“Of course — unlike your father, I never believed anything untoward had befallen you. I knew you’d be back with us one day,” Danforth said, adding with a chuckle, “The devil looks after his own.” He turned away from Drake. “And these are the boys he mentioned. . . . I mean Parry, not the devil — although I sometimes ask myself if they’re one and the same.”
He focused on Will through his pebble-thick spectacles. “Albinism . . . so you’ll be Will Burrows . . . yes . . .” The Professor’s gaze became distant as he recited, “His head and his hairs were white like wool, as white as snow; and his eyes were as a flame of fire.”
Then the full force of Danforth’s scrutiny was back on Will. “Albinism . . . aka achromia, achromasia, or achromatosis. Occurrence about one in seventeen thousand, a recessive inherited genetic condition,” he said, the words pouring out in an uninterrupted gush.
“Er . . . hello,” Will mumbled when the Professor finally fell silent, more than a little taken aback by all the attention he was receiving. Will automatically offered the man his hand, but Danforth immediately retreated a step, muttering what sounded like “Egg . . . breaking my egg.” He cleared his throat at great volume and switched his attention to Chester. “And you’ll be Rawls. Good, good.”
Annoyed with himself that he’d forgotten Drake’s advice about the Professor’s dislike of physical contact, Will was examining what the man had been working on when they’d entered. Laid out on a small cushion some ten inches square was a piece of lace, with many bobbins dangling from its sides. It was largely unfinished, but in the completed areas, Danforth had stitched the most involved and intricate geometric patterns.
“An anachronism, I know, but it assists my mental processes,” the Professor explained, noticing Will’s interest. “I find that cogitation is a largely preconscious activity.”
As Will nodded back at him, Danforth flicked his eyes in Drake’s direction. “I taught this whippersnapper everything he knows. Tutored him in basic electronics when he still couldn’t tie his own shoelaces. I took him on as my apprentice.”
“Merlin’s apprentice,” Drake said, an affectionate smile on his face. “How could I forget; we began with a cat’s-whisker radio when I was three or four, then quickly progressed to robotics and exploding drones.”
“Exploding drones?” Chester inquired.
“Remote-controlled airplanes to military spec, which carried our home-made explosives,” Drake replied. “Parry put a stop to our test flights on the estate when one crashed into the greenhouse and nearly blew Old Wilkie’s head off.”
The Professor twitched impatiently as if all this had begun to bore him. “Yes, well, I received your package with the components and the drawings. Fascinating stuff, I must say.” He removed his glasses and began to polish them with an obsessive thoroughness. The mannerism was so familiar to Will that he nearly gasped; it struck him that there was much about Danforth that was reminiscent of Dr. Burrows, Will’s late father. And the similarity wasn’t lost on Chester, who seemed to pick up on it at the same time. Catching Will’s eye, he gave him a small nod.
Danforth was in full flow, as if he’d launched into a lecture. “The Styx — by pursuing a parallel evolutionary course to us with their scientific development — have come up with some truly groundbreaking technology. Their accomplishments in both subsonics and mind control are something the U.S. military were frantically trying to develop in the sixties. And, I can tell you, the Americans would pay a pretty penny to get their h —”
“But did you get anywhere with the Dark Light?” Drake interrupted.
“Did I get anywhere?” the Professor said as if Drake’s question were an affront. “What do you think? Step this way.” In his strange gait, he hopped toward the rear wall of the room, where there was a bookcase and — as Drake had done when he placed his hand on the scanner outside — Danforth now pressed his palm against what appeared to be an ordinary mirror. The middle section of the bookcase clicked and swung open, revealing a hidden room.
“I swear it’s Dexter’s Laboratory,” Chester whispered irreverently to Will as they all followed Danforth into the room, which, from floor to ceiling, was filled with electronic equipment. A bewildering array of lights blinked on and off in different sequences on the various units.
