeks, though he never would say why. Karl hadn't believed a word of it, but he hadn't tossed the key. He slid it slowly into the lock, expecting the key to break or nothing at all to happen. After a little shifting, the lock turned.

"I'll be damned..."

Karl opened the door and slipped inside, turning the lock again. He was in here all the time turning in new patient files or getting information, but he'd never been all that interested in looking around. The only thing he really wanted to learn more about was housed elsewhere, in the experimental medicine wing. He'd never manage to sneak into there.

And he couldn't get Andy's worried eyes out of his mind.

He started one of the gas lamps away from the door, leaving it low so it wouldn't be obvious someone was in here. The electrics were far too bright. The skylights let in more light than he expected, so it didn't take much.

The vast room was full of wooden-and-brass cabinets as far as he could see, and every one of them had several thick brown folders stacked on top. The whole thing was an overwhelming mess—one Karl had no idea how to start digging into for answers.

The huge number of new cases a couple of weeks ago that drove everyone to exhaustion could work in his favor. If the towering piles on every cabinet were any indication, this office was as short-staffed as Karl's nursing department.

He walked deeper into the huge office, lighting lamps as he went until he got closer to the windows. The sunset was still an hour or so away, and plenty of light was streaming through. Even with that, Karl couldn't get a handle on how things were supposed to be organized. Some of the labels seemed to be alphabetical, but the system started over again and again. He finally saw the cards tucked into brass holders on the cabinets at the end of each aisle.

They were organized by what was wrong with the new admissions, then alphabetically. Karl frowned, wondering if they possibly had that many patients to organize. He hardly ever went outside his own section, so this huge number he was unfamiliar with was entirely possible.

Karl kept walking, still not sure what he was looking for. He found sections for the people he usually cared for. Mania. Hysteria. Obsessive disorders. He knew what those were and exactly which of his patients suffered from each. Without more to go on, he'd never find anything.

His broad shoulders brushed against the stack of folders on top of the end cabinet for depth syndrome, the insanity that struck Builders who lost the way back to reality after getting too far into their work. Karl barely managed to keep the whole stack from falling over and going everywhere. Several of the folders did land at his feet, thankfully without spilling their contents. He picked them up, glancing at their covers.

"Hang on a minute..."

None of them had the same name, so these weren't just spillover storage. Karl pulled another stack down without seeing any kind of pattern. He was normally great at that if nothing else, spotting a pattern where no one else could see it. These patients had nothing at all in common. Unless...

Karl flipped through the folders again, this time looking at the dates of admission. That was it. These were new patient folders, in order by nothing more than those dates. And unless he was misunderstanding a strong hunch growing in his belly, he was looking at the big surge he'd noticed over the past few weeks. The same surge Andy had spotted.

He grabbed a few more folders and carried them to a long table by the window already overflowing with paperwork. Once they were laid out where he could see them all, another of Karl's talents he didn't give himself credit for kicked in. His memory was beyond good; it was as extraordinary as any Builder's. He recognized several family names he'd known all his life, and a few of the individuals.

Andy was right. Out of almost twenty new patients in a couple of weeks, more than half were from their neighborhood.

Karl got though the stack to the bottom before he realized he'd been straining to read the last couple. The sun had nearly set. He'd been digging through the files for over an hour. Cold sweat broke out all over his body at the thought of a watchman or someone on the cleaning crew walking in and catching him with confidential folders scattered everywhere.

Even worse, there was no rule at all to stop a new admission from coming in at any time during the day or night. If a Director walked in instead, Karl might be on the next train back to Waldron's Gate for a permanent stay.

He managed to get everything stacked up in the same order he'd found it, and remarkably close to the same twisted and tilted arrangement. He thought about grabbing a few pieces of paper so he could write down the names, but that seemed as bad an idea as hanging around here long enough to do it.

Better to just trust he'd remember the names when he needed to than to get caught with the lists. He doused the lamps one at a time behind him as he walked back out.

Karl stepped out into an empty hall, but he could still hear people hurrying around close by. He shook his head, not sure what had possessed him to do such a crazy thing to begin with. Almost as crazy as his patients.

That curiosity, the same thing that had gotten him in trouble as a kid and scolded as a green orderly, had apparently followed him into adulthood. That was all well and good until it got him fired. It was far past time to make himself scarce tonight.

If nothing else, he couldn't even ask questions if he ran into anybody. They'd just ask why he was wandering around the administration building if he wasn't supposed to be here.

He knew exactly who would gossip and who wouldn't on his shift in the patient residential areas and treatment rooms. Tomorrow would be soon enough to find out more. Especially if it meant keeping his job.

Chapter 4

Loretta paced back and forth in her study, turning her head with every turn of her body so she never looked away from her wall. Several lamps were on full brightness, and she knew the map better than she knew her own face.

Still she paced.

Maybe she was worried about going out into the night again, into the risky business of Building. Maybe this was part of her routine, what she needed to get herself and her nerves steeled. Maybe she was just giving her own excitement and anticipation the chance to get to a delirious fever pitch.

