Chapter Text
“There’s not a chance in buggery that you drank the whole thing in only fifteen minutes.” Nurse Aubermill set the empty pitcher back down with a thump. “You’d have made yourself sick trying to do that.”
Garrett groaned. Tugging the blanket further up over his head he buried his face in the pillow and tried to will away the fog and the incessant headache that only seemed to be growing worse. He’d tried to dump the pitcher out a little at a time just like the others but, filled to the brim, it had been so much heavier. Too heavy, and slick with condensation. As soon as it tipped he’d lost his grip and sent a waterfall down the tiles instead of the steady trickle he’d intended. He’d fumbled to right it, but far too late. Nothing left but to return the empty pitcher to the chair and hope that Nurse Aubermill would fail to check his supposed progress. He should have known it wouldn’t work. Pretending to sleep wouldn’t work either; his head already hurt enough without her shaking him again.
“Did you spill it by mistake?” She patted the blanket and let out a puff of air between her teeth on finding it dry. Turning to the windowsill she reached for the candlestick. “What did you—”
The splash underfoot was faint but unmistakable. She crouched, pulling the edge of the blanket up to peer under the bed.
“I see.”
Nurse Aubermill let out a heavy sigh. “Thirty-one, I need you to talk to me. Can you do that?”
Garrett curled tighter under the blanket. Maybe if he ignored her for long enough she’d give up and leave him alone.
“Look at it this way. You have two options. You can either talk to me now, or I can tell Doctor Stedmann what you’ve been up to and she can talk to you instead. What would you like to do?”
The blanket bunched in his fist. He couldn’t help but notice that neither option included her leaving him the hell alone. She could pester him all she liked later—no doubt she would anyway—and maybe he’d even listen. Later. After she let him sleep.
She tugged the blanket out of his hands and peeled it back. “Enough of that. I know you’re tired, but you need to stay awake. At least until Doctor Stedmann sees you.”
Garrett slowly rolled over to face her, fingers clutching for the sheet as the room lurched around him. Eyeing the empty pitcher he contemplated throwing it at her. It would only cause him more trouble. From what he’d seen over the past fortnight he didn’t think Nurse Aubermill would get angry or retaliate, but Doctor Stedmann would be certain to hear about it. If she saw anything from him hinting of violence, or if word got back to her that he wasn’t cooperating, she’d threaten him with the restraints again. He couldn’t risk that, however tempting it might be to take whatever petty revenge he could manage.
Nurse Aubermill tilted her head sideways and ducked a little to look him in the eye. “Right now you’re feeling lousy. In fact I’d go further than that. You feel like something they dragged out of a ditch. Like the fourth day of a three day hangover.”
Was there a point to this? He’d feel fine if she’d just let him sleep. As soon as the throbbing static in his head subsided and his limbs stopped cramping. He rubbed at his forehead, blinking in confusion when his hand came away dry. Too hot. There was no air in here—no wonder he felt sick—shouldn’t the window be open? Craning his head past her, he stared dully at the window. Already open. Then why—
“There’s a reason you feel like this. No, look at me. Thirty-one, look at me.” Cool fingers pressed against his cheek. He couldn’t bring himself to jerk away as she pulled his attention back. “You were downstairs too long and got too badly dehydrated. You won’t feel any better until you can drink enough to replace everything you lost.”
No. That couldn’t be right. Douglas already drowned him—the last thing he wanted was more saltwater. Garrett groped around for the blanket, wanting nothing more than to pull it over his head and block her out. He was just tired, that was all. And hot. There was no air—why wasn’t there any air?
“You didn’t drink any of the water before you threw it on the floor. Or anything at all since Douglas left you. Am I right?” She watched him for a moment, clearly expecting something. He stared back, uncertain what she wanted from him. “I’ll take that as a yes. Thirty-one, if you don’t drink something, and soon, you are only going to feel worse and worse. If you keep this up then you are going to die.”
He peered blearily up at her, searching for confirmation she was lying. She had to be.
“I’m not about to let that happen, but it’ll go a lot easier if you can stop fighting me. Let me help you.” She reached for his hand, gripping it gently between her own. It took a moment before Garrett remembered to pull away. “Talk to me. What do I have to do to help you cooperate? Are you scared of something?”
Scared? Of what? Was there something he ought to be scared of?
“It’s just water. I can drink some as well if that’ll prove to you that it’s safe. Or do you need me to wake Douglas so he can sit with you again?”
