There wasn’t a cloud sign to speak of in the sky. It was overcast, which also described the state of his vision. Not altogether dark, like when a storm turned out the lights and left him disoriented and ordinary. He could still see, just with a tolerable radius. Farther, if he squinted, probably, but he wasn’t inclined to try. It was as if a decade’s worth of rust had flaked off and fallen away and he actually had a functional machine under there instead of a load of holes.

As fun as it was, he had to keep reminding himself it was a rental. And the owner could grab the wheel at any time and crash him into a wall if she didn’t like the way he drove.

“Look! Snow!” He kicked through the pile with his shoe and sent it flying. Slushy flakes clung to his sock and began to melt, but he didn’t mind. He’d noticed nothing of import in the random spray of flakes or the shape of the pile at all! “Superb! Literal, physical snow!”

He was attracting some odd looks, but that didn’t matter either. The police wouldn’t bother him. He had lots of money again! A bunch of change out of the glass jar for the phone and a roll of prewar bills for everything else.

“How did you come by so much old money, Miss 101?”

(My father always said banks were trying to screw us. Don’t pry, Barnaby.)

“Trying not to! May I purchase a kebab to distract myself? Sort of a last meal? Oh, look, it says they will… D-E-E-P F-R-Y Y-O-U-R P-I-T-A. ‘Deep fry your pita!’ Ha-ha! A literal, physical sign!”

(You don’t want any of that, Hassan sold the place after the siege and the Garniers are paying the health inspector under the table to stay open. I tried to warn Hyacinth, but she’s stubborn. Now be a good boy and you may have a candy bar from the drugstore.)

“Couldn’t you just make her think anything you wanted any time you wanted?”

(No.)

She was tired and distracted; she was trying to take care of everyone at home too. She just dumped the information into his brain like an apathetic grocer who hands you a sack of bruised bananas and squashed bread.

For starters, it was hard for her to do anything to a person who was fixated on something or unable to think clearly — they weren’t willing or able to listen to her. Hence, Hyacinth was difficult because she was stubborn, but it was way more than that.

He was a special case because of his disorder, but everyone in Hyacinth’s house was a special case. Gods, it was frustrating sometimes. Erik was right about Cousin Violet having a sense of humour.

It was hard for her to mess Erik around because of the brain damage, she couldn’t even push him over and operate him anymore — like he wasn’t even coloured. Thick as a goddamn brick, she thought, but not without affection. Hyacinth was hard to nudge on account of the damage, too, on top of being stubborn, but he was much worse. The gods told him things. They’d get into a loop like Barnaby with his stupid nosebleed, and she’d bang her head against him until she exhausted herself and woke up to find he’d told the whole house about her. Again.

He was getting older, and now sometimes she could talk to him and explain, and he’d help her, but it was still really hard to convince him they couldn’t find some way to set her free and make everyone happy.

Milo and Ann always had a secondary presence scampering around in their head, no matter who was in charge. They protected each other. Ann had cold-cocked her the first time she tried to remove herself from Milo’s memory. She woke up on the floor with Hyacinth standing over her, holding an improvised sword. She could only influence Ann and Milo with consent. Kinda nice, actually, made her feel like less of a creep… except she could never get in there and stop him from hurting himself. That part shat teeth.

She still loved Mordecai in spite of everything, so even if she could mess him around however she wanted most of the time, that hurt her emotionally. She hated when Hyacinth let him bring her a meal, they had to hash over everything all over again every single time.

Sanaam was also an emotional hazard. He was a world traveller, curious and willing to let her file through his memories just for a break, but they were his memories. She’d never be able to leave and make her own. He meant well, but he made her miserable. Every time.

Calliope was much closer to ordinary than anyone else, but she was weird. It was hard to match her thought patterns and stay hidden. She’d drop what she was doing and say, “Hello?” out loud, then explain to anyone in the room that she just had a voice in her head. She wasn’t scared or ashamed, and she didn’t compensate to convince herself she wasn’t going crazy. She just accepted that someone was talking to her, and she started putting together why that would be. Oh, it’s Room 101. Well, I’ll just tell anyone nearby about that. Even strangers. “Yeah, we have this thing in our house…” Yikes. Like spilling a whole pitcher of milk on the table in the middle of dinner — a complicated, exhausting mess.

It might be possible to learn to fool her and avoid the “Hello?” alarm, but she hadn’t been there as long. From her limited experience, Euterpe was like that too. If Lucy turned out the same, they were going to be a hell of a problem.

Still not as much of a problem as the other mother-daughter team in the house. Maggie and the General could fight her with magic. The General had automated a system to protect her memory several times. It was possible to explain and get her to dismantle them herself, but that just left her more annoyed and curious about the apparent master of countermagic in Room 101. She had a file full of notes, and it was pointless asking her to get rid of it because she always made more.

Maggie had just done her first automated system a few weeks ago, and brought her a muffin as a peace offering. That was really cute, but she didn’t relish the thought of spending the rest of her life talking down two curious magic-users.

“Er, pardon me, Miss 101. I seem to somehow have the impression you are not bothering to go upstairs to take care of them. Maggie and her mother, that is.”

(I can’t deal with them and you. They could kill me. They may have set traps. You can use your weird vision to help me with them when you get back; I know they’re still alive.)

“Ah.”

(You have a problem with that?)

