Well, Terrence thinks this letter sounds awfully familiar, right off the bat. He wonders how many other academically-minded people there are out in that sea of glittering masks at the Servant's Ball, and why they're all there, and what they all may be trying to escape from.

But he's certainly willing to help - sounds interesting, and no reason not to do a favor for Kaplan, anyhow - and that fellow at the party seemed to really care about getting it right. And even if it's not him, the law of synchronicity suggests the same attitude is worth attending to.

He decides to collect the four weirdest people he knows.

...That's probably fair, honestly. Though of course he'd rather say he's a Bohemian's Bohemian, but overall... that's a fair assessment.

It's very nice to be thought of for things like this. Questions of sanity aren't the most captivating thing in the world but visiting an asylum does sound like a lovely excursion.

She's enthusiastic about being part of the People Not Being In Asylums initiative and is, admittedly, extremely weird.

Inaaya Ramanujan Sinope, who named herself after a moon of Jupiter, spends most of her time reading math books and hanging out with bookstore cats, and claims to be a materially-minded skeptic while also reading the future with tarot cards for a living: cannot exactly claim not to be super weird.

Oscar is surprised Terrence has three other bohemians to send a letter to.

(Hannah insisted that he GO TO BED as soon as he went home and read the King in Yellow in the MORNING. By the morning, it no longer seems at all appealing to read. Probably for the best he'd slept through it.) 

A few days later--

Sano's office is too tasteful to have anything you can point to-- it's decorated in soft gentle blues-- but overall it gives the general sense that whomever owns this makes more in six months than Inaaya will in her entire life.

Well, she already knew that.

She informs the person at the front desk that she doesn't have an appointment but she does have an invitation and can wait until Mr. Sano is free.

His secretary says that Mr. Sano is busy but he left a selection of books about math he thought she might like and some money in case she's hungry.

.............that's extremely thoughtful of him.

She is not currently hungry but she's going to take the money anyway, because Joan will be, and head out for long enough that they can maintain plausible deniability that she got herself a meal with it, and then she's going to come back and curl up with one of the books.

About forty-five minutes later, the secretary says, "Mr. Sano will see you now."

Forty-five minutes later Inaaya has folded herself into a position more commonly seen among cats than people and is absolutely not using the chair the way chairs are supposed to be used. She's ready!

And goes where she's directed which is, presumably, the office proper.

"Miss Sinope!" Sano says. "How lovely to see you."

Very genuine smile. "Hello Mr. Sano, I'm here about the book of star charts?"

"Of course." Sano takes it out. "It's a very lovely book-- you'll have to wear these gloves to touch it--"

Okay!!! She's never had a chance to touch a book this old before but she is 100% capable of Wearing Gloves and Following Instructions.

Mr. Sano points out interesting features of the book. "This book is so old that when it was printed we didn't know about stars that couldn't be seen. All the stars they drew are the stars they knew about."

!!!!!

There's nothing that leaps out at her from the astronomy she already knows but she listens very intently and -- it's fascinating, all knowledge is, but specifically maps of the stars that are incomplete because of knowledge humanity as a whole didn't have but no less beautiful for it are a particular point of interest.

The star charts are beautiful. They drew pictures of the constellations behind the charts: a bear, a hunter, a snake.

"The constellations are different in Japan," Sano says quietly, pausing at one. "This one we called the dragon."

"They're different in India too. This one I grew up calling the two chariots."

"It is strange to be here where even the stars are divided differently, even if it's the same night sky."

"In some ways it's stranger than if the sky itself were different."

This is a hypothetical statement, note the 'if,' but it's...... kind of not a hypothetical statement.

"The adjustment can be quite difficult," he says, which is not not a question.

"It can be," which is not not an answer. "I've been here for nearly four years now and my friends are very patient with me, which helps."

"My friends were very helpful to me when I first visited. It was so strange not to have rice. And their tea--!"

Tiny laugh. "The tea barely tasted like anything to me at first. --although I've gotten used to nothing having spices since then, of course."

"Dreadfully bland. And not enough fish-- although I understand that is different in India and you miss curry instead."

"I'm from Bombay, I miss cumin more than curry-- but yes."

"Sinope is an unusual name. Is it from an Indian language I haven't heard before?"

"--ah. No, it's-- I'm Marathi, usually you'd take your father or husband's name? So I'd be Inaaya and then the name of whoever I married? Except, when I left Bombay, in the absence of a father or a husband, I just-- picked something out. Sinope is the most recently discovered moon of Jupiter."

"In a sense you are married to science." He laughs.

Smile. "In a sense. Inaaya Ramanujan Sinope. After the moon and the mathematician. --I was twelve."

He smiles. "You were a charming child, Miss Sinope."

He returns to showing her the star charts.

Blushing is forbidden and not allowed but star charts are excellent.

When the star chart book has been concluded, Sano says, "I do have a certain amount of common feeling for another... stranger in a strange land."

She nods, slightly cautiously.

(Inaaya's seen his office; she's not sure they have much in common at all.)

(...except for love of the stars. And that part's important. But.)

"How may I contact you if I have another book of interest?"

"I live at--" and she gives her address, which is actually Joan's address, which is a boarding-house mostly populated by dockworkers. "Or I spend most of my time at the library, if that's easier."

"Thank you, Miss Sinope."

Inaaya kind of thinks she's clearly the person benefitting, here. She doesn't say that. "Thank you, Mr. Sano."

Meanwhile--

Oscar sends Simone a note apologizing profusely for his bad behavior and inviting her to the shop to pick out a book-- her choice. "I can't help but feel that I added to what you were going through, and I'm sorry for that". It's a somewhat vague note but overall sincere.

He makes a mental note to apologize to that kid-- Sal?-- the next time he sees him around the shop, if he hasn't scared him off. He has a new edition of Shelley he thinks Sal will like a lot.