But they clearly weren’t stopping there, as the Professor headed for a set of narrow wooden stairs in the corner, at the top of which Will and Chester found themselves in a long attic. At more than a hundred feet from end to end, it evidently ran the full length of the row of cottages and, again, was filled with equipment, although much of this was obscured by dust sheets. Beyond some test benches, at the very end of the attic, was a metal chair bolted to the floor. As Danforth reached it, he wheeled a trolley into view, on which were many boxes of electronics.
The Professor hit a switch, and a green line skittered across a small circular display, settling down into an undulating sine wave. Then he held up what was evidently some form of harness for a head, with two pads to cover the eyes, and numerous wires connecting it to the equipment on the trolley.
“Did I get anywhere?” Danforth said once again with indignation, waving the device in front of Drake. “Of course I did. Here’s what you asked for — an antidote to the Dark Light.” He pressed a switch on the back of the harness, and with a hum the eye pads began to glow an intense purple. As Danforth turned with the harness still in his hands, Will caught sight of the purple light. He felt a prickling behind his eyes, then a rapid swell of pressure as if something — a traction beam — was trying to drag both his eyeballs from their sockets.
He let out an involuntary breath and staggered back. He’d only caught the briefest glimpse of the light, but it was as though the spiked ball of energy had pushed its way inside his cranium again. “No,” he grunted, overwhelmed by a welter of unwanted memories of the Dark Light sessions that the Styx had put him through when he and Chester had been imprisoned in the Hold.
After he recovered, he found Drake was watching him. “It affected you, too?” Drake asked.
As Will swallowed a “Yes” in response, Danforth was making a trilling noise. “Good, good. It’s far more potent than the Styx’s efforts,” he said, sounding delighted.
Keeping his eyes shielded from the glowing pads on the headset, Drake addressed Danforth. “So you’re saying this apparatus will purge anyone who’s been Darklit?”
“Theoretically, yes,” Danforth replied as he turned the headset off. “The ancillary sensors take a reading of the subject’s normalized alpha brain activity,” he said, glancing at the green wave flowing across the small screen. “Then I employ a feedback loop to erase anything extraneous — anything extra the Styx might have implanted.”
“And you’re sure it works?” Drake asked. “Without any unwelcome side effects? No memory loss or mental impairment of any kind?”
The Professor gave an impatient sigh. “Yes, according to my calculations, it’ll work. And when have I ever been wrong?”
“I suppose there’s only one way to find out,” Drake decided on the spot. Shrugging off his jacket and dropping it on the floor, he immediately climbed into the chair. “Let’s do it.”
Will and Chester were flabbergasted. “Drake, do you really think this is such a good —?” Chester began.
Drake cut across him. “How else can we tell if it works? We can hardly test it out on a rabbit, can we?”
“But we could try it on Bartleby first,” Will suggested. “He was Darklit, too.”
Danforth had no time for such objections. Gingerly proffering the harness to Chester because he didn’t want the boy too near him, he inclined his head toward Drake. “Put this on him. Make sure the sensors are fixed firmly on the temples or the readings won’t be reliable,” the man ordered.
“OK,” Chester agreed reluctantly. He seated the harness on Drake’s bald scalp while Danforth made adjustments to the controls on the boxes of electronics.
“Help, will y
ou?” the Professor snapped at Will. “Strap him in. Make sure he’s buckled tight.”
Will looked at Chester with a blank expression, then he did as he’d been told, making sure Drake’s arms and legs were secured to the chair by the various straps.
There was a moment of silence as the Professor made the last adjustments. Again it struck Will how much like his dead father the scientist was �� it didn’t seem to matter to him one jot that there was a person in the chair who, if the process backfired, could be hurt. And, more than this, Danforth had known Drake from the time he was a child, and had evidently had a huge influence on him. Drake’s specialization in optoelectronics and his time studying it at university must have arisen from Danforth’s influence, and yet the Professor was only interested in finding out if his contraption worked. Dr. Burrows had been the same, sacrificing anything and anyone around him if it was necessary in his quest for knowledge and discovery.
