Page 47 of The Devouring Time

But no, that doesn’t make any sense. A doppelgänger wouldn’t explain my loss of memory, or why I’d woken up in a room in Widdershins if it had been an imposter Adrian tracked there. Either I’m missing something, or Underwood’s delusions are nothing more than that.

“The thing to understand,” North says as he makes for the exit back to the quieter wards, “is that Mr. Underwood behaves rationally within the boundaries of his delusions. In the case of the investigator he attacked, he believed anyone might be an imposter and decided to act rather than wait for evidence one way or another.” He shakes his head sadly. “Sometimes, he believes I might be an imposter as well, and insists on questioning me in detail about past sessions to make me prove I am in fact the same person. Once he’s been satisfied as to my identity, the delusion loses its grip, and he speaks as any sane man would.”

Adrian raises a brow. “Is that good?”

“Oh yes! It gives me hope for his recovery. If I can discover the source of his delusions under hypnosis, then I can show him via logic that his fears are unfounded. His rationality will reassert itself in full, and he’ll be able to return to society a cured man.”

I doubt it will be as easy as North seems to think, but there’s no point in saying so. “I see.”

“Speaking of hypnosis,” North says as he shuts the door to the ward behind us, “shall we go ahead and put you under, Mr. Caine? I’m sure you’ll find it most enlightening.”

“The catatonic patients first, if you please.” Adrian gives him a pleasant smile, and I’m glad to let them talk, because my heart has started racing again at the thought of being hypnotized. “We encountered a man in a similar state, but he was being cared for at home by his mother. I’d like to know if they all present in the same manner.”

North nods. “Of course, though I fear you’ll find any interaction with them unenlightening.”

He leads us up to the second floor, which proves to be identical in every way to the one we’ve just traversed. “At least they’re easy to care for,” he says, unlocking the door into the ward for unexcited patients. “The most docile group of patients I’ve ever encountered. You’d think the nurses would fight for the chance to be assigned their care, but I’m told this is considered the worst placement in the hospital at the moment.” He chuckles. “Imagine.”

The moment we step beyond the door, I understand exactly why none of the staff want to spend any more time here than they must. The only sound is the breathing of a hundred men. Not even the rustle of clothing breaks the absolute silence.

They line the corridor, standing in groups outside of their assigned rooms. Faces slack, bodies unmoving, eyes fixed straight ahead. Like oversized dolls left behind by a bored child.

They come in every shape and size, but wear the identical institutional clothing, the same vacant expressions. As if every hint of personality has been wiped away from them.

The cannibal, Barney, hadn’t struck me with such horror. Or rather, he had, but of a different sort. But that was because his mother’s orders had animated him; had she not been there, we would no doubt have encountered him exactly like this.

A shriek from our left makes us all jump. A female nurse leans against her desk on the other side of the wired glass separating the attendant’s station from the hallway, her hand pressed to her chest. “I’m sorry, doctor—you gave me a fright.”

North frowns at her. “You must be alert at all times, Nurse Driscoll.” He thaws a bit. “Though I suppose it is easy to let down one’s guard in this particular ward. Still, don’t let it become a habit.”

“No, sir.” She bobs a curtsy. “Is there anything I can assist with?”

“Nothing at this time.”

We continue on past the line of watching, immobile men, and every hair on my neck stands up. Though they seem to be ignoring us, my mind insists that if I look back, it will be to find all of them have turned to stare.

Cursing myself for a coward, I glance over my shoulder—and discover none of them have moved at all. Just my wrecked nerves getting the better of me.

We reach the twin parlors, where a small scattering of men sit in chairs, as motionless as their fellows. “Does their condition match that of the man you met before?” North asks.

“Not really,” Adrian says uncertainly.

“But his mother was giving him orders,” I remind him. I glance at North. “Do they take direction, or…?”

“Like a charm.” He walks over to the nearest seated man and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Stand up.”

The patient immediately stands, though his expression doesn’t change in the slightest.

“Tell us your name.”

“Ernie Quill.” The words come out in a monotone.

“Can you please go stand in front of the door to your room?”

Quill immediately complies, shuffling down the hall until he joins two other men in front of one of the doors.

“As you see, they are utterly compliant in all things.” North shakes his head sadly. “The nurse has but to tell them to wake in the morning, put on their uniforms, and go to breakfast. They eat, bathe, and do everything else with complete competence. I suspect, should one of them perish, the autopsy will advance brain science by decades, since clearly some very specific part of that organ has been damaged.”

Or the effect is one of magic, but I can hardly say that.