Simone doesn't answer. Some things are better not to poke at.

The next time Sal is at the shop he is very appreciative of the new Shelley edition. "I hope you're feeling better."

"I hope you're feeling better! You all fled a riot and then had to put up with me. Thanks, though, I am. Never had that kind of attack before, and knock on wood I don't think I will again. --You haven't, uh, happened to hear from the others?" Oscar asks, hoping he sounds casual and conversational. In fact it's both ridiculous and boorish to ask; this kid is virtually always alone when Oscar sees him.

"Just Simone. She might not be in for a while, I don't really know, she's always got something going on. Conspiratorially: "I keep thinking about asking Terrence about the play but then, well, I'd have to talk to Terrence about the play." About the second half in particular, as she didn't manage to catch any dialogue, but Oscar seems more at ease being mean about people than discussing things he missed out on.

"Simone seemed like it was pretty rough on her. I hope she's doing better." And that's all he's going to allow himself to say about Simone! "Don't ask Terrence about that play, I doubt he understands it. Some people like to feel like they're in on something special, you know."

"He does go on and on."

"How else will he let the masses know he's one of the elect? --Sorry, I promise I'm kidding. Terrence is a perfectly nice guy, no doubt a brilliant academic mind." He's smiling. "I just get the sense that the first act is nothing and then the second act is a different, more pretentious flavor of nothing. Maybe it's a good thing I passed out?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure I could even tell you what happened. It was very dark and I couldn't make out the words at all, the sort of thing you get when you're trying for a very artistic effect and forgetting you have an audience."

"'Very artistic effect' sounds maybe generous. So the riot was the most exciting thing that happened, eh? I think that violence might have gotten to me, unconsciously... I woke up and had this feeling that something terrible was going to happen. No idea what! I guess it must have been convincing enough for me to embarrass myself in front of everyone."

Meanwhile--

Terrence wants to go see the King in Yellow again. 

Mr. Noble has VETOED more performances of the King in Yellow.

It is a ONE NIGHT ONLY performance due to the FUCKING RIOT.

Mother fucker.

Did people not riot at Hamlet when it first was shown? ... Probably they didn't, but if so, it's because The King in Yellow is just better than Hamlet.

"That man," Talbot says without an introduction as soon as Terrence arrives at the coffeeshop for their meeting, "is a menace to art."

Terrence nods sadly in solidarity. "I'd say there's no accounting for taste, but he runs a theater."

"Cowardice! It's simple cowardice."

"I think you have hit upon it."

"The avant-garde is always censored by small-minded little--"

Terrence chuckles. "I would believe it. Plato said that a city's art can change its core, and - well, regardless of what cities may think, people hate change. ... Most people."

So Terrence's theater-finding process will look something like this: Ask Jing Yi and Simone for all the weird little bohemian performance centers they've been in before. Ask them to ask other people if need be. What he needs to find out from Estus is stuff like how many seats they need, if there are technical requirements, etc. Terrence is aware that he's not really a theater person but he can guess, and he's more than willing to drop his obligations and, like, go knock on theater doors and ask their managers about whatever as needed.

Talbot staged it for a rather small theater, so they'll need something else small.

"And some of the cast has backed out, so we'll have to find replacements at short notice..."

Smaller is certainly easier. The cast is... tougher. And stranger, to be honest. "That surprises me. I suppose it's an... intense text... Wait, what am I saying, the aggressors went for the stage, yes, alright, I, uh, that's understandable. I suppose."

Well, he can ask Jing Yi? And ask Jing Yi if he knows people who Terrence can reach out to. Pitching it as 'short-notice work for actors who need work' will probably go over better than harping on the importance of the artistry of this particular play.

"They've had nightmares or something."

Terrence blinks. "Not just after, after reading the script, but - in the process of performing it? Specifically?"

"Yes. Apparently it made the nightmares worse." Talbot's tone shows his contempt for how weak anyone would have to be to be driven away by nightmares.

Terrence is a bit thrown. "Huh. After reading it, I would understand. I mean - I haven't read your treatment, obviously, but the source text, it's - it's rather psychoactive, that's - to be expected."

Terrence doesn't really think he can ask, have you had the dreams too? Is it just me that's had that tale color even my sleeping mind? But he supposes his question has obliquely been answered.

"But, uh, performing it as intensifying - Huh."

His appreciation for the art deepens.

"Well. I'll ask around, certainly. I just wish I could point you right now to anyone who appreciates it as, well, as we do. I know they're out there."

"If people just read it they'd understand-- I thought, perhaps, the actors."

"How could they not get it?" Terrence isn't just sympathetic to Estus's plight, he's befuddled too.

"There was nothing but complaints!"

"I suppose - there were alterations. In the second act. To the text. Make no mistake, my friend, I mean no criticism, I myself found them quite entrancing, but - I'm just supposing aloud, could that have changed, the... the interpretation...?" Terrence's academic language is really failing him in describing what he's trying to get at, as well as his other language because he himself isn't certain, but maybe Estus will get it.

"There were no alterations," Talbot says. "I had the cast perform it exactly as written. I would never desecrate the King in Yellow in that way."

Terrence blinks several times. "My apologies. My memory must be failing me." He's trying his best to hide outright suspicion that might cause offense, but is clearly confused at the distinct possibility that he and Estus disagree about the contents of The King in Yellow.

"The play has-- certain properties when performed. They're brilliant! Brilliant! The way it works with the universal subconscious."

"...Oh." He says it thoughtfully reverently. He knew it was written as a play, but he's never read it aloud, or paid too much attention to that versus the text. He doesn't really have a grasp on what he's approaching, but it's a whole new angle of the work that clearly has a lot to it. The play is proof. "I see..."

"It connects with each member of the audience differently. You have to see what each individual brings to the text. Of course that's always true but with the King in Yellow it's true more deeply..."

