Kitty Wittgenstein and the Sinister Society of Southpaws (5.5)

5.5 Observing The Observers

(note: to go to the beginning of the story, go here, to see all Chapter Five posts, go here and to see all Sinister Society of Southpaws posts, go here)


Of course, it wasn’t going to be as easy as all that. Sure, I now knew who he was and where I could find him. But the circuitous nature of the deductive process I’d needed to get there suggested something else.

Namely, that the Good Stuff guys were onto me as well.

After all, if I wasn’t being watched, then why wouldn’t the southpaws have contacted me directly. Just strode up and said ‘Hey, Kit. Do you want to help us prevent the future genocide of the world’s lefthanders?’.

Because, if they’d asked nicely like that, I would have, y’know, probably said ‘yes’.

Instead, we had this future memory nonsense and now the murder of Bonnie. Sure, there still remained a possibility that Bonnie’s death had nothing to do with the southpaw society. But I didn’t buy it.

Orlando noticed me looking around the park. He craned his neck and copied me.

“And what, exactly, are we looking for, Miss Wittgenstein?” he said.

“We’re being watched,” I said.

His neck decraned slightly. “Yes,” he said. “Comes with the whole ‘I’m a celebrity, perhaps you’ve seen me on the television riding horses who don’t want to be ridden’ thing, I’m afraid.”

I smiled, but continued to look.

He was right, of course. There were two groups of people in the park. The first group were too busy living their lives to have even noticed me. They were happily and sensibly going about their park business.

Then there was the second group of people. These people had spotted me. They’d tended to do a second take, gawp a little and, if in a group, taken to pointing and discussing with one another whether or not they should approach for an autograph.

I had no problem with either of those groups. People living their own lives and leaving me to live mine were obviously fine with me. And people who noticed, recognised me and thought it a notable event – well, they were fine with me, too.

But… I continued to look around until…

There, there and, uh, there were three members of a third group.

These three had seen me, but had not gawped, had not pointed, had not done anything. They’d just taken very careful notice of where I was and what I was doing. They’d pretended to be living their own lives, while doing nothing of the sort.

“Come on,” I said. I started walking towards the closest of the trio. She looked up, then back down, then to the other two. All too swiftly to notice if you weren’t looking for it.

But I was looking for it.

“Is that sinister1?” said Orlando.

“No,” I said. “It’s the other guys.”

“The ones who spend all their spare time in the future conducting experiments upon clones of your good self?”

“Yes.”

“Could I suggest then that we stride purposefully away from them,” he said. “Rather than the more ‘towards them’ kind of direction you’re currently working with.”

“No,” I said. I was sick of running. It felt as if I’d been running away from somebody or other this entire adventure.

It was time to confront things head on.

(to be continued)