The Dreamer's Curse

Alliance and Allegiance

[Chapter 20]

Matt slipped soundlessly through the window, casting a singular dark shadow across the wall. At first glance, the room looked like an unimpressive dormitory. The bare room’s blue wallpaper was peeling at the edges. Its space housed a blend of middle aged men and young adults, all asleep on their beds. The sixteen bed spacers, however, were not as innocent as they seemed. Each one of them was an Unpure Dreamer, capable of disrupting the entire fabric of time and space. Matt counted seven women and nine men, all dressed in traveling clothes despite being tucked in for bed.

Matt poked his head outside the window. Professor Fiddle and Mr March were hanging from a rope ladder. He helped them up, and they set to work.

One by one, they secured Trapper bracelets ‘round each Dreamer’s wrist. The only evidence of their protests were a few odd twitches here and there.

“Did ya get them all?” Professor Fiddle whispered. Matt nodded his head, relieved nothing had gone terribly wrong. He had the habit of expecting the worst, and in this line of work, it didn’t hurt to be cautious.

“Good,” Mr March said wearily. “Well, let’s rouse one of the little buggers. Lock the doors, Matt. This isn’t something we’d like others to walk in on.”

“There are worse things I could think of,” Matt muttered, swiftly turning the lock.

Professor Fiddle tied a young man roughly to a chair. His pale skin was sprinkled with brown freckles, his otherwise plain face far from consciousness. Fiddle unclasped the Trapper from the burly boys wrists, and his eyes flew open, panic written all over his face.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.

“We should be asking you that question,” Matt said, folding his arms across his chest.

“Matt, be nice,” Mr March warned.

Matt shrugged and removed himself from the young man’s side. He perched a leg over the window, casting a weary gaze over the street below.

“What is your name?” Mr March spoke in a kind clear voice.

The burly youth spat in Mr March’s face. Mr March’s left eye gave a twitch.

“Very well,” he said, wiping his face with a handkerchief. “Two can certainly play at that game.”

Mr March stooped down in front of the burly man and took a vile from his pocket.

“I’m normally a peaceful man, but tonight is not the night for hesitation.”

Mr March dunked the vile’s contents onto the burly youth’s hand. It seared red, as if it were burning, and no sooner had it changed colour that the hand began to disappear. The youth was hysterical.

“Wh-what have you done? My hand! My hand! Where is it? What have you done?”

Matt jumped from his perch, but Professor Fiddle held him back.

“Now, now, I’ll take more, of course. I’ll take more if you don’t cooperate. Now,” Mr March sighed. “Where were we?”

“He is getting his hand back, isn’t he?” Matt turned to Professor Fiddle, whispering in a low tone.

“Yes, yes, of course he is,” Professor Fiddle said impatiently. “Go back to your perch.”

Matt sullenly obeyed.

“If you cooperate, we’ll make this easier for you, Mike, was it?” Mr March was in the middle of saying. “Now, tell me, what the bloody hell are you all planning?”