Garrett blinked at her, uncertain he’d heard correctly. What would possess her to think Douglas would make any difference? Granted, Douglas hounding him had been the only thing keeping him awake—he wasn’t sure how long it had been since … Since what? He’d been … somewhere. Erin was alive. Somewhere. He’d seen her, he was sure of it. Why am I alone, Garrett? Don’t leave me alone. Had he slept? He must have, else why the shaking? He’d swear his bones still rattled.
“I don’t want to force you. I’m sure you don’t want that either, but you’re not leaving me much choice here. Talk to me. I can’t help you unless you tell me what you need.”
Lock picks. Erin needed lock picks, for … for—
“Tell me why you won’t drink the water.”
“Salt.” He didn’t recognise the strangled croak. Was that really him?
“That’s the problem? It tastes bad?” Amusement. Or exasperation, he wasn’t sure which. “Doctor Stedmann will have to approve it, of course. But if losing the salt means you’ll cooperate, then we can work with that.”
Losing the … he’d lost something? Lock picks. Garrett glanced around the room. His things were missing, but he could improvise. He was good at improvising.
“I’ll speak to Doctor Stedmann as soon as she gets in. In the meantime, I’m going to fetch you some water with no salt in it, and you’re going to drink it for me.” She offered him a smile. “And no more throwing it on the floor. I don’t know about you, but I’m not fond of paddling.”
A door clicked shut nearby. Garrett ignored it. He was too tired to worry about that now. He just needed a minute. He could find his lock picks in a minute.
****
Something shook him awake. A figure stood over him, blocking the pale rosy light that crept in through the window. Garrett rubbed the grit out of his eyes and blinked away the fuzzy images. Nurse Aubermill smiled brightly at him as she set something down on the chair beside the bed. Two tin mugs sat on a silver tray. Two?
“Come on, up with you. You’ll only spill it over yourself if you drink it lying down.” She tugged the blanket out of his hands and pushed it down toward the foot of the bed. “Do you need help?”
Garrett shook his head and winced as the stabbing in his temples spiked with the movement. Rolling onto his side he worked an elbow under himself and pushed upright. Dizziness swept over him immediately his head left the pillow. Hands caught him as he toppled forward.
“You’re alright. I’ve got you.”
He didn’t want to cling to her as she helped him sit up. Even just the thought of needing help rankled. He couldn’t afford to rely on anyone; being vulnerable was dangerous. But even as every instinct itched to push her away, he found his fingers latching into the folds of her sleeves, grasping for something—anything—solid to cling to as the room tilted sideways. He berated himself for being weak, but he still couldn’t force his grip to loosen.
Nurse Aubermill steadied him as he dragged himself higher up the bed. He grabbed for the bedframe, curling himself around one of the extra pillows. Once he was settled she passed him a mug and took the other for herself as she sat on the edge of the bed. His gaze flicked up to meet hers but couldn’t hold it. Garrett dropped his head and glared suspiciously at his mug to avoid the expectant look on her face. Cradling it between his palms he squinted at the contents.
“It’s water. Only water, no salt.”
It seemed innocent enough. It held no salty whiff, nor any bitter hints of poppy.
“Once you’re feeling better, I think you should start joining in a little more with the others.” She tapped her own mug thoughtfully with a fingernail before taking a sip. “We’ve given you a couple of weeks to find your feet, but I’m not so sure keeping to yourself so much will help in the long run.”
Garrett swirled the water in his mug, avoiding the intent gaze that saw too much. It was bad enough he had to spend all day every day in the dining hall surrounded by patients. His room was no less a cage than anywhere else in Moira, but it was the only refuge he had. He might be trapped, but at least locked in his room he could be alone. From the patients, at least. He had no protection against nurses or attendants invading whenever they felt like it.
“I’m not suggesting you have to be the life of the party,” she clinked her mug against his before drinking herself, “but there are a few things we could have you doing.”
The water was lukewarm and flat and the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. One cautious sip led to another, and another. Thirst roared into life and before he realised it he was gulping it down as fast as he could. His lungs started to burn but he didn’t, couldn’t, stop for long enough to care.
Something tugged the mug down. He yanked it back but couldn’t break the solid grip.
“Calm down, I’m not taking it away from you. You’ll choke trying to inhale it like that. Sip it slowly.”
Garrett snatched at the mug and spluttered as water splashed in his face. He tried to slow down, he really did, but the desperate thirst crowded out every conscious thought. In seconds it was gone, as much spilling over himself and drenching the pillow as made it inside of him.