“No-no. But, I’d like more than one candy bar. Please. Oh, dear.” Here was the fruit stand, a cart with large wooden wheels and an awning over it, and perhaps no permit. The vegetarian equivalent of buying prawns out of the back of a van with the engine running. Sorry, Miss 101. You’re going to have to let go a little so I can figure out why I did something I didn’t do yet so I can do it right.

(Um.)

Yes, terribly sorry. Caution: wild sweater. You can see it, though, can’t you?

She could: he purchased an overripe melon and hurled it onto the street.

(Barnaby, we need medicine and fluids. Maybe we can have some soup delivered for later. I’d love some Xinese; I’m starving. We already know what to buy!)

“Ah,” he muttered against his palm, “but we don’t know for certain, do we?” And this is just the sort of thing I’d do if you weren’t helping me, so it makes my shopping trip a bit more plausible for the future.

She did not bother to put her consent into words, but he knew he had it because she let him. “Pardon me, do you take old money? Nevermind, I’ll just overpay you by a ridiculous amount for your trouble.” He handed over a fiver. “I’m eccentric! All right?”

He smashed the melon into an intentional random pattern and asked his question.

She was in pain.

“Oh, no. Oh, dear. Oh, let’s look at the featureless white sky! Featureless sky, featureless sky…” He hummed as if comforting an infant and scuttled towards the nearest alley, doing his best not to look around. He skidded in the ice, but recovered with only a wrenched knee. It was cold outside, he could hardly feel it. He leaned against a brick wall and shut his eyes. “So sorry, my dear, that’s all right.”

(I threw up.)

He laughed. “I don’t think that makes much difference today, just try not to examine it too closely. You’re all right.”

(Don’t tell me I’m all right! Ow. Ow. Ow. How do you cope like that?)

“The short answer is that I don’t, Miss 101. Thank you for taking the bullet so I could make sense of it.”

(What is ‘a funny T-shirt’? T-shirts are not funny! Talk about featureless and white! They don’t even come in weird prints like boxer shorts…)

“I don’t know. I seem to have gotten all that in order of importance instead of order of appearance. It might not exist yet. Erik is going to lose whatever is left of his mind if he doesn’t get one when he needs it and that might mean the end of the world and everyone in it, so ‘a funny T-shirt’ is on top.”

(That person who wants a piano is threatening to burn down the house if he can’t have one and no one can stop him. Not even me?)

“Yes.” He hesitated only a moment, with a cold hand over his mouth. “Er, I’m seeing that that person is David. Valentine, not Rose or Otis. You know, my David? He’s been dead for quite some time. Do you… see that too?”

(I don’t know. I don’t want to scare you, I might lose you if I scare you. This is hard enough as it is! Maybe it is. No, but he… I don’t know. It makes no sense! What the hell is a funny T-shirt?)

He tried to slow his breathing, maybe she would too. “Let it go, Miss 101. You have to try to let these things go.”

(Why in every god’s name did Milo promise Dave he could be the Snow Queen?! He’s never going to be able to sew that, it’s that filmy stuff that tears if you look at it cross-eyed! I have personally worn a dress like that, and let me tell you… You know what happens to a girl who gets too close to the fire in crinolines! I’m not going to allow Taffy Rose to bring those back no matter how mad we are at Brian Trubshaw! Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh…)

“Shh, shh. I know exactly how it is, and I can’t control it anymore myself, but you have to. There are never any simple answers, only more and more questions. Don’t chase the fractal rabbits. Sorry, those don’t exist yet. Well, they do, but… Look, we have to go shopping for the sick people, that’s what’s important now.”

(…But, Barnaby… Do we have to buy… All of it?)

“I don’t think we have it in us to try for a better reading, Miss 101. Can you cover all of it? Cash on delivery?”

(I could, but I like to have money for emergencies, I’m going to be here a while. I can always convince people I’ve paid for it and hide it until we need it, I suppose. Maybe not the piano.)

“Well, then let’s try.” He blew out a slow sigh and lifted his head. The crumbling brickwork did not offer any unwanted information. She seemed to have stabilized. “I’m sorry, Miss 101. But you won’t leave me now, will you? Even if you hate my sense of humour?”

He supposed she knew he was being pathetic on purpose, and that it was only to shield his ego because he really was scared.

“I saw you might, just for a moment, because you’re tired and I’ve upset you already. And I wouldn’t even be able to remember where I lived. Then you’d come back. But now you won’t make me deal with that out here alone?”

(I can’t stay forever, Barnaby. I am really sorry.)

“No, I know. I’m sorry I’ve upset you again. I don’t mind, as long as I fall apart at home.”

(Yes. I can do that.)

He smiled. He would have patted her hand if he could, but all he could do was picture it. He switched it from a hand to a tentacle, she’d think that was funny. “Then it’s all right, Miss 101. This is a gift you’re giving me, and I’m willing to pay for it. Let’s go.”

◈◈◈

They made it to the pharmacy without too much more disagreement or drama. She wouldn’t let him try making a snow angel, but, despite his childlike glee, there were horse apples in the gutter, so he deferred to her judgment. He ordered a root beer float with two scoops of chocolate from the soda fountain, just to grease the skids, and prepared to tie up one of their payphones for quite some time.

(Chocolate? And they have the nerve to call me a monster.)

He called Euterpe first, direct, with an eye towards establishing a bookmark in his broken brain that would remind him he’d done everything himself because Calliope’s family couldn’t come help. Miss 101 had told him how it was, and she was going to take that with her when she left. It would also be nice of him to let Calliope’s family know she was sick too and would like to see them when they felt better, he supposed.

