‘Then you’ll let her go the same way as Iridial? Your decision, Doctor.’ Tartarus lifted the jar and placed it back on the shelf alongside the other diseased specimens.

‘Let her go? You speak as if there were some cure!’

‘By the time you brought Iridial to me, she was past help. Her mind was irreparably damaged and I could see no pattern to it.’

‘You’re certain there is a pattern?’

‘Oh, come now, Jerame. Don’t tell me, after all these years as a medical practitioner, you still subscribe to the “madness is possession by evil spirits” school of thought? Neural pathways.’ He tapped the jar again, disturbing the cloudy ichor. ‘That’s the clue. Dissect a normal brain… and compare the two. The Lifhendil brain is distinctly different.’

From somewhere deep inside the Asylum came the echo of distant laughter.

Jerame took out his handkerchief and mopped at his brow. He had broken out in a sick, cold sweat.

‘Wait till you see what I’ve installed upstairs. Come.’

Tartarus locked the specimen closet and, taking Jerame’s arm, led him back along the corridor. Even in the sepia light filtering in through the high grilled windows, Jerame could see damp stains on the walls, cracked plaster, signs of neglect.

Up the winding tower stair they went until Tartarus flung open a door at the top.

‘What is this place?’

Coils of wire dangled from the ceiling; tall glass vats of transparent liquids stood beneath. A wooden chair was placed in between the vats; leathern restraints hung at the arms and seat. A curious smell made-Jerame sniff, trying to identify the chemical. Acid; yes, it was definitely acid.

‘My electric chamber.’

‘Hm! Torture chamber, more like.’

‘You are looking at the most revolutionary method of treating the insane in all Tourmalise. You are looking at the future.’ Tartarus danced around the bizarre equipment, fingers conducting an imaginary experiment. ‘It’s in its earliest stages – but the results are quite astounding.’ ‘Electric? You’re harnessing the power of lightning?’ A helmet stood beneath the chair; Jerame picked it up and turned it round in his hands.

‘Not harnessing. Creating, controlling!’

The helmet consisted of a circular band of metal with crossed bars, like a crude crown, and the whole was encased in leather straps.

‘You direct electrical currents into the brain through this? But – that’s an appalling thought! You could fry your patients alive –’

Tartarus snatched the helmet from Jerame’s hands.

‘D’you think I’d use it on my patients if I hadn’t tested it on myself first?’ He popped it on to his wild hair and grinned at Jerame.

‘You?’

‘After the initial shock I felt completely restored. Renewed! There was some blurring of the memory. But as we only administer the minutest of doses, that was soon restored. The treatment seems to re-order the thought patterns in the brain most satisfactorily.’

Jerame sat down heavily in the chair.