"As with most things with The King in Yellow." Terrence is rather lost in thought. As a sort of light-hearted aside: "I suppose you could flyer some of the bohemian areas with the Yellow Sign and you might find enthusiastic performers that way."

"Perhaps, perhaps," Talbot says, "but it feels-- blasphemous-- to use it so casually..."

Terrence frowns. "I suppose you're right - the idea of them being, say, torn down - Yes, yes, I fear you're right."

"I am very grateful to you for trying to make sure that this work is shown."

"It would be the greatest honor of my life," Terrence says, sincerely. "I only hope I can help. The King in Yellow has changed my life. The world should see it - and should see your good work in bringing it to life."

Meanwhile--

Hannah sends Jing Yi a return letter asking if he would like to get lunch sometime.

Jing Yi would be delighted to do that!

"Good afternoon," Hannah says, sitting down at a chic little French restaurant.

"Good afternoon. It's very good to get a chance to meet you. Your performance in the King in Yellow was excellent. It's a shame it got cancelled after only one night."

"To be honest it's just as well," Hannah says.

"...Oh?"

Actors in his experience generally prefer not to have things cancelled, unless something truly ridiculous was going wrong... which isn't that implausible in this case, but still weird?

She shudders. "The play gave me the creeps. And I don't even remember the performance, not after the second scene. It's like I went into some kind of fugue state. Sorry-- I'm sure that isn't what you wanted to talk about."

"Your performance was even more impressive, in that case. And it's fine, I'm happy to be a friendly ear to someone else in the profession."

"It just... feels like I can open up to you somehow? And I haven't-- there's no one else I can talk to about it, not really. Not who takes me seriously."

"I can understand that."

"There are these dreams. Ever since I was cast, I just-- they're like nightmares, but they're not quite nightmares."

"I'd like to say something sympathetic, like, 'Everyone gets those, I still get those dreams about the first play I was in except I've forgotten all my lines,' but-- I know this almost certainly isn't that. So, I wish I could say something more sympathetic than 'I'm so sorry, that sounds awful.'"

"It's just-- images. A still form with yellow robes which move in a wind that isn't there. These vast, thrusting fish swimming over a gracious white city. And-- the drawing Mr. Estus had the Stranger wear-- the Yellow Sign--"

You know what, maybe getting passed over for that hack Walter getting cast isn't such a bad thing. "That sounds quite unpleasant."

"I tried not to look at it, we all did. It made us sick when we saw it and it made the nightmares worse."

"...And Mr Estus decided this must mean it was really good costume design?" He says it with a tone of contempt for the concept of playwrights and directors.

"Oh, yes, he refused to redesign it. We thought about going on strike, but--" She doesn't have to finish the sentence. It is hard enough to get work.

"Probably for the best the audience lost it, I guess. It was probably the only way it was getting stopped-- though quitting after the audience attacked you is also an incredibly reasonable choice."

"You know, we didn't have a dress rehearsal? The first time we performed it all the way through was opening night."

He's not sure his face is capable of making the appropriate expression of horror and confusion. "I-- what?"

"He said we didn't need it, we could just-- practice in pieces-- And we didn't say the last words of the play in any of our performances."

"...The man doesn't know the first thing about writing or performing, and somehow he still manages to put on a play. 'Let's not practice the end! There's no way that could go wrong!'" he says in a fake Estus voice.

"It's only the last three words we weren't allowed to say. He just made sure we knew how to pronounce it right and said that when we got there we'd just. Know. I thought it was typical for, you know, avant-garde directors, but--"

"Either it's unnecessary, in which case he's just making people's lives more difficult for no reason, or it is, and-- I don't even know what that would mean, or why you would put it in a play?"

"It's-- Hastur. Three times, all in unison. He was very careful to make sure we never said it more than once before the final performance. Some kind of... theatrical superstition?" she says uncertainly.

...It's certainly not one he's heard of. He laughs brittlely. "You know directors, trying to make sure the actors don't ruin the effect somehow by being comfortable with what we're going to say." He hopes he sounds like he believes it. He's not sure he does.

"Yeah," she says. "Yeah, he's just-- impossible to work for."

She sounds like she's desperately trying to convince herself to believe that that's it.

He's going to make a note to very strenously avoid Talbot Estus, in any case! "If there's something I can do to be helpful, let me know. There's not much I can do-- It's hard enough when the way you pay rent is dealing with impossible people like that."

"It's-- it's not anything, I don't even know what it could be. I was high-strung and in a weird fugue state and had some nightmares and I need some time in the country and he's an odd avant-garde director and it's hardly-- the most embarrassing job I've ever had--"

He nods sympathetically. "And as much as it would be satisfying to run Estus out of town, it's not really practical."

"Maybe there was carbon monoxide in the theater, or I've been drinking too much absinthe--"

"The first would explain the audience, at least." ...and maybe why Oscar passed out...?

"Yeah." She nods. "Probably carbon monoxide. Someone should tell Mr. Noble-- if Talbot Estus didn't pump it into the theater himself--"

"It sounds unfortunately in character for him."

"So there's a perfectly logical explanation," she says, not believing at all that there's a perfectly logical explanation.

"Perfectly logical," he says, hoping that it is logical, except that it would imply that Mr Estus tried to poison his actors, which should be the worse option.

"Anyway," she says. "I'm sorry to just-- dump all this on you-- what did you want to talk to me about?"

"--I was going to compliment you on your performance, and then try and pick your brains about how you did it, but seeing as you don't remember it...?"

"It felt like something was speaking the words through me, even before I went into a fugue."

"That just shows you're very talented at getting in character."

"Yeah. Of course. But I don't know what I did. I was trying to avoid thinking about it as much as I could between rehearsals, because it helped with the nightmares."

"Very understandable."

"And, uh. Drinking a lot."

"There are way, way worse solutions, honestly."

