The Orphanage is staffed by orderlies who wear white coats and face-concealing masks. They check in and out on an exquisitely regular schedule. A dirigible docks at the roof on a much less regular schedule. The place gets delivery-carts of Murgatroyd's Fungal Meal round the back daily.

No one goes anywhere near the place if they have any choice in the matter. Urchins avoid its roof, cats avoid its alleys. She doesn't even see any rats.

She waits until a point in the schedule when an orderly is due to arrive, then quietly raps them on the head with an adamant knuckle and collects the uniform from their unconscious body. She ties them up and gags them and stashes them nearby, then knocks on the door to be let in.

A panel slides out of the door, revealing two disinterested brown eyes. Then the door opens, and the doorman returns to his chair and newspaper.

She enters. 

She looks about her discreetly to see what the "other" orderlies are doing, and copies it to enough of an extent to not look suspicious, while wandering around to see what she can find out. 

Some of them clean the floors. Some of them guide patients from one room to another. The patients are usually clutching some object. One has a teddy bear which he holds unselfconsciously to his chest. Another strokes a wooden spoon, heedless of her splintered fingers. A third carries a severed human head in her arms, cooing to it like a baby. Patients who don't have something to hold are usually screaming and fighting the orderlies leading them around.

The door leading to the basement is locked, though it isn't guarded; from behind it come horrible sucking and gurgling noises, and groaning like a beast in pain. There's a door on the fifth floor with a plate reading REGISTRAR, which may be the key to finding Clarabelle's room. There's a guarded door leading to the roof and, relatedly, the dirigible dock, which if she times it right could serve as an escape route.

Who's in the REGISTRAR room? Are they ever not there?

An elderly woman with a suspicious gleam in her gimlet eye. There's a cot behind her desk.

Oh come on. 

Fine. She'll just look in every room until she sees someone who bears a resemblance to the Fading Music-Hall Singer.

There's rather a lot of rooms. In one, a young man stares into the mirror. When the door opens, he stands in front of his reflection protectively. In another, a woman sits, giggling, covered in a carpet of iridescent scarabs. In yet a third, one of the two residents is clinging to the other, who tolerates this while gazing adoringly at a painting of him. Everyone has something or someone, except a handful of people wrapped in straitjackets.

Finally she comes to a room containing two beds and two women. One, massively pregnant, is caressing the wall and humming to herself. She bears a more than passing resemblance to the Singer. The other is the Singer, lying in the bed, covered in bruises. She's harmonizing with her sister's humming, or at least she's trying; she can't always predict the next note.

When the Wastelander enters, she stops humming and lifts her head effortfully. "Oh, thank God," she breathes.

"What happened? Is Elisabeth okay?"

"Those same Clay Men who tried to kill me came to Will's house after you left. They told him they'd kill Elisabeth if he didn't give me up. So he gave me up. I don't blame him. They brought me to the Orphanage and put me in with Clarabelle - she'd been asking after me, quite insistently as it turns out."

"For crying out--okay, I don't blame him either, this is just damned inconvenient. Any thoughts on where to go once we get out of here?"

"If we get out of here," she says grimly. "They're clever here, you see. They've got something in the basement, and they milk it, and the stuff they get out, it's... love, in liquid form. They strap you down, and they feed you the milk, and they show you something, and you love it. Like nothing else exists, usually, though if you're strong enough you can prioritize a bit. Do you want to know what they showed Clarabelle?"

Sigh. "Something damned inconvenient?"

"Rather. They showed her the Orphanage. And now she lives inside her heart's desire."

Tears come to her eyes. "I can't leave her - couldn't even if I could walk right now. And she'd die before you could drag her out."

"Crap. This explains so much of what I've seen of the other prison--ooh. Wait. I have an idea."

"What is it?"

"Poor Edward accosted me and said I ought to forget the whole matter else he'd have me buried alive. And he most graciously gave me the means to do so. Do you think Lethean Tea Leaves would do the trick?"

The Singer's eyes widen. "They... they would. My God, you could do it. I'd only hinder you in this condition, but if Clarabelle goes free I don't care what happens to me."

"No, I'm definitely going to get you both out of here." Deep breath. "Don't tell anyone what I'm about to do, alright?" 

"Of course," the Singer says firmly.

She approaches the two, and kneels beside the Singer. 

Her hand glows, and as it passes over the Singer's body, where the light touches, her infirmities heal. 

The Singer gasps as her bones knit together. Slowly, hesitantly, she sits up, and prods herself in various places to see how healed she is.

"That's... quite a talent," she says finally.

"It's the same talent that let me save Elisabeth, really."

"Well, whatever it is, thank you and thank God for you. Before we leave, there's a couple of things you need to know. First, the thing in the basement... whatever it is. They've used it to cause untold suffering, and before we escape, we should kill it."