Read Online The Lost Train of Thought by John Hulme - Free Book Online Page A

some far-off corner of The Seems. Becker even recognized an unused ounce of Sleep, which only underscored the truth of the handwritten banner that hung above the merchant’s head:
    “Man of Substance(s).”
    “I didn’t know your grandmother liked dazzleberry,” Blaque needled the merchant, then took another look inside the tarnished locket in his hand. “I’ll give you eight.”
    “We’re talking the essential building block of Reality here, my friend. Be reasonable. The lowest I can go is a Bill.” 16
    Fixer Blaque closed the case, then handed it back to the merchant.
    “Maybe I’ll just go see Powderfinger. He knows how to treat a customer.”
    Blaque threw a subtle wink at Becker, as if to say, “Sometimes you have to be willing to walk away,” and started to do just that.
    “Hey! Where you going, buddy? I’m just trying to make a living here.” The Man of Substance(s) threw up his hands. “Since it’s for a good cause, I’ll do it for nine—but that’s my final offer.”
    “And a very generous offer it is. I shall accept.”
    Fixer Blaque handed the coins to the vendor and the locket to Becker, who packed it into his Toolkit, along with the battery-powered Calling Card they’d purchased in case their Bleceivers malfunctioned in the Middle of Nowhere. The small metal square allowed users to project holographic images of themselves across great distances, usually to another Card holder.
    “Your uncle’s a real skinflint!” the Man of Substance(s) crankily called out to Becker as he and Blaque walked away. “Tell him money only grows on trees in A Better Place!”
    The Black Market totally reminded Becker of Englishtown—this outdoor shopping extravaganza in Jersey where he and his grandfather used to go— except much bigger and more exotic. There were endless rows of tables and booths, where shady characters hawked used Fixer Tools, pirated copies of the Plan, hubcaps, and square-cut french fries in brown paper bags. There was even an old Tinker selling T-shirts that read: “Stem The Tide: Bring Back Samuel!” And judging from his half-empty cart, business was booming.
    “How many more stops do we have, sir? The Trans-Seemsberian should be done switching over from coal to electric in about ten minutes.”
    “Plenty of time, son. Only one more item on the list.”
    Jelani Blaque hobbled forward on his walking stick as a group of licensed Bargain Hunters toting nets and coupons passed by.
    “I know you won’t believe this, Becker, but I signed that petition for your own good.”
    Becker wasn’t going to bring it up, but now that the proverbial elephant in the room was out in the open, he wasn’t going to avoid it.
    “So everyone keeps telling me.”
    “Take my word for it, when you start Fixing for yourself instead of The World, it’s a slippery slope. That’s how Hadley Eure lost her way, and Zachary Lake, and of course you know the story of Sir Reginald.” 17
    “I think I’m starting to catch your drift, sir. But imagine if you had to unremember Sarah or your kids. Even if you knew it was justified, would it make it any easier?”
    “No, it wouldn’t.”
    The two Fixers strolled silently for a while, cutting down a dark and trash-strewn alleyway. There were no tables here, only shadowy figures in dark alcoves, whispering of Fantasies and Frozen Moments stolen from the people of The World. Becker made eye contact with a woman in heavy makeup and costume jewelry who claimed to be a member of the Future Oriented, and she waved him toward her parlor. With a gentle tug from Blaque, he kept walking.
    As soon as they stepped back into the light, the duo found themselves in the Tamishantery, a district on the edge of the market where men in brightly colored robes did battle to offer the latest in Seemsian hat wear. Bee Bonnets, Chrome Domes, Big Wigs—even an old World-Beater baseball cap— were all hanging from hooks and ready to be placed upon prospective heads. But when Fixer