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“Why don’t you guys wait outside?” Dante suggests.
As soon as the others leave, Dante comes to my side and I see the same look of concentration cross his face. I know he can see the composition of Albert and the objects in the room, which should be enough.
“Can you see it?” I ask.
“I think so, but, Ad, I’m not as gifted as you are,” he says, squeezing my hand. “I can see Albert’s strands, but it’s obvious this is more advanced than simple alteration. You need someone with real training. Someone who knows the Guild’s handiwork better than I.” The statement peaks on the final word, and he leaves it hanging there. He knows Erik can alter, but he leaves the suggestion open.
“I know, but that’s why I need you,” I say with emphasis. “I can see the big picture. I can see how they’ve manipulated the time in here, and once I release it, he’ll need you to bind it off.”
“Tie it off?” Dante says, unsure.
“You’ll see. Watch his strands, once he’s released from the time of the room, he’ll be leaching time, sort of like bleeding, I guess. You have to stop the bleeding. That’s all.”
Albert in the meantime has remained in his seat, watching us with fascination.
“Are you ready for us to try, Doctor?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says.
“I can’t guarantee anything,” I warn him.
“I understand and accept that. The mortal man in me is—admittedly—a bit afraid. Not so much of death but of pain. It was not pleasant when they did this to me in the first place. But the scientist in me is eager for the adventure. Your abilities fascinate me.”
“You say that now,” Dante mutters.
I take a deep breath and focus on the room. There are many strands at play in the composition of it, but perhaps because it’s more reminiscent of the artificial weave of Arras, I feel oddly at ease. I understand how this room exists and how Albert exists within it. He is part of the larger tapestry of the house, connected to the sluggish time strands that lie within its permanent architecture—objects locked into place and time. In short, a house. The trick will be to rend him of them quickly and with as little pain as possible. I focus harder until I see Albert, his natural time allotment interlaced with the permanent time of the house, locking him into place. I have to separate his strands and sever those of the room. If I fail, if I accidentally sever one of his natural time strands, the results could be disastrous, but I try not to think about that.
“I wish I had a hook or something,” I mutter.
“Why?” Dante asks in a shaky voice.
“I need to rip something. It would be easier.”
“How did you rip through Arras?” Dante asks.
“I was really pissed off,” I admit.
“Can you channel that, but maybe over at the wall?” Dante suggests. “If you severed the time over there, we could pull it through his strands.”
This is why I asked for Dante’s help. His second set of eyes proves invaluable. I’d been planning on severing the time of the room within Albert, which might have gotten messy.
“It would help if I was pissed off,” I point out.
“You need help getting there? Let’s see. Kincaid betrayed you. Planned to alter you. Your sister is in the Coventry, and Arras knows what they’ve done to her. They’ve murdered your f-father.” Dante stumbles on the word. “Your whole world is built on lies. Am I helping?”
I feel the familiar ache of rage rising in my chest.
“And if you don’t do this, we’ll die at the Guild’s hands,” Dante adds softly. “They’ll kill me and him. They’ll kill Jost, Erik. If they don’t turn them into monsters first.”
Something snaps inside, something I’m unwilling to reason with or fight, and I reach out and rend the weave of the room. It splits down the middle in a jagged line. As it hangs open, the room around us starts to change. Furniture cracks and the walls crumble down. The room is unwinding on itself.
“I should have seen that coming,” I say.
“Albert!” Dante shouts. Before us he trembles, aging slowly before our eyes, withering as we stare in horror.
“We have to extract him now. He’s decaying with the room.”
Dante and I set to work, gripping the severed time strands and sliding them out of Albert, extricating him quickly from the fractured web of time in the room. With each strand that’s pulled through him, he spasms, but the aging slows and his breathing returns to normal. He still bears the marks of age from the accelerated entropy, but he’s free.