Dropping his empty mug his gaze flicked to Nurse Aubermill, and the second mug she held. Water. He lunged for it, the iron bedframe creaking at the sudden jerk. She slipped down from the edge of the bed and held it up out of his reach. Outstretched hands closed on empty air. Blue light boiled and writhed and fell away.
She sighed and shook her head at him. “Not yet. You need to wait a while before I can let you have any more.”
Garrett glared at her, his fingers clutching white-knuckled at the bedframe to stop himself falling as vertigo rushed through him. She couldn’t take it away now, not when he … he needed—
“If we’re going to do this without salt then you need to take it slow, or you’re going to make yourself ill.” Nurse Aubermill deftly sidestepped his clumsy grab. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes with more. Try to get some rest.”
Garrett couldn’t tear his eyes away as she took the water away with her. As soon as the key scraped in the lock he snatched up the mug he’d dropped. Still empty. Not even a dribble left in the bottom. Heat surged in his chest, stole his breath and spilled over. He hurled the mug at the door and took fleeting satisfaction at the loud thud and the dent left behind.
The pillow was damp and cool. He pressed his forehead into the wet patch and screwed his eyes shut against the throbbing in his temples. Fifteen minutes. Assuming he could trust her. What if she’d lied? What if she forgot to come back? Did she even plan on coming back?
Garrett curled his fingers into the pillow as he breathed out slowly and deliberately. Panicking wasn’t going to do him any good. He couldn’t afford to become this dependent on anyone. But finding water for himself was out of the question. He’d already proven he couldn’t sit up on his own. Just a few paces away, the door may as well be the far side of Cinderfall for all he could reach it. Even if he somehow made it across the room, until he found—or fashioned—lock picks he was going nowhere.
Douglas had given him water. Where was Douglas? Garrett dug his knuckles into his eyes, struggling to think past the fog. She’d … she’d sent Douglas away. To rest. Did that mean Douglas would come back once he’d slept? He couldn’t remember how long it had been. Long enough. Long enough that two pitchers full of saltwater puddled on the floor under his bed. No, three. There’d been three. Maybe? He shouldn’t have thrown them away. Briefly he considered somehow getting at the puddle, and shuddered with revulsion. If they caught him even thinking something so degrading it’d give Doctor Stedmann all the evidence she needed to brand him a madman.
One step at a time.
She already had.
****
Garrett stared at the door but it still wouldn't open. She’d taken the water away. She’d promised him fifteen minutes, and part of him even wanted to trust her. But each successive heartbeat lingered and hung in the air, falling like rain that drained through his fingers and slipped away.
The cold bedframe against his cheek startled him. He hadn't noticed his head dropping but raising it again felt far too difficult. What would be the point? The air around him felt paper thin and he watched, listless, as the wall opposite his bed slowly rippled. Maybe Erin wasn’t so far away after all.
The door handle turned but he couldn’t summon the energy to look up. Instead he closed his eyes and just listened as footsteps crossed the room toward him. He knew the tread and it wasn’t her. He should have known she’d forget him. If she’d ever intended to come back at all.
“Good morning, Thirty-one.”
Of course it was.
“Are you awake?” Cool fingers brushed over his forehead. “I’ve brought water for you. If you talk to me then I can let you have some.”
Water? A spark of interest kindled. It was a trap. It had to be. Everything here was a trap. He didn’t care. She could trap him all she liked if it meant she’d give him water. Nothing responded at first, but he kept trying until his eyes opened.
Doctor Stedmann smiled at him. “You’ve had a rough few days. How are you feeling?”
Throat dry and dusty, it took several attempts before he could force words. “I’m fine.”
She laughed. “You could at least attempt to sound convincing. You want to try that again? How are you feeling?”
His gaze fell on the mug in her hand. He wanted to make a grab for it, but didn’t dare move. She’d take the water away again if she thought he wasn’t cooperating.
“Like shit.”
“That might be the first honest thing you’ve said to me since you got here.” Doctor Stedmann held the mug out for him. “Don’t try to hold it. The way you’re shaking you’ll only drop it, and Nurse Aubermill tells me that you’ve already spilled more than enough for one day.”
Swallowing the water washed away some of the muffling fog. He couldn't hold back the soft whine of protest as she pulled it away, far too soon. The bedframe creaked as he gripped it harder, trying to stop himself from snatching at the mug.
“I thought this would be a good opportunity for us to talk. What do you think?” She pulled the chair over toward the bed and took a seat, the mug balanced almost casually in her lap. Still almost half full.
