Page 48 of The Devouring Time

Adrian’s expression sharpens with interest. “You said ‘should one of them perish.’ An interesting way of phrasing things.”

“Well, obviously they’ll die eventually, just like anyone else.” North waves a hand dismissively. “But so far they’ve been extraordinarily healthy. Indeed, one of the few actions they will perform unprompted is to protect themselves from even the slightest harm.”

My heart quickens. I’d held off Barney with a broken umbrella, when he could have simply swept it aside and chopped me up for his larder. That must have been the same overly protective instinct these men show.

“A bee once found its way inside, and the entire ward got up in perfect silence and hastily retreated into one of the halls, crowding as far away as possible from the creature,” North goes on. “There are other singular incidents, but that one was remarkable for its coordination. None of them attempted to swat it, just removed themselves from its presence.”

“And have you tried hypnotizing any of them?” Adrian asks.

“No—their illness is a physical one, I fear.” North sighs unhappily. “Just as going blind from drinking wood alcohol would be. Of course, we hope their brains will show some regenerative powers and their condition will improve.”

Or the enchantment they’re under will wear off. Could that happen?

Is it possible I was like these men after Hart drugged me? From what I’ve learned, it seems I was the opposite of passive. If someone told me to act like the head of the Timekeeper cult, or to leave Forgotten Folios, would that have been enough to animate me for long stretches at a time?

But for what possible end? None of this makes any sense.

“Is there anything else you gentlemen would like to observe here?” North asks.

Adrian glances at me, but though my mind is full of questions, I can’t ask the doctor any of them without sounding more disturbed than his charges.

“Is there anything—anything at all—that unites this group of men besides having drunk bad alcohol?” Adrian asks. “Social class, job, family life, anything?”

North shakes his head. “They come from all walks of life, and are everything from bachelors to fathers of twelve. Nor did they all visit the same speakeasy before succumbing.”

Adrian’s full lips press together. “I see. That makes things more complicated.”

“It does indeed.” North pauses, glancing from one of us to the other, then adds, “If you’re still interested in undergoing hypnosis, Mr. Caine, we can go somewhere more comfortable.”

I don’t have any other choice. We need any answers we can find, and the ones locked inside my brain might hold the key to everything. At the very least, recovering my memories will tell me whether or not I’m a murderer.

I straighten my shoulders. “Lead the way.”

33

We pass through the second half of the silent ward. Walking past the unmoving men is just as harrowing as the first time, and I’m grateful when we enter the next ward, filled with ordinary madmen.

Rather than return to his cramped office, Dr. North takes us to a small examination room on the third floor, just inside a ward set aside for patients who need more intensive medical care. The room is small, containing a stool, an examination table, a sink, and various cabinets and trays stocked with medical supplies. “Lie down on the table,” North tells me. “Mr. Evans, do you want to fetch another chair to sit? I’m afraid there’s only the one stool.”

“I’ll stand.” Adrian positions himself near the door. “Are you all right, Sterling?”

My nerves are live wires under my skin, and my belly roils with acid. If this works, if I learn I’ve done terrible things…

Then I’ll have to live with it, somehow. Just as I live with the memory of Emerson, dying slowly beyond our reach. Then returning as a dead man, perhaps for revenge, perhaps for some other reason I’d never discover.

“I’m all right,” I say, though I doubt he believes me. I climb onto the table and lie down as instructed.

“Are you comfortable?” North asks. “Do you need a blanket or another pillow?”

I stare up at the light fixture above. “No, thank you.”

“Then let’s begin.” The doctor sits on the stool. “Just relax and listen to the sound of my voice.”

I do as instructed. When he speaks again, North’s voice is soft and soothing, with a cadence like gently lapping waves against my ears. “Remember: you are in control of all that you see and hear. You’re safe in this room, in this time, and nothing you remember can harm you. Should your memories become too distressing, however, simply say the word ‘blueberry,’ and you’ll return to ordinary consciousness.”

That doesn’t sound too bad.

“Pick a spot on the ceiling to focus your gaze on,” he continues. “Just the first that catches your attention. Notice your eyes blinking. With every blink, your lids grow heavier, until you can no longer keep them open.”