He tried not to sound too sane for the first little bit, but he decided it wasn’t necessary after about five minutes of trying to get Euterpe to understand basic Anglais. Sounded like the hotel doctor had fed him a tranquilizer or six to get him out of the way, or he was just that tired after being up all night with his family and the twins.

“Listen, my boy, I am fluent in crazy, but I suspect you’re going to forget I called. Could you write it down, or… I do have a pencil, Mr. Otis, but I’m on the other end of this phone, so there’s no way…

“Um, actually, why don’t you open the drawer of that little writing desk your phone is on and have a look? Drawer. Desk drawer. Gods, you are so heartbreakingly close. Pull it towards you. There! Oh, just write it on the wall, we’ll find the money to buy off the hotel somewhere, I promise.

“Yes, yes, there’s still room in hell, I promise that too. I’m going to check it personally on the afternoon of the seventh, but I may have a little trouble getting you a report after that. You’ll just have to trust me. Get some sleep, Mr. Otis.”

Then, either with brilliance or a predestined facsimile thereof, he phoned Hennessy’s. My one-stop shopping destination, Miss 101. “Hello? This is Mr. Graham. Barnaby Graham. I’m afraid I’ve been away since the war, but I’ve just returned to San Rosille and I was hoping to celebrate Twelfth Night in style with my family. I don’t suppose my account is still on file?” He shut his eyes and crossed his fingers.

He had to provide a string of complicated identification numbers to a very deferent manager — which of course he managed flawlessly — and then the black void of consumerism yawned open to admit him. “Oh, and do you happen to know if…” He crossed his fingers again. “…my line of credit is in the same condition I left it?” I think I still sound wealthy and not like I’m feeding change into a payphone, Miss 101. 

(Unbox that ego of yours. We’re both rich idiots. You ought to sound twice as wealthy as usual.)

Well, here’s hoping.

Cousin Violet did indeed have a sense of humour, and this time it worked out in their favour.

“Ah! Very good! That makes things so much easier. Well, I have quite a shopping list and no time to come to the store in person, so you might as well tip yourself something nice right away, then we can be friends. How does one-hundred sinqs sound? Yes, happy new year! 

“I have to ask… If I need something that doesn’t exist yet, is it, er, possible for me to reserve one of it in advance? Yes. No, not a preorder, I mean an item that literally has not yet been conceived of by the feeble mind of man. Oh, well. No, no, it’s not your fault, Philippe. Yes, please do fill out a suggestion card for me, that’s very thoughtful. Just don’t be afraid to let me know if, uh, I should happen to request an item it’s literally impossible for you to stock. Sometimes I get a little carried away. Ha-ha, yes, I suppose we do! Well, let’s begin in housewares…”

Hennessy’s was very forgiving of people with more money than sense — a small victory for classism or capitalism, perhaps both. Really, once you built up a certain amount of hereditary wealth, you could have any kind of mental health care you wanted. Most people preferred retail therapy to the Walled Garden — it was much more fun. After consulting with several salespeople in the clothing department, all of whom got tips, they even came up with a reasonable interpretation of “a funny T-shirt.” But “a microwave” didn’t exist yet.

Barnaby did indeed get a bit carried away and asked, just for funsies, if they might deliver a partridge in a pear tree in time for Twelfth Night.

(I think I’ve just identified where I would’ve left you if I didn’t know how much it would hurt you. Except, I can’t figure how it would’ve happened if I didn’t let you throw the melon.)

That sobered him; he apologized to her, and the salesman, and wrapped it up as quickly as he could. He ordered Milo and Dave a bolt of sparkly blue chiffon fabric with a snowflake pattern for a future Mischief Night, and a dozen sets of men’s silk pyjamas, size medium, for Miss 101.

She thought that was much funnier than the partridge in the pear tree, he should’ve just done that in the first place. She was wearing a set of his already — size large — which she had stolen, along with his missing extra suits. Apart from a few things she’d made Mordecai order out of a catalogue late one night, that was all she had. The pyjamas were her favourite; she thanked him.

At the last possible instant, he mentioned his suspicious change of address, and wrote it off as his even-more-eccentric daughter purchasing one of those war-damaged old gothics. To renovate. For fun. “Oh, you know, women must have their little projects! She’ll have the whole place gentrified in no time, I’m sure. Thank you for all your help, and I’ll expect the first delivery this afternoon. Er, just leave it on the porch if we don’t come get it right away, we’re a bit busy with the holiday and the renovation. Oh, no, I’m sure it will be fine. Have a lovely day, Philippe!”

His next and final call was to secure dinner for everyone, mainly soup from the Xinese restaurant. He asked Miss 101 if they shouldn’t send some to the school while they were at it, Seth was notoriously fond of Xinese.

She didn’t answer for so long he got scared and hung up. “Miss 101?”

(I’m sorry, Barnaby. You upset me again, but I know it wasn’t on purpose. I didn’t want to hurt him, but you were right, it wouldn’t have. I can’t give you context. We’d better just leave it and finish as fast as we can, this is hard for both of us — even though it’s fun for you.)

He had ordered a case of sparkling water and another of ginger ale, for the house, but he purchased two six packs of lemon-lime soda to tide them over, green glass bottles in cardboard totes. He got three bottles of the quick-dissolving stomach medicine, hopefully that would aid them in keeping down the soda. Neither he nor Miss 101 knew how to start an IV, and she didn’t want to try to get the information out of Hyacinth or Mordecai.