On the afternoon of the 28th--

The hotel concierge arrives in the lounge with Dr. Aarons and tea.

"Hello! I'm Dr. Aarons, from St. Agnes Hospital. I don't believe I have the pleasure of your acquaintance...?"

Technically they have met, but he does not need to know that. "I'm William Jing, an actor. Pleasure to meet you."

"Salinger Digby."

"Likewise. My name is Inaaya Sinope." Let's just leave out her profession.

"I'm Oscar Latz, of the Forward Bookshop."

Likewise, the build of the man dressed as a man in a suit and mask does match up - but Terrence has an ounce of tact and there are as many as several reasons that a man like Dr. Aarons could be attending an event like the Servant's Ball. "Terrence Markham. Professor Kaplan put us in touch. Pleasure to meet you. These are my friends, a crack team of investigators."

"I must get your commitment that you will handle this all with the strictest discretion. Dr. Kaplan speaks very highly of you. Mr. Markham, and I am sure all of your friends are equally trustworthy. But to give you enough context I must give you information about a man's private life."

Terrence did tell people in advance that this matter should be kept private. ...But he does broadly trust them to be discreet too, so like, yeah.

"I think most of us have the good sense to keep private matters private. Comes with the bohemian life."

"You have my commitment," Inaaya says with perfect seriousness.

He is has Much Experience being discreet, even if he can't, uh, easily prove that. On account of being discreet about the things he is discrete about. "I solemnly swear it shall stay under my hat."

"Absolutely."

"St. Agnes is a mental hospital which specializes in the... criminally deranged. Both those who have been convicted of a crime and those who have been committed because it is feared that they will harm others."

Oscar is not going to roll his eyes. Heroically.

Thank you, Oscar.

They're here about a possible criminal, then. Exciting.

"Is our friend the former or the latter?"

Sidenote: did Terrence invite basically everyone from the play to meet Doctor Aarons? Maybe Sal was telling the truth that Simone is busy. Hmm, bad time to think about that.

"The latter. My patient is Alexander Roby. Have you heard of him?"

Banker Grahame Roby’s useless brother. Pretty normal bohemian type: he has rich family members, so he spends his time studying astronomy, art, myth, and the occult. His brother disapproved of him. Roby dropped out of Peterhouse College, Cambridge to serve in the War Office during the Great War. After the armistice he rattled around in the Foreign Office, his father’s old department. He retreated into isolation before the murders.

Alexander Roby's father and sister were killed in shocking circumstances in 1925. It was thought that Roby was arrested, but no charges were brought against him. No one was convicted of the crime.

"The name rings a bell."

Terrence nods. "Very strange business."

(He recalls everything Sal did about Roby as a person, but is rather vague on the murders.)

Jing Yi is having the revelation that 'Alexander Roby, the guy whose father and sister were killed' and 'Alexander Something-something, actor and bad lover' are the same person. It's... quite the revelation. "I believe so."

"Heard of the case a few years back. I take it he was never convicted."

"...no."

"His father and sister were killed in shocking circumstances in 1925. It was believed he was linked to the crime, but in the absence of any... physical evidence... he obviously couldn't be convicted. His brother, Grahame Roby, and the family doctor committed Alexander to St. Agnes’ Asylum nearly two years ago."

So he's been imprisoned for two years with no evidence.

"I'm a bit concerned by the tone of 'physical evidence?'"

(Is that obvious??? Inaaya does not even slightly understand how court systems work but she's gotten the impression that police are not usually that rigorous???)

"Well, he was in the house at the time, and it is difficult to know how anyone else could have done it, as well as to know how he could have done it. In the absence of Sherlock Holmes, I feel the mystery is going to be unsolved."

"How he could have done...?" Terrence is slightly afraid to hear the answer but he's gotta ask.

Yes, give us a better account of the gory details.

"The-- bodies could only be identified from dental records. Roby confessed, but he couldn't explain how he had committed the murders. And he had no weapon which could have done such a thing."

"...Ah." Terrence frowns.

"His brother remains convinced that Roby committed the murder but I fear he is-- emotionally attached to it so he can have any explanation at all."

'Ah' indeed. "It's an understandable desire, given the circumstances."

"You think maybe Roby's a scapegoat? He wouldn't be the first."

"I wouldn't put it in those words, but-- yes. He struggles with night terrors which are controlled with a strong sleeping draught. There is no evidence of long-term insanity."

"Night terrors, huh... Sounds kinda terrifying to tragically lose most of your family and then get, uh, put away. I don't blame him."

"Yes. In Order of Petition in English law commits a patient for a maximum of two years, so Roby’s committal is due for review. I want to do my due diligence and make sure that my intuition is correct that Roby is not insane. Could you perhaps speak with him and offer your opinions as members of his community?"

"I'd think we should be glad to help," Terrence glances around but speaks confidently at least for himself.

"Of course." He's surprised. This Aarons guy is pretty open-minded and reasonable for a man in his position.

"Yes." If she's in any meaningful sense a member of Roby's community which she's really not sure of.

"I would be quite willing." If he's manageably insane and not likely to disassemble anyone with household furniture, he's quite happy to talk to him and give him his seal of approval. Plus, he does not often get a chance to be Professionally Bohemian. ...Non-professionally Bohemian, seeing as he isn't getting paid. ...look, if he can finagle a lunch out of this, he will be more than happy.

He nods. (He came here expecting a simple insanity case and now he's being asked to look into one part of an impossible murder! Today is looking up.)

"Perhaps you could even ask around in your community?" Leo asks hopefully. "There's inherently a hierarchy between doctor and patient, and I know that he may not be honest with me. I would like insight from people who knew him as equals. It is a very serious matter to put a man in an asylum for two years of his life. I wish to investigate it thoroughly."

"It would be a little hard to do so discreetly," Terrence points out. "But. ... Float his story from the news and see what they know? That might be doable."

