Part 11 (2/2)

As he pa.s.sed through the patients' dining area and the sound grew more distinct, the superb musicians.h.i.+p made him think that it might be a recording.

At the door to the music room, though, he saw a vague figure sitting at the instrument.

It was a woman in a nightgown, her hair down her back.

Caroline?

No, the hair was straight, not s.h.i.+mmering and flowing like Caroline's. The woman was wrapped in an enormous robe. As she played, her body moved gracefully. She was easily good enough to go on stage. A member of the cla.s.s, then?

He knew that he should not approach this person without support personnel equipped with restraints, and he hesitated-whereupon she stopped playing.

”I'm not dangerous, Doctor,” she said without turning around.

He knew the voice. It was Linda Fairbrother. No wonder she had been identified with the G.o.d of music. He wished he had her glyph with him. He could test the process. If it worked, he'd awaken the whole cla.s.s. The time for waiting was past, he sensed that clearly, and he was going to trust his instincts now.

”Linda,” he said, ”I think there's a time for this. Another time.”

She resumed playing.

”Linda, we need to stop now.” Slowly, carefully, he moved closer, until he was standing directly beside her. ”Linda, we need to stop.”

She played on.

There was another of the terrific flashes. In the second or so that it filled the darkness, Linda Fairbrother seemed to turn into something else, a complicated creature full of flaring colors-her G.o.d, or, as we call it now, her subconscious. And then the light was gone and all he could see were two red dots. But the music never stopped. She didn't miss a single note.

Unlike him, she had not startled. So she was expecting the flash, she must be.

”Linda, what was that?”

He put his hand on her hand, dropping the music into discord.

She stopped, and in the silence, he heard something unexpected-a hissing noise that had been covered by the sound of the music ... which, he thought, was meant to have been covered by it.

It came from the art room.

”Linda,” he said, ”what is that?”

She sat staring into the dark, silent.

”Linda, I need you to step out of here because that sounds like a major gas leak, and I've got to-”

Another flash, and again he was looking at the fluttering, dangerous, wonderful deity of music.

Whatever was happening in the art room had to be dealt with. He went to the wall phone and s.n.a.t.c.hed it up, only to find that there was no dial tone. Wonderful.

He called back to Linda, ”You can play, go ahead and play.” He didn't need this one to be wandering right now. But the music did not start again and he had to prioritize. Clearly, the possible danger to the whole structure took precedence, and he pushed his way into the art room.

At once, his eye was drawn to the kiln, out of which there glared an unearthly blue light. Here, the hissing sound was a roar. There were figures cl.u.s.tered around the furnace-it was no kiln, that could not have been more obvious. They were wearing welder's masks.

”Excuse me!”

As if in a nightmare, n.o.body seemed to hear him. He went right up to them, but here the light was so intense that he had to s.h.i.+eld his eyes.

”This has to stop!”

He saw a big square tray from the kitchen's baking department. On it was a measure of white powder, and two of the concealed figures were carefully pouring it into tiny jars, mixing it with a liquid. Others took trays of the jars toward the kitchen.

A yellow flash so bright that he was ready to believe he'd been blinded forever this time came out of the furnace. In it, though, he saw something completely unexpected, not glowering Aztec G.o.ds but a beautiful field, a green and smiling land, incredibly detailed. It was there for only a second, but it was as if he was actually in this field.

Then it was over-and there was a smattering of applause. Applause! And still they were acting as if he wasn't there at all.

An instant later, he saw the face of Caroline Light three inches from his own, the eyes tight with anger, but also-what was it? Humor? The kindness, he thought, and the danger of the G.o.ds.

Then the room was filled with clouds, beautiful, soaring clouds just becoming visible in the light of the predawn. Clouds ... he was looking up at clouds.

Dear heaven, he was in bed! He was in bed and those were the clouds of his ceiling, one of the many trompe l'oeils in the mansion.

As if the mattress was on fire, he jumped out and onto the floor. But nothing was on fire. He was simply alone in bed at dawn, that was all.

But no, that couldn't be. It could not be. That had not been a dream, n.o.body dreamed that elaborately, it wasn't possible.

He was still in his jeans, anyway, so he went back downstairs.

There was n.o.body at the piano and the kiln was dark. But, G.o.d, how disorienting. What had happened to the time?

Exactly.

Whatever they had been doing with the kiln had affected not just the brain, inducing hallucinations, it had, he thought, done something to s.p.a.ce-time itself. Warped it, twisted it, sent him racing across the hours from three o'clock until dawn in just seconds.

He went to it, opened it, and thrust his hand into the firing chamber. A faint warmth was all he felt, exactly as if it hadn't been fired since yesterday.

But he had seen Caroline Light in here, and Linda Fairbrother had been in the other room playing music to cover the sound of the superintense fire.

They'd made some sort of powder, he had seen it. And they had also been fools, because everybody in the place must have noticed the flashes, except for the staff in the four bedrooms on the far side of the building, and maybe them, too. Maybe Katie had lied.

What a h.e.l.l of a situation. What was real? Who could be trusted?

Those people could. That had been the cla.s.s, and Caroline had been there. They could be trusted. But who were they?

She must be waking them up. Of course she was, they'd been taught to use the glyphs and she was doing it.

Not all of them, though, and not the ones likely to be needed the most, they were still trapped in their various insanities.

It was while they were making that powder that s.p.a.ce-time had gotten all twisted. So the opposition was going to try to take it. Therefore, bloodshed was coming.

He took the stairs leading to the second floor of the patient wing, running up, then through the door and down the hall to the central nurses' station.

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