He also bought them each a candy bar. You’ve been a good girl, too, Miss 101. Nuts or no nuts?

(Nuts, Barnaby. We’re all nuts here.)

He asked if, perchance, she knew how to do that magic to make objects float and follow him, so he wouldn’t have to limp himself home with a cardboard soda tote cutting off the circulation of each bare hand in the cold.

She apologized and offered to erase his memory of walking home instead. It would be like teleporting! Except his hands and knee would still hurt.

“No thank you, Miss 101,” he muttered against his lapel. “I think I’d rather remember. It’s sort of a nice day. I don’t hate it. When you go, will I remember not hating it?”

(I can’t promise. I don’t know if you’ll be in any shape to care. I’m sorry, Barnaby.)

He shrugged heavily, those soda totes already hurt. “Oh, well. It’s nice while it lasts.”

◈◈◈

The fire in the brazier in the front room had either gone out or was never lit. It was hardly any warmer inside than out. He set the sodas on the floor with a sigh. “I know you’re busy, but it’s very inconvenient.”

“We are all inconvenient here,” a deep human female voice replied from the kitchen, spookily.

He startled and knocked into the door. “Good lord. You sound like Boris Karloff. Is that really you?”

“Oh, yeah, but I’m way more shrill and annoying when I’m not trying to sound like a ghoul, huh? That’s what the conservatives always said, I’m shrill. ‘More social programs and taxes, eeeeee…’”

She laughed. “I’ve been talking anyway, it’s just one more small thing to get rid of. I told Morph he was hallucinating, but I don’t think he bought it. He knows what I’m about, even semi-conscious. I put everyone in the kitchen, except Room 202 and the baby. I’ve got the baby in my room, don’t worry about her.

“Oh, Milo, honestly. She’s fine. You’re just in no shape right now. Look at me. You’re sick and Lucy is fine. I’m sorry, sweetheart, I know you don’t like touching from strangers, but I’m not a stranger and I just want to cuddle the hell out of you sometimes.

“Hey, Barnaby? I gotta get out of here and clean up after myself. You can put Maggie and the General in here, too, it’s warm. Put my candy bar on the end table and shut your eyes, I’ll go. It’s easier for me to help if no one can see me, and better for you.”

He turned towards the wall too. He wouldn’t be able to help himself if he just closed his eyes, he was curious what the former PM looked like in his pyjamas. She collected his knowledge of her identity along with the candy bar, as he’d expected.

“Huh. Peanut butter and pretzels.” He heard her crinkling the wrapper. “Gods, I love human ingenuity.” Her mouth was full. “See? This is why I’m not ready to die. You shouldn’t, either, honestly.” A door opened and shut. (Okay, Barnaby. Go be a hero. They have no idea how they got in there or what’s happening… except Ann and Milo. Damn it. She’s still running interference for him and I can’t make her listen. I’ll have to get them later. Just be careful.)

Milo snatched him by the lapels and almost dragged him to the floor as soon as he stepped foot in the kitchen. “Argh! Miss 101!”

(I can’t get in there and they know I just tried to mess with them. He’s trying to warn you about me. Please, be nice. Treat them like someone who got hit by magic!)

“Damn it…” Barnaby performed a slow motion collapse, right onto his hurt knee. “Ow! At least I can understand what those people are babbling about, Miss 101! Mr. Rose, it’s all right. I already know about her. She wasn’t trying to hurt you. She’s sorry. Can we get back into bed?”

The table had been pushed to one side, with all but one chair removed to the dining room. There were four mattresses on the floor, one of them the double from Room 103. That was enough bed for everyone, plus a little extra, because Erik and Mordecai were still sharing a single.

(They don’t trust you.)

“Hell with it.” He shoved Milo off him and went back into the front room for the sodas. After a moment’s consideration, and with a weary sigh, he left the sodas at the bottom of the stairs and climbed up. He was going to be going up and down all day, damn it. He still had to get the D’Ivers downstairs, but he couldn’t do that until he’d bribed Milo back into bed.

◈◈◈

The floor was cold, and Milo could not work his way up from it. He sort of didn’t want to. He felt like Calliope’s guy with wasps in his head, which he had posed for. They weren’t stinging, but they would if he tried to sit up again. And they wouldn’t settle down and let him think. It was something really important. The harder he tried to hold on to it the less sense it made. Some woman broke into the house and gave him a half a glass of ginger ale and tucked him into bed in the kitchen. Then she tried to take his memory away.

I don’t go to bed in the kitchen. People can’t… take a memory away. Not like that. Like a thing. You…

She can, Milo. If they were sharing a homey little cottage in the woods, Ann had just nailed shut all the windows and the door. She was pacing the floorboards, equally feverish and distracted. He loved her very much, but she sounded insane. I know what I felt. She can’t come in. That witch. She has Lucy. We have to get Lucy.

Trying. Can’t get up. Wasps.

Someone set a black patent leather high-heeled shoe with rhinestone detailing in front of his searching eyes, followed by its mate. He lost hold of whatever he’d been doing a moment ago that was so damn important; it faded into static like a distant radio station. Oh, look, Ann. We found shoes. Yay.

Milo, no…

“Now that I have your attention,” Barnaby said. He added an open bottle of cold soda to the display. “Are you thirsty, Mr. Rose?”