“All systems go,” Danforth announced, clicking a switch. For several seconds nothing happened. Drake remained still in the chair, his eyes covered by the pads.
Will’s anger and resentment grew to the point that he felt like punching Danforth. He wanted to call a stop to the proceedings and free Drake from the chair, but then the birdlike man spoke.
“I’ve taken the normalized readings,” he announced. “Now for the purge.” He jabbed a button.
Drake twitched several times. Then he cried out at the top of his lungs, his body arching in the chair and his muscles going into such severe contraction that Will thought he might actually snap the bindings around his wrists and ankles.
The humming of the boxes seemed to resonate through everything in the attic. A small amount of purple light was leaking from around the edges of the eye pads, which meant Will found it difficult to look directly at Drake’s face.
Chester muttered, “Oh no,” as he saw the sweat coursing down Drake’s face and soaking his shirt.
“You can tell that he’s had quite a degree of conditioning,” Danforth noted drily as if he were commenting on the weather. “I’m going to increase the amplitude now, to complete the purge.” He twisted a dial.
Drake’s mouth was open, but there was no sound any longer, no scream. The tendons in his neck and wrists were stretched so tight that they looked as though they might burst through his skin. Then he began to babble.
“My God, listen . . . that’s Styx!” Chester exclaimed. “He’s speaking in Styx!”
Will listened in astonishment as Drake’s lips moved, and the bizarre sounds came from the back of his throat in short bursts, like the tearing of dry paper. It was so strange to hear a non-Styx speaking in their tongue. “We should be recording th —”
“We are,” Danforth interrupted, pointing at the apex of the roof directly above the chair, where a mirrored dome was fixed.
“Elliott might be able to tell us what he’s saying,” Chester suggested as the Professor waved his hand through the air in a flourish.
“And that should be it,” he announced.
He flicked a switch. The humming reduced and the purple light in the eye pads dimmed as Drake slumped loosely forward.
“Take it all off him now,” Danforth ordered Chester, who quickly did as he was told, removing the harness and the sensors from Drake’s dripping skin.
Will undid the straps binding him to the chair, then stood up. “Drake? Hello?” he said, his voice concerned as he took hold of the man’s arm and shook it. “Are you all right?”
Drake didn’t move, his head slumped onto his chest. He appeared to be out for the count.
“What do we do now?” Will asked, stepping back.
“Slap him,” the Professor said, kneading one hand with the other as if the thought of doing it himself was abhorrent.
“You mean it?” Chester quizzed him.
“Yes,” Danforth confirmed. “Slap him.”
“OK, then.” Chester propped up Drake’s head, then struck him.
Danforth hissed, “Put your back into it, boy. Hit him harder than that.”
But Chester was spared the task as Drake’s head jerked up. “He’s awake,” Chester said gratefully.
“Tell me how many,” the Professor asked as he thrust three fingers in front of Drake’s face. “How many do you see?”
“Four and twenty blackbirds,” Drake answered drunkenly, squinting through his half-lidded eyes.
“Slap him again,” Danforth said.
Chester swallowed and went to do it, but Drake caught his hand before it made contact with his face.
“I was joking, for God’s sake,” Drake exclaimed as he sat up straight in the chair and mopped the sweat from his brow. “I’m perfectly all right.”
Will was looking at Drake with disapproval.
“I know, I know,” Drake said, then drew in a deep breath. “In normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have taken the risk. But with what’s facing us, I have to do everything I can to improve the odds.”
“Are you sure you don’t feel any different?” Will asked, scrutinizing him. “Your voice sounds funny.”
“No, I’m fine. Really. I’ve bitten my tongue — that’s all,” Drake replied. He did sound slightly odd, and perhaps it was because of their relief that he’d come through unharmed, but Will and Chester couldn’t help themselves — they both began to laugh helplessly. “Thanks a bunch, you two,” Drake said, feeling the end of his tongue. He smiled, but then his expression became serious. “I suppose we won’t know how well it’s worked until we run into the Styx again.”
