Insanity

[Brian]

"I'm not entirely certain," the specter says slowly.  "Whatever happened, it drove my son mad.  I know it happened after he met that witch-doctor.  That Christianson fellow ... and on our side, a gate technician saw him through.  I've honestly no idea how he came back through the Templar Guild, since they don't like to allow people through if they can help it.  Not everyone improves, and of course, if you pass through a regression gate...."  He shrugs, clamping his pipe between his teeth again.

[Rezantis]

"Hrm."

Nathan digests this for a moment.  

"So you don't know precisely what drove him . . . mad . .  . just that he was that way when he came back through the gate?  What's the Templar Guild?"

[Brian]

"The Templar Guild is the branch of deacons in the Church of the Gate that are responsible for managing and attuning the gates.  Rather like our gate technicians, though they've been following practices handed down for years, rather than anything approaching our methodical exploration of functionality."

[Rezantis]

"Hrm," Nathan frowns, "I think I get a rough idea, then . . . but what else do you think I might need to know so as not to appear totally witless?"

[Brian]

"Well," the man says slowly.  "For starters, unless they've kept you here long enough to repossess it, you have a house.  And before they brought you in, you did hide that ... thing that Christianson gave you.  You are, as I've said, an archaeologist.  Your primary interest was researching cultures that precede the Church, which the Great Council agreed to fund.  Of course, discovering that evidence required travel through the gates, so expectations were low....

"You are not married, and aside from your sister, who lives with her husband, there is no other family to recall.  You should be able to tell anyone who asks about Alicia, however.  She is about your height, with blonde hair, and bright blue eyes.  Her husband is Cecil Thompson, a dour man you've never gotten along with.

"Cecil owns one of the anabaric siphons, however, which gives him pull with the Lesser Council ... some would call it the Least Council, these days."  He chuckles dryly.  "So I wouldn't expect him to help you out, unless you could offer him something.

"But that is as close as family as you've had.  The others who went with you, three students ... they did not come back.  But you should remember their names.  Alexander, Simmons, and MacIntyre -- younger students from your class at the College.

"Of course, I doubt you'd be expected to teach now ... for the rest, I will try and answer questions for you if they arise.  You should try to get some sleep."

[Rezantis]

Nathan nods slowly, lying down on the mattress.

"Thank you for the help . . . and the sleep sounds like good advice."

Of course, actually getting some could be a problem.  He tries anyway, though.

[Brian]

The light never waves the entire time, and there's no switch for it.  The mattress is lumpy, too (no springs, just wadding and cotton).  But eventually, Nathan manages to doze off.  There's a deep, dreamless sleep, and then the door is wrenched open, to the grunting of a pair of orderlies, and Hathoway's irritating voice calling, "Awaken, Dr. Shuker.  It's another day, is it not?"

[Rezantis]

I hate mornings.

"It's a little hard to see from in here, so I'll have take your word for it," Nathan responds, picking himself up off the bed.

[Brian]

Hathoway is already gone, just leaving the goonish orderlies.  "Of course.  Show him to the gardens.  Let him enjoy some light with his gruel," his dwindling voice orders.

Day or night, the corridors are just as unpleasant as they were the last time.  The trip is longer, too, and the wide intersection before they stop at a door is even gloomier than the rest of the place.  The orderlies approach the doorway with visible reluctance, and pull it open.  Once they do, light spills in, revealing a (comparatively) blinding illumination, and a lush, well maintained lawn, surrounded by a simple flowerbed.

The area is probably fifty feet across, or so, and there's a few other of the committed wandering the garden -- twelve at a glance.  There's a staff of five standing next to a table set up on the lawn, ladling gruel into bowls and passing them to the inmates.

The inmate's dress is simple -- a white, onepiece jumper-like outfit.  All of the inmates are men, as are all of the staff.  There's a cook, complete with the funny poofy hat, and two guys who are carrying leather packs belted to their waists.  They're dressed the same way Ridgewick was, except for the packs.  A glint of something shiny from within the squared looking leather bundles suggests knives, or maybe syringes.

The other two men are just watching, though all four (except for the cook) have billy-clubs dangling from their belts, too.  The orderlies grunt and back away from the door, gesturing Nathan through.

[Rezantis]

Nathan walks through the door, and moves over to the table to acquire some 'food'.

[Brian]

Yummy.  Gruel is right.  Nathan is given a wooden bowl full of the stuff, and a wooden spoon.  It's too thin to be porridge, and it has pretty much no taste whatsoever.  Some sugar or jam might be nice.

Looking up, and examining the surroundings, Nathan notes that most of the inmates sit on the lawn and eat quickly, mechanically.  The building surrounding the garden is three stories high, with windows only on the top floor, and then, only one one wall.

It's when something passes overhead that Nathan realizes that for whatever reason, none of the walls are covered with shadow.  Directly overhead, though not for long, is a dirigible, headed approximately in the direction of the door Nathan entered the yard from.

From this distance, it's easy to see that the blimp is covered with ... yes, those bristling rods are almost certainly guns.

When it's gone, interestingly enough, there's no sun, just a blue cloud-studded sky overhead.

[Rezantis]

Wacky.

Well, Nathan is going to eat his gruel, observe the people around him, and . . . wait for someone to come and get him.

[Brian]

The yard is mostly quiet, and the inmates don't talk to one-another.  One of them does some exercises after finishing his gruel -- pushups, situps, some jumping jacks -- but for the most part, everyone simply eats their gruel and wanders near the flowers or sits in the garden.

Once everyone's eaten, the cook and one of the two guards pack up the utensils and the table, and haul it through the doorway.  The guard quickly returns; the cook does not.

All told, it's quite peaceful.  One of the inmates talks to himself in a continuous murmur, going on about shadows ... which is interesting, since shadows are mostly vaguely defined circles of dimness, rather like a poor video-game rendering.  After a bit, hard to tell, without any visible sun or clock, a man arrives and gestures to an inmate.  The inmate is led into the building, where the orderlies escort him into the darkness.

This process repeats a time or two, before Ridgewick is the man to appear in the doorway, and he gestures to Nathan.

A pair of the cloned-looking orderlies awaits, just behind the diminutive man.

[Rezantis]

Nathan walks over wordlessly, trying to keeep his face calm.

[Brian]

Ridgewick is carefully silent the entire trip through the eerie hallways.  The journey is in no way aided by the orderlies, but after passing enough identical-looking green doors, Ridgewick opens one and Nathan is led inside, then placed gently in a chair.

A familiar chair in a pool of light, in an otherwise pitch dark room.

"And how are you feeling today, Dr. Shuker?" Hathoway asks in a too-cheerful voice.  "Better?  The anabaric energies have cleansed your mind?"

The orderlies swiftly finish binding Nathan in place, then troop out of the room.  Ridgewick is in the shadows, or maybe not even in the room, come to think of it.  Hathoway is, as always, concealed in the shadows.

Once the orderlies retreat, the specter reappears.  "Better, but not well," he suggests.