Garrett forced himself to look away from the water. He couldn't risk her knowing how badly he needed it. She'd only use it against him. A faint sparkle at the side of her head caught his attention. He rubbed at his eyes to clear the worst of the stickiness gumming them shut. Stray light from the window glinted off the silver comb pinning tight black curls away from her face. Careful to avoid moving too quickly and risk making the dizziness worse, he tried to pull himself higher. Something so pretty seemed out of place here.
“First of all, I need you to understand that what happened was not a punishment. You are not in trouble for anything. Can you understand that?
He nodded, keeping one hand pressed to his temple in a futile attempt to hold back the headache blurring his vision. He'd say anything she wanted to hear if only she'd give him water for it.
“I don't want you to be scared by what happened. The sensory deprivation therapy should have ended the moment you started getting into distress, and I promise you they will take better care in future.”
Garrett narrowed his eyes. She was talking as if she intended to repeat this therapy. As if there were anything therapeutic about being tied up in the dark. Letting his breath out in a soft huff he nodded again. Compared to some of the darker rumours he’d heard of the tortures buried behind Moira's walls, sensory deprivation seemed surprisingly benign. The thought of letting them restrain him again so … so closely sent a shudder through him, but at least they hadn't injured him any worse. They nearly killed you. It wasn't as if he had any control over what she chose to do to him.
Maybe he'd even see Erin again. And any hints of where they had her imprisoned would help him rescue her once he could walk on his own. Lock picks. He couldn't free Erin without picks.
“Most people who go through sensory deprivation see or hear things whilst they're under. Usually things or people important to them. It's a bit like dreaming while you're still awake. I'd like to talk about what you saw, while it's still fresh in your mind.” She leaned forward with an expectant look on her face. “Did you see Baron Northcrest?”
The Baron? Why would she think … Garrett shook his head as he answered his own question. She still thought him some kind of failed assassin. He almost wanted to laugh. If he had wanted to kill the Baron, there were half a dozen better ways to go about it then lurking on the rooftop with bow and arrow. Erin could doubtless think of even more. That was her speciality, after all.
“Something else then? Can you tell me about it?”
Garrett caught the faint slosh of water as she gently shook the mug. The gesture seemed almost casual, but he doubted there was anything less than deliberate about it. Forcing himself to look away he stared at the window instead. He'd been somewhere, he knew that much. Erin, he remembered clearly, but the rest was already fading. What could he tell her? Would he regret telling her?
“Stars … and shapes. Random shapes.” That much seemed safe to tell her. Hopefully she'd be satisfied with that much.
“Did you recognise any of them?”
He shook his head. It seemed safer not to remember.
“Interesting.” Doctor Stedmann leaned toward him, her amber gaze sharp and all too perceptive. “And Erin? You spoke to Erin, didn't you?"
Garrett jerked forward, catching himself at the last moment against the bedframe as vertigo swept over him. She knew? She already knew! Had Erin said something? Eventually it dawned on him that he was staring open-mouthed. Heat spiked behind his right eye and he dropped his gaze to his hands.
“Is she here? Is—is she alright?”
When no answer immediately came he risked a glance upward to find Doctor Stedmann watching him with a thoughtful expression.
“The accident … Erin fell. She was hurt. Is she alright?”
“How long has Erin been with you?”
Dimly he registered the strangeness of the question, but brushed it aside. If he failed to answer she'd take the water away again. She still didn't know who he was. What harm could it do?
“Four years.” That was right, wasn't it? More or less.
Doctor Stedmann held the mug out and he drank greedily, digging his fingers into the pillow to stop himself from grabbing at it. All too quickly it was gone. He rested his head against the bedframe and let his eyes fall closed.
“You were admitted by the state. We haven't been able to contact your family to tell them you're here with us. Do you have any family? Someone who takes care of you? They must be worried sick.”
Basso. By now Basso would know he'd failed the job. Basso would have long since sent another thief to steal the Primal Stone and earn his commission. Sending a message wouldn't accomplish anything other than to put Basso in danger. The Thief-Taker would have little trouble finding and arresting Basso, given a lead like that. Garrett shook his head. Better he vanish without trace if it kept Basso from getting hurt. “No-one.”
“Alright.” She patted the back of his hand. “In some ways that will make it easier for you to recover. Whatever your insanity made you do in the past, I need you to understand that those were the actions of a sick man. One who no longer exists. You need to make a clean break from your former life.”
Garrett pressed the heel of his hand to his head as the throbbing settled behind his right eye. The way it was stinging he'd swear there was something caught in it. He blinked rapidly several times to clear it, but it didn't help.
“Is there something wrong with your eye?” She frowned. “Hold still and let me take a look.”