The only thing she truly still needed was full dark.

The map of the Builders' neighborhoods in Waldron's Gate was the largest she'd been able to find in any of the shops in town, nearly five feet to a side. She'd often wished for something a bit bigger, though this did serve her purposes quite nicely. Several colored pins and matching lengths of thread decorated the otherwise plain map, spiraling out from individual houses.

Loretta didn't need such a visual representation of her nocturnal adventures, but it pleased her greatly to have it.

A false wall with a boring but flawlessly executed painting was pushed back behind the bookshelves to her right, all the traps and warning devices disabled. She'd never had to put any of them to use since no one had ever entered her study. Again, she was pleased and reassured to have them.

Right now she was not reassured by the amount of time she had available to her. So many Builds, so little time.

She normally worked on Builds for at least a month, often longer if she had as many requests as she did right now. Her encounter with Olsen Norwood kept her uneasy in her bones. None of her other clients or anyone else acted strangely, but that didn't lessen Loretta's sense of danger all around her and her need to complete these Builds as quickly as possible.

She finally walked over to the map and touched the only pin with no thread yet attached to it, the head a rich, dark green. So far, she'd matched the pin to the main paint color of the first house in her circuit. That match was not always an easy thing with such elaborate decorating styles all the rage over the past few years. Sometimes it was simply a matter of picking the one she liked best out of half a dozen choices.

Loretta knew the Labine household well, as she did all of her best repeat customers. Her last visit had moved the resident Builder squarely onto the top of Loretta's target list. Mr. Labine, a clothier to many of the wealthiest families in Waldron's Gate, had finally trusted her enough to let her see their entire stomach-turning collection. Far too many of the items were unfamiliar to her. Even Loretta didn't want to speculate about how many of them may have been genuine.

What caught Loretta's attention was the private chamber's location right across the hall from the master bedroom, where she now knew the lady of the house slept every night. Mrs. Labine happened to be a high-ranking and well-respected Builder. She'd even confirmed Loretta's decision by helping her husband with the detailed description of the next curio they were seeking. The woman's strange wishes and desires would further Loretta's own ambitions. She'd sunk the green pin into her map that very night.

With one last glance at the street names surrounding her target, more to calm her nerves than to set it in her mind, Loretta closed the fake wall and reset the security devices. She turned to make one last check over her tools and supplies. She was already wearing her most critical disguise, a solid black leather garment that fit her tightly as any glove, as scandalous in that tight fit as in being formed into pants instead of a skirt.

The hide was nearly as soft as Loretta's own skin, so it wouldn't creak as she moved. The skinsuit was well reinforced with bone and steel where it counted. Her long, curly black hair was tightly braided and pulled into a low bun. She opened the matching black bag she would carry across her back even though she knew everything was inside.

The most important thing, her Dragon, was safe in a fitted case, with her gyro-compass tucked inside. Another small case held her headgear, matte black like everything else. A map she never needed and a large flask filled with cold water were the only other items.

Her clothing held pockets for all the weapons she could comfortably carry, though she'd never needed any on her Building nights: knives, a garrote, hypodermics, and a leaded club.

Her specially made tripod, expandable to taller than she herself stood, designed to be silent and nearly invisible with the wood and brass painted black, was folded into a cane.

Nerves worked off and appetite worked up, Loretta was ready.

Her most trusted guard was the only one allowed on duty on Build nights. Bess knew better than to ask too many questions. Her loyalty was unquestioned, and so was her participation. She was already hidden away in the secret compartment on the porch when Loretta locked her front door, held up one hand in silent thanks to the guard, and stepped out into the darkness.

Loretta walked slowly, confident she would be alone, but alert to anyone else out and about. Her eager mind switched from remembering which turns to make to running down the list of the night's Builds.

Loretta hadn't attempted the full nine her table could accommodate for a few months now. Losing a reliable Builder to insanity and Joffrey Columns had been more of an inconvenience than she would have imagined.

Her inner unrest drove her to take the risk, and to risk her new Builder's mind.

Her breathing was quick by the time she reached the house, the dark green of the roof, shutters, and scroll work looking as black as her clothing in the dim gaslight. Neither exertion nor anxiety quickened her lungs, but anticipation had. Keeping herself calm for the first Build after a long time away from it was always a pleasurable challenge.

She walked around the grand three-story house in a slow circle, watchful for any movement or lights within or without. Seeing, and sensing, nothing, Loretta stopped just below the bedroom window.

She slipped a brass catch free, and the three legs of the tripod separated. Loretta pushed them solidly into the ground before she raised the pivot to what she was certain from long practice would be the right height. With everything locked into place, she shrugged out of the pack and set it carefully on the ground. The Dragon was first, fitted against the tripod. She'd wondered why it had two bell ends unlike the massive Blunderbuss, but not enough to ask her wild Tinker grandmother.