cut.
A three-headed dog now stepped out of the shadows of the black figure’s cloak, growling and slavering.
With one head, it bit into the flesh of Telegonus, and began to drag the corpse backward, back into the shadows of the cloak.
The other two heads turned. One toward me, one toward the shivering cot.
A cold voice spoke. “Not these two, my pet. Very soon, my brute, but not yet. Grendel has a place prepared him in my domain, where he shall discover how weak and temporary is the pain his crimes inflict on others, when compared to perfect and eternal pain. As for the girl, it seems she comes to me in slices. This Phaethusa, on the morrow may be gone, and only Amelia, amputated in her memory, bewildered, will remain.”
Once again, I had the intuition or impression that Telegonus was blocking the force radiating from this being, turning unseen thoughts into words. But now I could see the little light in the palm of the gauntlet flickering, as if in pain, as the cold force passed through it. It was Telegonus. That little light was him, the real him.
The gauntlet closed; the light was quenched.
At that moment, I woke in my cot, back in my cell.
4.
That morning, with no ceremony or ado, Dr. Fell and Mestor the Atlantian, Miss Daw and Nurse Twitchett, and Headmaster Boggin came down the corridor. Behind them, I could hear the stumping tap of Grendel’s wooden leg.
Mestor was dressed in a dark suit and buff overcoat. He had bags under his eyes and did not look well.
I sat up in my cot with a rattle of chain. Miss Daw unlocked the bars and opened the door. She then turned and blocked the door. She said, “Headmaster, it is not proper for a girl to receive visitors clad only in her nightthings. Please take these men out of eyeshot while Sister Twitchett and I clothe Miss Windrose.”
Boggin said jovially, “Ananias is a doctor; I am certain we can trust in his discretion. Dr. Fell, if you please? And as Miss Windrose may soon be asleep again in a few moments, there is no need to change her. Mestor and I will stay here, and check the environment for any other clues of the disturbance we had last night.”
Mestor said, “The Wild Hunt was called by Bran; and the damned souls rode the storms, looking for one of their own.”
Boggin touched him on the arm, and squinted, making the smallest possible shake of his head. “Let us not disturb our young guest here with news that does not concern her.”
“Why not?” said Mestor. “The girl isn’t going to remember anything in an hour anyway.”
I clutched the starchy blanket in front of me. “What are you going to do to me?!” I shouted. “Why am I not going to remember anything in an hour?”
Boggin, ignoring me, said in a kind voice to Mestor, “Ah, my dear friend, not only have you frightened one of my girls here, you have evidently forgotten how much you owe me, and how much you still have to owe. I see that the full, ah, import, I am tempted to say, the full ‘pressure’ of the facts governing our new relationship together have not been made… ah… pellucid to you.”
Saying that, without a single change of expression, he took Mestor’s hand in both his hands. Before Mestor could blink or think to turn his hand away, Boggin put both his thumbs on the other man’s pinky finger and flexed his hands, like a man snapping a wishbone to make a wish. There was a crack as Mestor’s little finger broke. Mestor screamed and fell to his knees, astonished by the sudden pain and shock.
Miss Daw and Sister Twitchett turned away, shocked. Dr. Fell had not bothered to look up at the commotion.
I was the only one who saw Boggin bend down to Mestor, who was sobbing, clutching his hand to his belly.
I saw Boggin’s lips move and I caught the smallest whisper of what he said in Mestor’s ear. I was able to piece together what he was whispering.
“And I am not sure, dear friend, I have made it clear how upset, yes, I might even say, angry, your attempt to take our dear Miss Fair to your dreary, dank city of slaves made me. The thought of that young innocent with your fingers touching her… well, it was not a pleasant image to me.”
Boggin straightened up. He cleared his throat and said in a normal voice, “Ananias…? Could you see to this after you are done with Miss Windrose…?”
Dr. Fell said, “Of course, Headmaster. The infirmary never runs short on business when you are around.”
“What was that, Ananias…?”
“Nothing, Headmaster.”
I had jumped out of the cot at this time, and had backed up in the cell as far as the chain would allow. Dr. Fell and Sister Twitchett rather matter-of-factly closed in on either side of me, and grabbed my arms. The Sister was strong, but I could feel her grip getting unsteady as I tugged against her; Dr. Fell’s hands were like the vice grip of a machine.
I screamed.
“Less noise, please,” said Dr. Fell.
I screamed to Miss Daw, “Don’t let them do this to me, Miss Daw! Please!”
She said in a voice emotionless and remote: “The choice is not mine to make, child.” She turned and handed a small key to Grendel, who was limping in short half-hops past where she stood. He had not been maimed long enough to learn how to walk one-legged with any grace.
She said to him, “You will have to unlock her, Grendel. None of us can work the lock.”
He scowled at the key and snatched it gracelessly from her hand.
I tossed my body with all my strength back and forth in the grip of Twitchett and Fell. Twitchett snorted when my flying hair slapped her in the face. I screamed and panted and arched my back and kicked with my legs.
I saw Grendel, staring at my writhing, struggling body in fascination. His expression slipped for a moment. Instead of the normal lust he might have felt seeing a helpless and nubile girl writhing around in a torn nightshirt, something like pity flickered in his eyes. He didn’t like seeing me hurt. Maybe, in his perverted mind, he wanted me to be afraid, but he only wanted me to be afraid of
Reality slipped a bit, too. One of my higher senses flickered on, like a bruised eye prying its lids open for a moment.
I could see Dr. Fell. He looked… more flat… than the other people in the room. As if he were just made of matter, a random clockwork made of atoms, nothing else. I saw the drugs and potions he was carrying in a little case clipped to his belt. Atomic structures glistened in rows and long chains, suspended in the fluid of several hypodermics.
Time to do something. I was not sure what. Something.
I saw time-images overlapping the light-picture. In these images, one of the needles was destined go into my arm; one of the drugs was going to affect my nervous system.
I bent that world-line into a knot. The controlling monad for that group of chemicals was inert, and the final causes of the atoms were deterministic, controlled entirely by Newtonian cause-and-effect. The monad tilted in the Fourth Dimension and came awake, bringing its meaning-axis to bear. Quantum uncertainty increased in the atomic mixture. No different than what I had done to restore Quentin’s memory to him. New branches and stalks erupted on the monad’s tree of possible futures. It was no longer determined and inert.
It was done. The chemical in the hypo now had free will.
I found an energy wave passing between me and the controlling monad for that atom group. I impressed a communication force into the wave, and it passed on to the monad. I asked it not to hurt me.
The echo was an emotional wave, not words. But it was a feeling of puppyish friendliness, a sort of, “OK! Whatever you say!” enthusiasm.
Miss Daw saw it. She opened her mouth to speak.
