Dreamquake: Book Two of the Dreamhunter Duet by Elizabeth Knox

subsided to shivers, Laura’s eyes kept trying to shut themselves again, so she got up and went to sit on the sill of the low doorway in the cold morning air. From there she watched the Isle come to life, its bridges fill with cars, carts, and pedestrians. She watched the men at work on telegraph poles, putting up wires for the new phone system that was slowly spreading its way around the city. She watched the smoke of trains passing across the two bridges that linked the west bank to the Isle, and the Isle to the east. This was a commuter line; it came in from Founderston’s western suburbs through villas and parks, then past Founderston Girls’ Academy. It passed through the district that held the museums, galleries, libraries, and government buildings, after which it crossed the river, went through a tunnel builtunder the wide plaza before the tower of the Regulatory Body, and left the Isle by a bridge to the east. The line then passed through the Old Town and terminated at Founderston Central Station, with its rail yards, warehouses, station hotels, circling cabs, and rail lines on to long-distance destinations. Laura watched all the traffic, and birds passing above and below her. The sun came out of the clouds and warmed her where she sat. She ate an apple.
    Midmorning she felt the vibrations on the ladder, and shortly afterward a head appeared over the horizon of the dome. It was Father Roy. He was followed by a man in a white robe, with a golden beard and a square, brimless white hat.

5
     
    ATHER ROY REMAINED BY THE DOOR, AND THE GRAND PATRIARCH, ERASMUS TIEBOLD, ADVANCED AROUND THE CONCAVE table—the screen for his camera obscura—till he realized that the girl would continue to drift away from him, trailing her damaged fingertips around the rim of the tabletop like someone house-proud checking for dust. He came to a standstill and started to talk. He spoke softly. “I thought I would give you some time to reflect,” he said.
    Laura Hame had reached a point equidistant between Father Roy and himself. She stopped and looked at him. “Where’s Aunt Marta?”
    “She is at home with Downright and the estimable Mr. and Mrs. Bridges.”
    “So, she left me to you.”
    “Yes. You do know that we are kin, Laura. Your Tiebold grandfather was my cousin.”
    The girl nodded.
    “And when you sent me a letter, you gave me a certain amount of responsibility for you.” The Grand Patriarch produced the letter and laid it on the tabletop. Then he told Father Roy to close the door. Laura stumbled against the wall away from them, but once the door was sealed and the imagefrom the twenty-four-inch lens and forty-inch mirror of the camera obscura flowed in full, brilliant color, the girl came back and stood staring at him, her face lit from below. The Grand Patriarch pointed at the camera housing. “Can you reach that handle above your head?” he said.
    She put her hand on it.
    “Give it a turn.”
    She had to use both hands and hang her weight on the handle to bring it down. The camera moved with a hollow, rolling noise. The image swam, and the east bank of the Sva swung into the light as the bridges to the west slid away into darkness. Laura stopped winding and looked down on a slightly different slice of the city.
    “Does it make you feel godlike?” the Grand Patriarch asked. “Like a hidden and disembodied witness?”
    “No,” said the girl.
    The Grand Patriarch touched the image on the tabletop. “Why did you write to me?”
    “I wrote to the Director of the Regulatory Body and the editor of the
Founderston Herald
as well.”
    “And none of the letters were signed with your name?”
    “No. They are all signed ‘Lazarus,’ and I had someone else copy them out for me.”
    “Why disown what you chose to do?”
    “I did what my father asked me to do. It was his idea. There wasn’t any other way.”
    The Grand Patriarch made a gesture—putting that aside for now. “I can’t question your father about his