Milo let go a weak whimper. Barnaby was teasing him. He’d take all that stuff away. Why are you always so mean…?

“That’s all right,” Barnaby said. “I am not entirely without experience. He just had the good grace to stay in the damn bed most of the time. Here we go.”

Oh, man, that really upset the wasps, but it was brief. When they calmed down a little, there was something cold against his mouth. He sipped.

“Slowly, please. I’m hoping not to see it again. We’re going to run out of chamber pots. I refuse to clean any.”

It was really good, so sweet, but it was easier when he drank slow.

“Now, let’s see if…”

(Barnaby, don’t! He won’t take that from you! He hates pills! He will flip out!)

Barnaby shuddered and set down the bottle. “Must you? I almost broke that.”

Mordecai sat up, slowly this time. Erik cried out. “Shh, dear one. It’s all right. I just need to help Milo, I’ll be right back.”

“Help,” Erik said weakly.

Mordecai kissed his brow. “It’s all right. Try to rest.”

Barnaby regarded them with disgust, but he waited until Mordecai had crawled closer to say, “You have made me more paranoid than you can ever imagine. It’s seamless.”

He laughed, she laughed, faintly, “I can’t do it to you.”

“You got a lot of people like him killed, didn’t you? In the war. As spies. And they literally had no idea what they’d done.”

She scowled. “Not like him. Just let me help you with Milo.”

He spun the top of the jar and offered a pill, “You’d better have one too.”

She took it for him, and brushed past Barnaby to put a hand on Milo’s cheek. “Hey, Milo.”

Milo gasped. No, no, not shoes and soda, the baby! Em! Help! He pushed himself upright with one hand on the floor and signed with the other.

Mordecai signed back, I KNOW. “She’s all right. But you and Calliope are both very ill right now and you need to let someone else take care of all of you. I’m not doing so hot, either, so Barnaby’s helping. I know you don’t like him, but you’re going to have to put up with it, so you can get better for Lucy.”

Milo nodded, only once, and winced.

Mordecai held up a finger. “One for yes, but I can’t talk long. Can you take this for me? It’s just one. You don’t have to swallow.” He snickered. “I had one too. Tastes like cherries. It’s to help your stomach. Then you…”

Milo had already opened his mouth for the pill.

Mordecai smiled. “Thanks for trusting me.” He dropped the pill in Milo’s mouth and then gave a light hug. “It’s going to be okay. Let Barnaby help you back to bed. I have to rest too.”

Milo said, One.

Mordecai crept back towards the bed with a bottle of pills, “Dear one, this will help…”

Milo winced again, though the taste of the pill was not unpleasant. No! No! Lucy…

He shook his head, eyes closed. It doesn’t make any sense, Ann. We’re sick. Please let me try to be less sick before we worry about Lucy. Em wouldn’t let anything hurt her. She isn’t even crying.

This isn’t right, it isn’t…

Shhh, Ann. Nothing can get in. Rest.

He let Barnaby help him back to bed. Calliope was there. Oh, look, Ann. We found Calliope. Yay.

He curled up beside her and shut his eyes.

◈◈◈

Barnaby sat down in one of the nice chairs in the front room, but he was taking the opposite of a break. “I am not going to make any more patterns, but I don’t need to.” The walls had been liberally splattered with paint. “You have to let go a little, Miss 101. I can’t put it off any longer, we’ve done all the easy ones — alas! I have to see how I’m going to get the D’Ivers some medicine without them setting me on fire again. Then, if we have the strength for some extra credit, I’ll see about getting them into the kitchen.”

◈◈◈

(I’m honestly not sure if this was a vision or more damage.)

“I’m not going to explain it, Miss 101. Plans work much better when you don’t bother to explain them. It’s just less boring for the audience that way. Trust me.”

(There is no audience. This is real life. Do you know that?)

“Sometimes!”

(It doesn’t even fit!)

“It’s cute how you think a set of dehydrated, delirious people are going to be able to think critically and demolish me with logic, Miss 101.” He straightened the lapels of Mordecai’s coat, which he could not button across his chest. It looked like more of a shawl, really, but it was the right cut and colour.

(I have seen how their minds work and they are consistently brilliant. Don’t underestimate them.)

“It is not my intention to deviate from the script.”

(Oh, gods, Barnaby.)

He knocked on the door and peeked in.

◈◈◈

There was definitely some sort of attack in progress, the foundations of reality were unstable. Artillery, maybe, but the mental and visual effect made it difficult to find a foothold and she had thus far been unable to dismantle them.

That could not possibly be Magnificent in the bed over there. Magnificent ought to be well away from this sort of thing. She was a better parent than that.

Could it be some manner of interrogation? Were they trying to keep her off-balance so she couldn’t escape? What a stupid concept, if so. This pain was immaterial. Torture did not work.

Even if the thing in the bed could not possibly be Magnificent, when it said it was thirsty she gave it water out of the coffee mug, which made a convenient vessel for condensation. It might be a real sick person, or a soldier. It was distracting that she couldn’t seem to improve its condition, but she gave it water and tried to clean up after it.

“Sir?”

She gasped and sat up. She read the insignia on the ill-fitting coat and gave the proper form of address without even thinking, “What’s going on out there, Corporal?”

“To be perfectly honest, a lot of vomit and shit, sir. I’m sorry we’ve left you so long, but the medics have their hands full. I’m afraid last night’s rations were spoiled, sir.”