"I'm happy to help," Oscar says. "Though my contacts are a bit skewed toward the book side of things. I don't know if he was as much a part of that world."

"I can quietly ask some people. I can't promise anything useful, but I can ask."

"I... can certainly try."

If absolutely nothing else maybe the Roby family will turn out to have cats.

"On October 30, I'm returning to the asylum; do you want to come with me to interview Roby?"

"It would be my pleasure." Murder mystery!

"I'm free that day." The perks of being a mostly out of work actor.

"As am I."

"I'll make myself available."

"Certainly. You think he'll be okay with visitors?"

"He will. And of course I will pay you the usual consulting fee." He names a sum that is eye-poppingly large for everyone involved.

!!!!!!

Oh, he is so much more than willing now. Being a Professional Bohemian is great.

That'd keep Spring Tide Press in operation for another year.

"Oh! Quite generous of you." The amount is somewhat less eye-popping for Terrence then for anyone else. But still, academia and the occasional literary essay have never paid especially well, and he did expect to be doing this pro bono.

He should put "consulting Bohemian" on his business cards.

She and Joan can live somewhere that isn't a falling-apart boarding-house in the slums and maybe she can study full-time since that's way more than she makes pretending to tell people's futures, and Joan might be able to look for a job that's less exhausting, and-- --and she is getting ahead of herself and should not make plans that rely on large amounts of money while she doesn't know how long she's going to have this income stream for. Right.

Sal looks for information about Alexander Roby:

Dr. Aarons is taking the 10:20 a.m. train on October 30th from Paddington to Hereford.

"I'm so glad you agreed to consult with me, Mr. Jing, Mr. Markham."

"It's always a pleasure to Contribute to Society."

"I try to run my asylum in the most modern manner. In line with the latest empirical research."

"Probably for the best, I'd say. I can't say I'd want to end up in an old fashioned asylum, myself."

"Does this, uh, approach show up there? Or is this a bit of research of your own?"

"Well, I think it's part of my overall method," Dr. Aarons says earnestly. "It's always important to seek out information and understand the patient from his own point of view. Instead of assuming that everyone wants to murder their father like that hack Freud does, without paying attention when the evidence suggests no such thing."

"...I'm hoping Freud's father is still alive, seeing as he assumes that?"

Terrence laughs. "His family reunions must be uncomfortable."

"There's fascinating work that's been done with pigeons-- still unpublished, unfortunately-- you can teach them all manner of things by giving them rewards when they do what you want. Which is of course how humans learn as well! A baby babbles, and when he says something that sounds like a word, his parents smile at him and coo at him and perhaps give him the thing he wants."

"I would have expected a doctor to argue that we would be ...higher than animals."

"The immortal soul is not my area of concern, Mr. Jing. I am a man of science and I expect spirits to take care of themselves."

Terrence nods thoughtfully. "- Until they choose to present themselves for study."

"Of course. And then they shall be subject to experimentation and empiricism like anything else."

"That'd be a headline: 'Ghost Presents Itself To Asylum For Further Testing.'"

"So I've been trying to apply this to the asylum itself. We give each patient rewards for behaving in a way that lets them fit in better with society. And I've also been doing some very interesting things with classical conditioning-- more work on that has been published, you can look it up if you want to-- there's this fascinating Russian man called Pavlov--"

"Somehow I doubt all the patients' families appreciate the idea of them being rewarded." Subtly trying to feel out how Dr. Aarons feels about the Roby family? No, never.

"Well, it's not their business, is it? My duty is to the patient and to society."

Terrence is not particularly thinking about the implications of the Roby case. He is nodding and making appropriate "hm!" and "oh? go on" noises to indicate interest in receiving an infodump about classical conditioning.

"Fascinating! Speaking of empiricism, you know, a lot of classic texts just straightforwardly assume that gods and spirits and such were obviously real and had meaningful impacts in their lives. Pagan or otherwise - you see things that look a great deal like empiricism, court trials where people earnestly debated whether the spells they cast were ungodly magic or legitimate philosophy." He says the last clause with air quotes applied heavily. "Of course, I have no idea what to make of it. but it is very curious indeed."

"Well, there are all manner of superstitions in the past. Today we know that magic spells do not work."

"Certainly! Certainly."

"I don't care about philosophy," Dr. Aarons says. "I care about healing the insane. Speaking of, we've done fascinating things with classically conditioning the patients by putting them in a situation that naturally elicits a certain emotion and then associating it with something we'd prefer to cause that emotion in the future. I've even tried it with calming medications, causing the patient to associate a calm state with a previous target of a phobia--"

"I think you may find you care about philosophy more than you think! But as a means to the end. Quite commendable, certainly."

Eyes emoji @ these facts.

MHHMM. Calming medications. Splendid idea. (One of the nice things about theatrical training is that it has given him a very good poker face.)

Do you want to hear about BEHAVIORISM. Because Leo has thoughts on BEHAVIORISM. And absolutely no thoughts on any other subject.

...you know what? Behaviourism isn't the King in Yellow, so Jing Yi has no grounds to complain.

As it happens, The King in Yellow does have some interesting ideas in regards to this - but it's quite subtextually nuanced and Terrence doesn't think the train ride will be long enough to really catch Leo up on the relevant elements. ... Also, he's not uninterested in this behaviorism philosophy, so, yeah, he wants to hear Leo's thoughts.

Meanwhile--

Trains: very fast. She's not really used to them?

There is probably an Etiquette for this but she has no idea what it is.

Well, she's not going to pick up any Etiquette from these weirdos.

"You're at the library a lot," Sal says to her eventually. It's more words than he's ever said to her before.

"I-- really like reading?" Wait no that wasn't supposed to be a question. "I hang around bookshops too, I think I've seen you at Mr. Latz's shop."