“Ye of little faith,” Danforth said testily.
Drake groaned as he lifted himself from the chair. It took him a few seconds to find his legs, then he turned to examine the boxes of electronics on the trolley. “Can you miniaturize this kit? We need it to be portable so we can deprogram subjects in the field.”
“Already made a start on a handheld version,” the Professor replied. “Now, who’s up next?” he asked, looking at Will with cold detachment.
“Well . . . me . . . I suppose,” Will gulped.
“Shouldn’t be too bad,” Drake tried to reassure the boy as he took off his jacket and climbed into the chair. “Remember, we’ve already negated the death wish they planted in you.”
“Yes, that’s true, Will,” Chester agreed, trying his best to sound upbeat. “You don’t want to throw yourself off buildings anymore, do you?” he said as he put the harness on his friend’s head and made sure the sensors were in contact with his temples.
“Not until this moment,” Will said under his breath.
Drake finished buckling the restraints on Will’s arms and legs, then rolled up a handkerchief and placed it in the boy’s mouth. “Here . . . bite down on this,” he advised. “I don’t want you losing the tip of your tongue.”
“Thanks,” Will said through the handkerchief. He could hear the Professor clicking switches, but he couldn’t see anything with the eye pads in place. “I just know this is going to be horrible,” he tried to say.
“Be quiet and keep still,” Danforth scolded him. “So I’ve taken the normalized wave pattern . . . and now I . . .”
As he threw the main switch, the darkness became an intense purple, gushing into Will’s head. Then there was severe pain, but not from any particular part of his body — in fact, he wasn’t aware of his body as he pitched forward into a huge space where there were bursts of white light, precisely as if camera flashes were going off. The flashes came more and more frequently, and between them Will caught fleeting glimpses of dark figures. He realized that he was seeing the two Styx from the Dark Light sessions he had been subjected to all those months ago after he was captured in the Quarter. But what was most bizarre was that everything seemed to be playing backward.
There was more pain, as though his head were about to explode. Quite suddenly it stopped, and he found that Drake and Chester were leaning over him.
“OK?” Drake asked.
“Sure,” Will said, alth
ough his mouth felt bone dry and his arms ached.
“I thought you were going to burst my eardrums with all that screaming,” Chester said quietly. “You spat the hand-kerchief out and nearly blew the roof off. Thank God you’re all right!”
Will noticed how pale his friend was. “Why? What happened?” he asked. “And where’s the Professor?”
“You’ve been out cold for about ten minutes,” Drake told him.
The Professor appeared — he’d evidently been downstairs. “Ah, he’s come around. So we won’t be needing the smelling salts or the first-aid kit,” he said tetchily.
“You had us worried,” Drake said. “The Styx must have put more programming into you than I’d anticipated. We’ll probably never know what it was now that it’s been weeded out.”
Chester curled his lip as if he’d tasted something unpleasant. “You were speaking Styx — it was so creepy.”
“What? Me, too?” Will said. “Weird. I really don’t remember anything.”
Then it was Chester’s turn to be treated with Danforth’s Purger, as they’d begun to refer to the apparatus. At first he hardly broke into a sweat, but then his face was streaming and he, too, cried out and began to babble away in what sounded like Styx. And he was barely conscious at the end of the treatment.
“Suppose that means they stuck something in my head, too, while they had us in the Hold,” he said, once he’d drunk some water and had a chance to recover.
“I’m afraid so. They don’t miss an opportunity, do they?” Drake said. “The only consolation is that your reaction was less severe than mine or Will’s, so I assume you had less of it than we did.”
“Power down,” Danforth announced, as he turned off the last box on the trolley, and the humming faded away to nothing. “A very satisfactory outcome, I’d say.”