“What?” She shut her eyes and shook her head. “Say it again slower, I am impaired.”

“Food poisoning, sir. I have medicine, and I’d like to get you out of here so we don’t forget you again.”

“I’m not alone, treat my daughter first.” She shook her head again. “Or whoever it is. I’m confused.”

“It’s just the fever, sir. Don’t worry, we have enough for everyone.”

She watched the man in the corporal’s coat sit her daughter up and give her medicine out of a small glass bottle. “You cannot possibly be a real soldier. What’s going on here? What are you trying to pull? Have you broken into our home?” She had formed a fireball in her hand.

He saluted her, “Just doing whatever I can to get some medicine into the most competent person in the house without getting shot, sir! Do you mind?”

She sighed. “I suppose I do not. Give me orders, Mr. Graham. I am good at following orders.”

“Put this under your tongue, drink this soda, and then I’ll try to get you downstairs where it’s warm to recover. I’m doing my best, but if you can’t manage it under your own power, I may drop you. I’m operating with an injured knee, not to mention everything else that’s wrong with me.”

She staggered to the desk and began writing the spell on paper, so she wouldn’t forget it. “I can carry us, Mr. Graham.” She held up the paper with the scrawled magical notation with a grin, “Ha! Look how impaired I need to be to render my intellect comparable to Mr. Rose! Er, what was I doing? Corporal, can you read this?”

Well, it didn’t matter. She was good at taking orders and the magic worked all right, even if she couldn’t quite remember what it was for. Maggie fit nicely in the spare bed and the General elected to sit in a chair and rest her head on the table.

A few moments later his first delivery from Hennessy’s arrived. Fluids and blankets for all! Plus one extra mattress they were obligated to set up in the kitchen for him no matter how weird it seemed. There, Miss 101! We wouldn’t have known we needed that without the melon, and now I won’t have to kill myself dragging one downstairs when the General…

There was a muted thump and a groan from under the kitchen table.

“Ah, there it is, hold that thought,” he told himself, and his silent passenger.

“You are being surprisingly competent,” the General muttered, as he helped her to a bed.

“Oh, well, people with mental health problems are really faking it to get special treatment. We can straighten ourselves out whenever we like.”

(BARNABY!)

Oh, Miss 101, she’ll never remember it and it’s funny for me. I’m just telling her what she wants to hear. She already thinks Milo… He stared. “Where the hell is Milo?”

◈◈◈

There the hell was Milo. Upstairs, of fucking course it was back up the stairs, on the floor of Room 201, half into a dress with vomit in his lap. “Oh, Mr. Rose, for gods’ sakes, why?”

“Milo thought I might not be sick,” Ann said weakly, muffled. Barnaby crouched and helped her sit up. “Milo is an idiot,” she confided to him. She looked down at herself and pressed both hands to her head. “Oh, gods, we’ve ruined the pink one again! He likes the pink one. It’s not even Tiw’s Day! Ohhh…” She bent forward and dribbled a long thread of acid drool on the floor, but she had nothing else to bring up.

“Calm yourself, Miss Rose,” Barnaby said. “You’ll only make it worse. To be perfectly honest, I’m rather happy to see you. I prefer you.”

She laid a hand on his chest and pushed him back, steadying herself against him as she shook her head. “No. No. I can’t. There’s a woman here. She has Lucy. I’m not crazy. Please, you have to get Lucy.”

“No, you are not crazy,” Barnaby said gently. “But you are sick. That woman who tried to take care of you and make you forget you ever saw her has been living in Room 101 since before you ever moved in. You don’t remember because you’ve let her erase herself every time, to keep you and Milo safe. This time you couldn’t understand because you were too sick. But you’re doing a little better now, aren’t you? Do you understand now, Miss Rose? You’ve always been the sensible one.”

Ann was shaking her head. She fell back onto the floor. “She… She… She’s gotten to you too!”

Barnaby sighed. “Well, yes. I’m not going to lie.”

Ann screamed.

Barnaby put a hand over her mouth, “I promise you, this is not a horror story. At least not at the moment. It is a comedy of errors. Miss 101 is a human being in an unfortunate situation. She likes candy bars and cute babies, and you and Milo. She just can’t explain herself when you’re so upset and I’m a bit of a bastard. If I show you Lucy is all right, will you please let Milo rest?”

“Give her to me,” Ann said. “Now.”

“I will, but I’m going to have to help you into something more comfortable and less encrusted with filth first, Miss Rose.”

So it was back down the stairs with Ann leaning heavily against him and making his knee injury scream. He tried to be gracious about it. With permission, he knocked on the door to Room 101. It popped open.

Ann stared at it. “It-It-It… No, it can’t be…”

“What, Miss Rose?”

She pointed a shaking finger at the door. “Milo designed that! I remember! It doesn’t open unless you knock on it! It is that simple! But we knew no one would ever figure it out if they didn’t remember.  And… And… And he was nineteen, and he could barely even look at people, but she was really nice to him and she understood him without talking! That thing in there gave us a mint!”

Barnaby chuckled. “She told me she doesn’t really take things away, she just hides them. You found that one rather quickly. Do you believe me now?”

“I want to see Lucy, I feel like I’m insane. We have this whole room of… of stuff I didn’t know we had, I can’t even… Please let me see Lucy. I’ll apologize if I have to afterwards. Milo would like another mint.” She clapped a hand over her mouth and shook her head.

