There is a certain strange rhythm to the man’s voice, Jess thought, and tried to pinpoint what it was that so unsettled him—and, at the same time, what soothed him. He’d already started his work, then. Odd; Jess recognized that the man had used the same tones in the carriage, during that endless flow of weather observations. Had Quest tried to use his talents on him? Had it worked? No, surely he’d have known if it had. Wouldn’t I? The doubt made his mouth go dry.

Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.

Wolfe sank down in the chair that Quest indicated, and as the Mesmer pulled another chair close, Jess saw the bedroom door silently open. Santi stepped out. The captain moved to stand beside Jess and said, in a low voice that couldn’t have carried to Wolfe, “If this goes badly, I will stop it.”

“I know,” Jess said. “It might not even work—sometimes it doesn’t . . .” His voice faded because Wolfe had already closed his eyes. Quest’s voice dropped to a low, calm rhythm, and Jess couldn’t catch what he was saying now as he bent close to Wolfe. The Scholar’s head slowly tipped forward.

Wolfe raised one hand—or, at least, the hand rose. There was no corresponding shift of balance from Wolfe’s body, no sign that the movement of that hand and arm had been directed from a conscious mind. The rest of him stayed completely still.

Quest reached out and pushed on the top of the floating hand. It hardly moved at all. He nodded in satisfaction and looked over to Jess. “He’s ready. What do you want me to ask?”

That fast? Jess blinked. “Ask him about his time in the cells—”

“Wait,” Santi said. He sighed. “I hate that you’ve forced him into this, but at least we can spare him some agony. Ask him about being taken to prison, then ask about any time he was taken out of a cell. Nothing about what happened to him—only locations and surroundings. Do you understand?”

“Of course,” Quest said blandly. “You’re looking only for where he was being held. I understand.”

“Good.” Santi’s gaze bored into the man. “You’d better.”

“Trust in me, friend. I know my business.” Quest leaned forward and rested his hand briefly on Wolfe’s shoulder. “Now go back. Go back to the day that you were taken into custody. Do you remember?”

The reaction was immediate and terrible. Wolfe’s whole body tensed, shifted, and seemed to pull inward. His head did not rise, but Jess heard the change in his breathing from across the room. His skin went cold listening to that harsh, painful panting. But they couldn’t stop now. Wolfe had agreed to this.

“Tell me about the day you were taken to the prison,” Quest said. His voice was gentle, rising and falling in those faint, odd rhythms. “There is nothing to fear. You are only seeing, watching a play of light and shadow. You are an outside observer of what occurs. There is no pain. You feel no pain at all.”