“W-well,” I stammer. I wasn’t prepared to have to defend my theory as if it were on trial. “I haven’t finished looking through all the pages yet—”
“And the biggest question that remains for me is—?why?” Dr. Cliffton muses. “Why would this happen now, and here? Why would it affect us so far into the future—?punishment for people and towns that didn’t even exist when Shakespeare lived?”
“Well, I’m not sure,” I admit.
“As impressive as Shakespeare was, he didn’t have the power to see into the future—?as far as we know.” He chuckles. “And there’s no historical tie between us and Shakespeare, or even between Sterling and Stratford-upon-Avon.”
I nod. I hadn’t quite gotten around to thinking about why Shakespeare would be involved in a curse on three towns he’d never visited, hundreds of years after his own death.
“I think there are naturally a lot of ties to be found here,” Dr. Cliffton says. “He was quite prolific, of course, and one of the most influential authors in the history of literature. But I don’t think this is quite able to stretch large enough to give us the whole story.”
I nod, feeling deflated. They’ve punched gaping holes in my theory. If it and my ego were made of cloth, they’d both be in tatters.
Seeing my face, Dr. Cliffton says gently, “It was a good thought, Aila. Keep thinking along these lines. Maybe you’ll find something.”
“No, you’re right,” I say. “It doesn’t hold.”
“I better go,” Beas says, looking as deflated as I feel. I show her to the door and watch her walk away through the first flakes of snow.
Then I close Mother’s Shakespeare book and push it into the shadows under my bed, feeling foolish that after thirty-five years of Sterling’s mystery, I actually believed I would be the one to solve it.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Date: 11/11/1941
Bird: Red-breasted Nuthatch
Nuthatches build nests in holes of trees, then spread pitch around the entrance to guard against predators.
Every time they return to their nest, they risk death.
They must choose the right angle and fly straight in or become caught in their own traps.
The Virtues are only an idea.
But so were the Variants, at one point. So were all great inventions: nothing but a conception. So I start feeding the idea by reading everything I can find on the brain. Anatomy. Psychology. Emotional development. Even Aristotle’s works on ethics, virtues, and vices.
I read all day and ruminate at night when I’m deep in the mud of graves. I scratch out diagrams behind the pages of my bird drawings. The wisp of my idea grows.
It’s not so hard. I’m used to teaching myself the things I want to know.
I ask Victor Larkin to meet over scentless coffee in a café just outside Sheffield. It annoys me, the way he counts the money under the table and immediately glances down at his watch. He spoons a cube of sugar into his coffee. “I’m a little unclear why we needed a meeting,” he says crisply.
“I heard you invented something that might be of interest to me.”
Victor’s spoon stills, but the coffee keeps swirling around it. “And what would that be?”
“Hypnosis Variants.”
His head shoots up. I’ve caught his attention now. “How did you hear about that?” he hisses.
I lower my voice. “I grew up in Sterling. I know all about the Disappearances.”
He inhales deeply. I reach into my own pocket for my wooden bird. Set it on the table, easily within my grasp. “I’m not looking to take any control away from you. I’m looking to help you expand it.”
Victor sips his coffee and motions for me to proceed. “I’m a bit of an inventor, too,” I say. I stroke the wooden back of my bird. “I’m creating something to inject into the brain to separate out Virtues like Joy, Peace, Courage. Make them rise to the top like cream. Then skim them off and bottle them up, to sell. To use for later.” I relish the way his eyes grow wider, his coffee forgotten and growing cold on the table. “An extrapolation, if you will, of the Variants.”
“You realize something like this could even surpass Malcolm Cliffton,” he says. “That self-righteous bastard won’t have anything to do with me.” He rubs at the hair on his chin. “What do you need to get started?”
