Nibs Wirewhistle's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

The bright trail still glowed on the security display across the room. Nibs stared at it from his stool. A thin red line ran from the records hall wall, down the corridor, and stopped at the crate under his desk. Under the desk, the carrier hummed with soft thumps. He had draped a blanket over the top, but a green paw poked through the wire door, and a blue face pressed against the plastic side. He had ten minutes before the hallway watcher made her round to the display and read the panel. He knew who walked that round. Down the corridor, past the billboard, a small booth sat beside the stairwell. A stool, a clipboard, and a mug marked the spot where the watcher perched between sweeps. She checked the panel at the top of every hour. Nibs had heard her boots that morning already, slow and steady, pausing at each doorframe. If she reached the display before the trail was gone, she would follow the red line straight to his stool. He pulled open the bottom drawer and lifted out a small ring of tightly wound copper, a spare coil from the relay repairs. He had watched a technician wave one near the panel last month and wipe a whole afternoon of tracks by accident. Nibs slipped the coil into his sleeve like a bracelet and stepped into the corridor. He heard her boots two halls over. He walked toward the display with his hands loose at his sides. At the corner, he stopped and peeked around. The watcher stood at the far end, back turned, marking her clipboard. Nibs slid to the panel, pressed the coil flat against the glass, and dragged it across the recorded line. The trail broke into gray static, then went blank. He pocketed the coil and stepped back around the corner one breath before her boots turned his way. He reached his station and sat down hard. Under the desk, the carrier shifted. A muffled squeak came from inside the blanket. Nibs pressed his boot against the door to hold it steady. The display across the room now showed a clean floor plan, no trail, no dots, no evidence of the night. He had bought himself the morning. But the goblins were still under his desk, awake and hungry, and the morning shift was climbing the stairs. He could hear their voices already, and one of them was asking who had left a blanket on the floor.