He has definitely tried to get Inaaya to stop calling him that, but it doesn't take.

"There too, yes. What do you read about?"

"Math! And recently I've been going through the astronomy shelves but mostly math. And of course I'm working my way through everything Bertrand Russell has ever written math or otherwise."

"Much more practical than all of this talk of murder and insanity. What are you planning to go into?"

Well, she's been trying to figure out how to get Joan to be able to visit the Dreamlands, but that's not an answer to a question about career aspirations, now is it.

"I'm hoping to get a math paper published soon," she says, even though this is a ridiculous thing to hope for when you're a teenage girl with an Indian name who reads tarot cards for a living.

"She definitely is," Oscar interjects. Inaaya is the real thing!

"...well, I definitely am hoping, journals tend to want you to be university-affiliated. Which I'm... not."

"That's gatekeeping bullshit... Sorry Inaaya, I promised you I wouldn't start with the rant against academia. It's purely their loss, though."

"Credentialism is a sad fact of life. Maybe you can find someone to work with you. Or once you get through college you'll have years of polishing it up." If she's got anything at all, which is maybe possible, but let's be very honest here, Oscar Latz is not qualified to assess that. "What's your paper about?"

"Sad facts of life" are how you excuse most forms of historically contingent exploitation but we're not getting into that.

Inaaya can explain her paper! It's building on these three theorems one of which was published last year and--

Weobley lies twenty miles northwest of the county town of Hereford and twenty east of the Welsh border. It is primarily a farming community with Hereford beef cattle, dairy cattle, cider apple orchards, and wheat fields. The village has a farm supply company, a post office/general store and two pubs, the Wheatsheaf and the Red Lion.

St. Agnes’ Asylum itself sits on a hill a mile east of the village. It is reached by an unpaved, rutted track running between broad dry-stone walls. The main building is a longish, three-story, gray brick building with barred windows and a steep slate roof. Beside that stands an administration building similar in appearance but smaller and without bars on the windows. The two structures sit on a hillside bare of tree and bush — like a pointless and lonely fortification. The madhouse attendants gaze sullenly at the investigators as they walk from the car.

Dr. Aarons escorts them to his office. "Here are his medical records. His primary presenting condition is scotophobia-- episodes of panic while asleep. Pulse and breathing are rapid, pupils are dilated, hair stands on end. He is confused and hard to calm down. I administer half a fluid ounce of laudanum nightly to stop these periods. A smaller dose was ineffective because it permitted Mr. Roby to dream."

That's-- a lot of laudanum. That's a lot.

That's a wild sentence to hear! Okay. Okay, cool, cool, cool. Terrence smiles politely.

...dreaming, huh.

"Does he, ah, know what you're trying now, with us, by the way?"

"Yes. I've prepared him for visitors. I will send you with Nurse Price-- hospital policy-- but I myself won't accompany you. I think he'll be more willing to open up without me in the room."

...uhuh. "Sounds quite reasonable."

Don't knock the wonders of modern medicine. Frankly he trusts that the laudanum is having an effect on his neurology more than he trusts any of this behaviorism stuff.

"There is no family history of insanity nor does Mr. Roby have any history of insanity himself. I believe Mr. Roby's illness stems from the murder of his family and the grief and perhaps guilt he feels."

He's trying not to let it show because now is not the time-- and William Jing is right there, what a joy-- but the thought of this guy locked up and drugged is sincerely depressing.

"Further evidence for this is that Mr. Roby functions well without medication from April to October of each year. I believe that the winter period reminds him of the murder."

...please let them at least be handling the inevitable withdrawal sensibly.

...he is not going to bet that the 'rewards' are, ahem, pharmacological in nature, but that's because there's probably no one here who would take the complementary bet. It fits the pattern.

"...have you ruled out lack of sunlight?"

"Excellent question, Miss Sinope! We have tried giving him more sunlight in winter, it doesn't seem to help."

"Right. Is there anything else in the environment that'd be seasonal-- and you said he's only been here two years, when did you notice that pattern?"

"He was medicated upon admission in November 1925 and kept on it until April 1926. He was free of medication and of panic attacks until a scotophobia incident on October 19th 1926, when he was given two three-month prescriptions. After that he was unmedicated and free from attacks from April 1927 until another recent incident on October 15th."

"...do you happen to know which days in April?"

"The twenty-fifth and the fifteenth."

"Does he report dreams of anything in particular?"

"Something called... the yellow sign?"

Polite, slight, frozen smile. "Ah."

"Sorry, is this 'yellow sign' something you hear about a lot in your line of work?" Oscar can't think of any literary precedents off the top of his head.

"I've never heard of it before. I assume it has some personal meaning."

"Well," Sal says dryly. "It's evidence in favor of bohemianism. I'm pretty sure that's from a play."

Terrence looks at Oscar.

"Yeah?" What's with that look from Terrence, anyway? There's a lot of interesting art about dreams and he's not going to be embarrassed he hasn't kept up with it. Not on that guy's account anyway.

"Is there anything else that needs to be addressed or should I take you to the interview? --Or, um, apparently Miss Clapper has requested your presence. I'd appreciate if you'd speak with her, she's been very well-behaved lately and I'd like to reward that."

Well-behaved, huh. This situation continues to be depressing.

"I'd be happy to help with your experiments with rewards."

Oh great William is going for it.

"Interesting. I'm prepared for the interview. Who is Miss Clapper?"

"She's one of our patients. She's never been violent but whenever she's up for release she informs us that she has many violent fantasies so she winds up staying."

"S- sure?"

Honestly he kind of wishes he had to deal with only one of "patients being rewarded for good behavior" and "William Jing" at once.

"Thank you, I would be much obliged. I do try to give our patients any little things they want."

Isn't that sweet.