Barnaby held the door for her, but he did not try to go in. Despite his curiosity. “Do you mind if I stay out here, Miss Rose? She’s going to make me forget, too, and we were hoping to mess me around as little as possible. I’m delicate.”

“Milo is delicate,” Ann said cautiously.

“Not like me, Miss Rose. It’s all right. Go check Lucy.”

She closed the door behind her.

“Oh, Ann, baby, I’m so sorry,” a muffled voice said.

“Dada!” a much higher voice added.

Barnaby shut his eyes and tried to be as little of a distraction as he could — while still listening, but after that first bit they didn’t talk anymore.

Ann emerged a few minutes later, sucking.

Barnaby stared at her. “Did she actually have a mint?”

Ann opened her mouth and showed the red candy. “No, it’s a strawberry one. With the gooey centre. The mints were years ago, dear. She’s going to let us remember until we’re all better, that’s best for us, but we promised not to tell you anything more.” She smiled. “Thank you, Barnaby. May we have another one of those pills and a soda? Then I think we’d really better lie down.”

◈◈◈

Maggie was sitting up and Erik had thrown up. Well, look, in aggregate it was an improvement. At least none of it required him to haul himself upstairs again. He peeled the blanket off Erik and Mordecai’s bed and tossed it out the back door. They had plenty of blankets, if Alice wanted that one later she could wash it herself. He gave Maggie an open soda bottle, “Hydrate, Miss D’Iver. Slowly. You’ll feel better. This sort of thing is hardest on small bodies, square-cube law and all that, but you’ll bounce back faster.”

“Is Erik okay?”

“Oh, I doubt it.” The fresh blankets were wrapped in brown paper with string. He tore one open and shook it on top of the boy. “Are you with us, Master Weitz? Can you take another pill for me? I don’t think Miss 101 much enjoys operating your uncle like this…”

Erik looked up at him blearily and sniffled. His nose had run, and he hadn’t bothered to wipe it. His white nightshirt was disarrayed and transparent with sweat. His empty socket stared. He curled arms around his stomach and said fuzzily, “It kind of hurts a lot, Gray.”

Barnaby shattered.

◈◈◈

Stop reading. Stop!

He was mixing pills into a dish of applesauce. David’s everyday city dishes, with the black and white chequered strip around the edges. It was only a quarter full, just enough to get the medicine down. David didn’t really eat for the sake of food anymore. It was all a matter of minimizing the pain.

There was something in the way the yellow dye swirled as the capsules dissolved, but he didn’t want to read it. He was getting too much interference to do meaningful readings. He only had one question these days and he didn’t like the answer.

Barnaby, I can’t…

“I’ve almost got it, David. This will help.”

The dark-haired gentleman in the white silk nightshirt smiled weakly amid fresh white bedding that did nothing to mitigate the smells of vomit, blood, shit and impending death. “You’re always so good to me, Gray.”

…I can’t help you if you don’t…

He almost dropped the bowl, and then he would’ve had to start all over again. He set it on the night table and held the spoon in trembling fingers. “Don’t say that. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have made you do this. You’re my friend, you’ve been with me so long, but I… I should have let you go.”

Damn it, let me in!

“Honestly, Gray, don’t you like me being alive?”

He lifted his head and picked up the bowl, offering the spoon. “I don’t know, David, a…”

The pale figure in the bed had a gaping black hole where its right eye should have been.

“What’s wrong with your eye? That’s not what’s wrong with…”

There was no light, no air. Only blackness.

No! A mistake! He wasn’t dead yet! This wasn’t being dead, this, this featureless shitshow wasn’t eternity! He didn’t even get to say goodbye! It wasn’t fair!

He screamed. “Let me go, let me go, let…”

◈◈◈

Marsellia’s first coloured Prime Minister yanked down the blanket and shook him. “Let me in!”

He shut his eyes and drew one long, ragged breath. No mind. No mind. No mind…

She picked up the pieces of him. He let her. He didn’t scratch the healing wound, even when things almost made sense again and it itched like crazy. He finally said, “It is New Year’s Day, 1378, and they ate the salmon puffs.”

“Barnaby,” she said. So that was what the PM looked like in his pyjamas: exhausted and scared. And a bit shiny, that was nice fabric. She stole the red ones.

He shook his head. He didn’t need to put it into words and there wasn’t time. He’d just visited Hell and Erik was still stuck there. The boy had gotten there via his own weird ability and was viewing it from a different angle, that was all. Miss 101 couldn’t yank a confused baby monster back to his senses and hold a malfunctioning seer together at the same time, so they were going to need to do one of those human chain things, like the serials. If she’d hang onto him, he could reach down and pull.

He grabbed the boy by the shoulders. It wouldn’t do any good to cover his eye, Erik didn’t get information visually. This was a conversation with some invisible sadist who was drowning his identity in too much information, or just didn’t know any better or care. “Erik!”

That got nothing but a glazed stare into the space over his left shoulder.

“David?” Barnaby said, more gently.

That got a blink, a familiar slow fade into focus and a weak smile. “Gray? Have I been away again?”

You are still away and I’d like you not to come back, Barnaby thought. Especially not like this. A traumatic flashback from a child who never even got traumatized by you. Have you no sense of decency, sir? “I know it hurts,” he said. “This will help. Trust me?”

Erik nodded.