He shrank away but she caught his head and pulled him forward into the light from the window. Pressing fingertips above and below she forced his eye wide and loomed over him. The silver comb eased gently from her hair to nestle in his palm. Dark curls relaxed into a soft puffy cloud about her head.
“It looks like you're developing some form of cataract. Most likely from the head trauma when you fell.” She released his head and stepped back. “It’s not uncommon after injuries like you’ve suffered. Can you still see clearly?”
Garrett nodded. It was most likely just a piece of grit. She had to be overreacting.
“It doesn't look like anything to worry about right now, but I need you to tell one of the nurses if you notice any visual disturbances. Strange colours, blurriness, or halos. Things like that. Can you do that?”
When he didn't respond she collected up the empty mug and turned away. “Nurse Aubermill will bring you more water in a few minutes. Get some sleep.”
As soon as the door closed Garrett's fingers uncurled to reveal his new treasure. Silver filigree flowers glittered as he held the comb up to the light. It was a shame to have to break something so beautiful. He caressed one finger along the spine of the comb before pressing as hard as he could. One of the teeth bent sideways and he worked it back and forth until the tooth snapped at the base. Biting at the unbroken end, he bent it into the shape he needed before repeating the process a second time.
Garrett smiled as he held his new silver lock picks. They'd be too soft to last long, but they might get him far enough to locate more suitable tools. As soon as he could walk.
Gingerly he tugged the edge of the sheet back from the corner of the mattress nearest the wall. Silver lock picks and broken comb slid carefully into place beside Nurse Aubermill's pen and the small collection of teaspoons he'd filched from the dining hall. The gentle gleam of polished metal settled something in his stomach, the weight of possessions not his own somehow grounding him.
At a scuffle near the ceiling he looked up. A sleek black rat perched on the high ledge above the door. Something about the tilt of its head seemed unnatural. Too deliberate. It chittered as it caught him watching, then vanished out through the bars and was gone.
****
7 11 NRy841: Exhaustion and severe dehydration: Left unattended, Patient #31 was discovered to have deliberately spilled water given instead of drinking it, resulting in three hours’ delay in treatment. Prompting revealed he is rejecting the added salt. Provisional: to treat orally under supervision, excluding salt. Fifteen minute observations. ~ Nurse Aubermill
7 11 NRy841: Approved. ~ Doctor Stedmann
7 11 NRy841: #31 is now cooperating with treatment. ~ Nurse Aubermill
7 11 NRy841: Following sensory deprivation therapy Patient #31 has become more tractable and was able to engage in conversation to a limited extent. He will not speak or volunteer information without prompting, but will respond to direct questions given sufficient motivation. He uses nonverbal gestures in preference to speech. When asked about hallucinations experienced during sensory deprivation he attempted to lie and claimed he saw nothing relevant. He denied seeing Baron Northcrest but reacted strongly to mention of “Erin”. He mentioned Erin being injured in an accident and asked whether she is “here” and “alright”. He was unable to identify family or caregivers, but confirmed he began experiencing delusions involving Erin four years ago. As previously suspected, his current illness is a worsening of longstanding chronic insanity, and it is likely that Erin features strongly in his delusions.
“Erin” may possibly refer to Patient #18, who was admitted following the same incident as led to #31’s admission. However, her presence in #31’s hallucinations suggests a stronger influence than mere acquaintance. It is possible that the attempt on Baron Northcrest’s life originated with Patient #18, whose presentation is both paranoid and highly violent, and more plausibly lends itself to murderous intent than #31, who has shown no violent tendencies since first regaining consciousness. This suggests folie à deux may be responsible, with #31 in the associate role. Patient #31’s delusional fixation on Patient #18 would have led him to follow her example without question, overriding any moral objections he might otherwise have raised. Patient #18 has not as yet been sufficiently lucid to conduct a conversation, and it is not possible to corroborate this theory. Further observation of both may shed additional light. Tentative diagnosis: monomania incorporating folie à deux shared with Patient #18.
Treatment for Patient #31 must include strict separation from #18 to lessen her influence on him. Attendants are to be reminded that discussing one patient in the hearing of another is strictly forbidden, and should be made aware that any attempts made by #31 to discuss or contact Erin must be diverted or discouraged to the greatest extent possible. ~ Doctor Stedmann
7 11 NRy841: Complete heterochromia and a cloudy mass within the right eye suggest the development of a trauma-induced cataract. Treatment is not yet warranted as his vision is currently unaffected. Keep under observation. ~ Doctor Stedmann