...uhuh. He's not going to say she definitely doesn't have such fantasies, but well... It's A Look

"All right. Hospital policy is that there should be no sharp objects of any kind-- no pencils, no hatpins, nothing of that. Nurse Price will accompany you."

A policy that more places should have, honestly.

Do they absolutely have to know what's in his pockets? He's gonna try to look trustworthy.

Terrence willingly surrenders a small pencil he had with his notebook.

Inaaya hands over her pencil and her (Joan's) pocketknife.

Does Inaaya really need to have that?

Pocketknives are useful. You can open things with them. Or defend yourself if someone tries to mug you. Joan was very clear on that last point even if Inaaya mostly makes use of the former.

Sal gives up nothing. If the authorities don't notice they haven't questioned him about it that's their problem.

That's understandable. If off-putting.

Jing Yi  hands over a pen as a show of Good Will.

Nurse Price joins them, a large, silent man, and escorts them to Miss Clapper's rooms. It is rapidly getting dark. The sky is clear.

"Only three of you," Miss Clapper announces as soon as they arrive, "are repeats."

"...I've never been here before."

Terrence smiles. "Pardon?"

"Well, I'm glad we made an impression."

"....which three?"

"Inaaya, Jing Yi, and Violet, of course." She pronounces Jing Yi's name correctly.

Violet?

He's not sure whether to be more startled by the fact she knows his and Violet's name, or the fact that she got the 'J' right and didn't call him Mr Yi? One of them is objectively more startling, one actually surprises him more.

"Nobody here is named Violet," says Violet sternly.

"Who knows, maybe Inaaya has a secret identity."

She glares at Terrence. "I wanted Dr. Light. Do you think she'll show up if you die? I suppose Delta Green's not going to be founded for twenty years, there's no obvious place for her."

Terrence does have the respectable look.

"Sorry to disappoint," says Terrence earnestly.

Wow this is bizarre and disconcerting. "What... does it mean that I'm a repeat."

"Well, there's more than one of you, dear. I don't think you're going to marry a giant fishperson this time though. He's busy at Miskatonic."

"On the other hand, your team is much more pleasant to be around. Many fewer arguments about Stalinism."

...what? "You've been visited before?"

There are too many philosophical movements, honestly.

"And you can speak Cat. I've always wanted to speak Cat." Thoughtfully: "I suppose I do speak Cat because I speak every language."

How does she know that!!! --Also why did she just say it!!!

"But the point is that I think it's a very solid decision to trade out talking with dead people for talking with cats. Cats are much more useful and pleasant to be around. Dead people have hardly anything interesting to say in my experience."

"Maybe you need better taste in books."

"You," she says to Oscar, "should try to buy as many books from the Institute for Sexual Hygiene as you can. And stay out of Germany in the 1930s."

WHAT IS GOING ON HERE.

Nessa is being Helpful, that's what's happening.

...Is she hitting on Oscar? Is she insulting Oscar? Fascinating.

Or, no, okay, when you put it that way it's obvious, Nessa can see the future, and also other things, and is deciding to say them in this way and not some other way for reasons probably even if Inaaya cannot fathom what those reasons might be.

"You certainly know a lot of things," says Sal, aware of the chaos and secret exposure this is devolving into and hoping to at least turn some of it towards something useful. "Do you know anything about the man we're investigating? Or the murder we're told he didn't commit?"

"Violet, I'm glad you're not betraying your team for the cult this time. I think it's rather rude to betray people."

What does it mean that there's more of Inaaya! Or that some of them can speak to dead people instead of cats, or-- what!!!!

"I left Germany for a pretty good reason and I'd need a damn good one to go back. The Institute for Sexual Hygiene sounds, hmm, kinda morally reforming? Not my specialty."

'Don't be in Germany at any point in the near future' just seems like roundly sensible advice at this point?

(Jing Yi doesn't pay very much attention but at Oxford he'd heard some people talk about hyperinflation.)

"Well, check them out! Future generations of rare-book collectors will be very grateful."

"Well, always open to expanding my collection, thanks."

"Of course there are other secrets," Nessa says thoughtfully, "but I don't feel like I want to bring them up right now."

"....can I write to you, or does that break something somehow."

"Dr. Aarons allows me to correspond, but I'm hardly going to give a useful answer," Nessa says cheerfully.

Terrence glances at Inaaya curiously. Which part of what Clapper said that made that seem worth doing??

"Jing Yi, make sure that you're having sex with the right Zixuan or Jin Zixun is going to be very angry." (She also pronounces these names correctly.)

"...Noted?" (One of the nice things is that most people here probably can't guess the gender of those names.)

(Terrence blushes sympathetically, on Jing Yi's part, anyhow, about the cavalier discussion of sex. He's rather old-fashioned about some things.)

"Are there any, say, useless hints you can give us. Something relevant to our lives, right now, the case we are currently working on, the information we are actually trying to get, but in a form as cryptic and unhelpful as possible, please."

"Oh! Yes, of course. Why didn't you ask?"

Oscar is just here for the ride and/or off-the-wall book recommendations. It's a shame this woman gets so few visitors. She's quite the character.

"Or useless hints about anything else, personally I'm curious about the choices other versions of me apparently made."

"You should follow your dreams and follow your star-- specifically, Aldabaran-- and sell all of your stock on September 19, 1929. Assuming you're still alive then."

"Wait, Aldabaran?"

Sunnily: "I hope you're not going to take any offense if I hope you're all dead."

Goddammit why did she give up her pencil. "I'm not offended but I would like to know why?"

"That sounds like useful information!"

"...fair."

"I do personally quite enjoy being alive."

"Well, that is all I have to say. Let Lacie eat flesh! --I didn't get to say that last time and I'm VERY disappointed."

She silently resolves to NEVER let Lacie eat flesh.

🙂 What the actual fuck.

Yeah, let's not let people eat flesh!

Suddenly the claims of violent fantasies seem so much more plausible.