“Good man. Tell me some things that are in the room right now. ”

Erik waved a limp hand in the direction of the table. “There’s a-a-a what-do-you-call-it? Humidifier.” There wasn’t. Not here, not now. “Curtains…”

“No, I’m afraid Milo set the curtains on fire with the eggbeater and we never bothered to replace them. That was sort of funny, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know. Blankets. Chair. Toaster.” Erik blinked. “When did…”

When did we get a toaster for the bedroom, ‘David’? Barnaby thought. Trying to orient yourself? That’s not allowed. You’re not really here.

He interrupted, “Mind if I ask a silly question? How many angels can dance on the head of a pin, can you figure that out for me? While you’re at it, how many devils can we clean in the dishwasher? I must assume some of them can only go in the top rack, keep that in mind. Oh, you’ll like this one, how many holes out of four thousand, exactly, to fill the Albert Hall? Do the math.”

Erik shook his head. “Why…?”

“How does one fix a hole in the ocean? I need precise instructions for this, Erik. Step one?”

“John Lennon wrote ‘Glass Onion’ to mess with people,” Erik muttered.

“Rather, but you’re not answering my questions. What’s the difference between a dog? Come on, come on. Quickly.”

“Can’t,” Erik said miserably.

Barnaby took his hands. “That’s right, no one can. These are calibration questions. Responsible seers always calibrate — if you get an answer to a question that can’t be answered, you need to focus and try again! There are some things even the gods don’t know, Erik, because real irrationality requires a human brain. Can you think of a question like that?”

“It really hurts…”

“I know. But you were wondering about that and got lost, so let’s wonder in another direction. Give me a silly question like counting pin angels. Something involving frogs, maybe.”

Erik shook his head, wincing, but Barnaby wouldn’t leave him alone. “How many frogs… across…”

“Perfect! Don’t specify. ‘How many frogs across?’ Brilliant. Ask them something like that and they’ll quiet right down. They have to.”

“Why is the lady from the quarters in our kitchen?”

“Erik, don’t be a victim. Ask something insensible.”

“How… How orange is next Tiw’s Day?”

“Much better. This is Miss 101, she is assisting us at the moment, but I’m afraid she can’t stay. Take another one of these pills, and I have some soda for you. Once you can keep that down, you can have an aspirin too. We are here to help you and it’s going to stop hurting very soon. So you don’t have to ask any more questions, not real ones.”

“My uncle…”

“He has already had medicine and he will feel better soon. When he wakes up, I will tell him you are fine, and he will not be worried about you, you codependent little waif.”

Diane swatted him on the back of the head. He turned to look back at her with a wretched expression and shook his head subtly, just the once. I can’t help it, please don’t.

She mouthed the words, I’m sorry.

(I’m really tired, too, Barnaby.)

I think we’re through the hard part, Miss 101. Well, the hard part for them.

She nodded.

Erik got a pill and a soda, and did not bring either of them back up right away. Without much hope, Barnaby also offered him a package of T-shirts, “They are slightly irregular, does that make you feel any better?”

Erik just stared at him.

“Good boy, don’t ask. It’s not important, it was only worth a shot. Ah, well. They’re soft, at least.” He tucked the bundle under the boy’s head and limped into the dining room without excusing himself — he didn’t know if any of the others were conscious and he didn’t care.

◈◈◈

He sat on the dining room step. A moment later she sat beside him. She put an arm across his shoulders — a warm, ordinary human arm. “I’m so sorry…”

He shooed her with a hand. “You did your best. That took a lot out of me, but it wasn’t anything you could prevent and it was not your fault, Miss Desdoux.”

“I’m sort of toying around with going back to Zusman. Not like it’ll help, with the quarters and all…”

“It doesn’t matter, I won’t remember and I’ll be dead soon.” He took her hand. “You’ll never know if it was because of everything you had to take back from me, or because of what just happened with David… with Erik. I want you to try very hard to blame it on the other thing, the one that wasn’t your fault. Everything you have done to my mind today has been painless and that other thing still hurts so much I can’t even think about it or I’ll break our connection again. You already know this.”

“I do.” She sniffled and turned her head away.

He brushed back her hair. It was stiff and brutally short, he supposed she cut it herself. “Try to believe it.” He kissed her forehead. She was not a young person, but younger than him. She could’ve been his daughter, if he’d been a little less careful fooling around as a young rake.

She began to sob, so he hugged her too.

“I really… I really miss people. I love people. I love you, Barnaby, please don’t die.”

“Shh. I do what I want, Miss 101, you know that. I’m not really a nice person. I don’t care about your feelings. I’m not lying, you have this information available to you.”

She laughed weakly. “You bit me when I tried to get my hand over your eyes. Now I know how it feels.” She held up her left hand, displaying a minor wound.

“Well I wasn’t finished reading, it’s your own fault.” He was folding his handkerchief as he said this and he wrapped her hand for her. “Now be a good monster and slink back in your cave so we don’t have to look at you. Back, fiend. Back. Et cetera.”

A moment later, he wasn’t sure who he’d been hugging. Just a very sad woman in an unfortunate situation.

Well, join the club, he thought, as he dragged back to his feet with many creaks and twinges. We are all sad and unfortunate here.

“If nobody’s thrown up or shit themself when I get back in there, I shall make us each a sandwich, Miss 101. What about that?”

(Crunchy peanut butter, no jelly. And please bring me some iodine to go with this hanky.)