To be fair if Oscar were in an asylum he'd also lean into the madman thing.

no she wants to know what other things other versions of her apparently have instead of speaking cat--

"One of them pilots a giant robot made of love!" Nessa says to the air.

"It was nice meeting you, Miss Clapper. Have a good afternoon."

"I'm not sure if we'll be seeing you again, but it was definitely a pleasant chat."

"...What do I do?" she asks quietly, as some of them start making to leave. "In those other worlds."

To Violet: "Well, in one of them you save everyone."

To Jing Yi: "your father misses you very much."

To Oscar: "be nicer to your wife."

To Terrence: "change nothing. You're doing amazing, sweetie."

To everyone: "And has everyone got that? Follow your dreams, follow Aldabaran, sell your stock on September 19, 1929."

Terrence's heart is warmed just a little, although it'd be unreasonable to be TOO heartened by it, because she's a madwoman.

He is... aware. Unfortunately it takes letters some time to cross oceans, and telegraphs and telephones are Expensive.

Good general advice he guesses. "Great to meet you, Miss Clapper, and thanks again for the recommendation!" He pauses a second... "Take care in here, okay?"

"No one can hurt me, Oscar, I'm omniscient."

"Delighted to hear it."

September 19th, 1929. Right. Why did she give up her pencil.

"It was nice to meet you," she says. "Thank you for talking to us." The endless font of questions can wait until she's not around people who will have no idea why she's taking anything Miss Clapper says seriously at all and who she doesn't super want to explain all of her everything to.

She doesn't put her faith into the ravings of a madwoman. The name was a very lucky guess, maybe not even a guess, but knowing present facts doesn't make you precognitive, it doesn't give you insight into other worlds.

Any comfort she takes in those words is entirely secret.

This was just a deeply weird interaction. He has no reason to believe she Knows Things, but also she is at best frighteningly good at cold reading, and that still does not explain everything. The pronunciation could be practice. His father could just be a good guess. But things like Violet's name are... weirder, and harder to explain.

He doesn't remember Miss Clapper from his shop or IWW meetings or around London, but then it's not unusual to get recognized by a certain brand of very weird person. Of the madpeople he's talked to, she's on the charming and lucid side. Let Lacie eat flesh.

"Oh Nine - One Nine - Two Nine," Terrence murmurs. "There's a nice ring to it."

Then, once they're out: "Okay, show of hands. Did any of that mean anything to anyone?"

"'Let Lacie eat flesh' is pretty good. I could use that in one of my collages."

"That people can make lucky guesses and ramble in a way that sounds just about plausible?"

Unfortunately, if Inaaya tries to explain that Miss Clapper was correct about her speaking Cat and there is literally no natural way she could have known that but Inaaya knows magic and psychic powers exist, she will sound extremely insane and exactly zero people will take her seriously.

There are times and places where she'd try anyway but "literally standing in an insane asylum" is not one of them.

"Not really."

"Understandable. Just checking."

"Has anyone heard of this Institute for Sexual Hygiene, if it in fact exists? Sounds a bit ominous."

"Maybe she was propositioning you."

"Propositioning in the way only someone in an asylum would think to."

Man Jing Yi never makes this easy.

"Unthinkable, I'm a married man."

"Oh, she did know that, didn't she? Hmm. Well then." He shrugs.

"If it's the German one, it's just a research institute. Extremely progressive."

"Huh, you could have fooled me with that name. I'll have to look into their work, though sociology's a bit outside my field. Lovely woman, though."

As Nurse Price escorts them to Mr. Roby, a nurse stops in his business and, staring at the strangers, starts to ask Nurse Price a question. “Not now, Edwards,” interrupts the nurse and walks by, leaving the man looking at the backs of the group.

Hmm. Workplace tension, or a patient working as a 'reward': hard to tell.

Whomst!!!

The sound of footsteps and muted sobbing echoes back off bare stone corridors as Price leads them to Roby’s room.

Roby is dressed in a white canvas tunic and trousers. The room is tiny, dim, and chilly. There is a bed, table, and two chairs, and no possessions except for a stack of a dozen or so books on the table. A barred window gives a view of the sky.

Roby looks up. "Nigel?"

Roby is very good-looking.

How tragic, then, that he is imprisoned.

Or that they weren't better friends a few years ago.

"Not Nigel. Sorry."

"My name is Oscar Latz. Doctor Aarons discussed why we're here, right?"

Roby sits hunched over looking down in his lap.

This may require a gentler touch, a less direct approach. He very deliberately looks at the pile of books. "Read anything good lately?"

The books are all poetry. They include From Our Ghostly Enemy by Robert Graves; The Freaks: An Idyll of Suburbia by Pinero; Poems 1918-1921 by Ezra Pound; and Collected Poems and The Man Who Died Twice both by Edward Arlington Robinson.

Roby doesn't answer.

Beautiful and with interesting taste. Oh, what a pity. (Not that he won't leave him here if it seems for the best.)

"Ezra Pound, huh. I love that volume, real shame about the politics."

Roby's manner of speech is odd: the cadence is slow and irregular. “Being locked in this room is inconvenient. It means I cannot finish my work and so I cannot go where I would like to go."

"...what work is it that you can't finish?"

Oscar's trying to work out whether Roby's on something during the day too. He wouldn't put it past them honestly.

"You know, few writers have the ability to write honestly. Truths are used for entertainment only. That is a strange concept. Such a writer is like a man whose only concern is to hide his ignorance... willful misinterpretation, a shut mind, closed eyes, a tight mouth, and balled fists. It’s not enough to have the ability. You must be brave enough to use that ability, bring your intellect to bear like a light in the darkness, like a sane man in a world of madmen.” He smiles ruefully to himself and is quiet.

"Your work is your writing?" Let's see if that redirects him to something less abstract.

Roby has decided that instead he's going to stare into space.