“On and on they fought. The Warlock may have thought it would be an easy battle, but he didn’t know that Lewis had been trained in more fighting arts than he’d ever heard of. And the more injuries Lewis got, the more dangerous he became. It would be accurate to say that after his dismemberment, Lewis Holmes became a true master of unarmed combat.”

“Oh dear God, Clarabelle.”

“The Warlock fell backwards, impaling himself upon his own weapon, and Lewis Holmes lay there, panting, gazing up at the night sky. Triumphant.”

Scapegrace waited. It seemed unlikely that anyone would believe such a story, especially someone as intelligent as a doctor, but Clarabelle had told it quite convincingly. He’d almost been convinced himself.

“And how did Lewis end up here?” Synecdoche asked.

Hell.

“Hmm?” Clarabelle said.

“If he survived eight days of fighting and blood loss without any arms or legs, what killed him in the end?”

“Oh,” Clarabelle said. “Oh, yes. Well, he was lying there, being all triumphant and out of breath, and, like, a pack of wolves found him and ate him.”

“Wolves.”

“Yes.”

“And where did all this happen?”

“A land far, far away. Britain.”

“Clarabelle … you made that story up, didn’t you?”

Scapegrace waited for Clarabelle’s cunning reply.

“Nnnnno,” she said slowly.

“There is no Lewis Holmes, is there?”

“There is,” Clarabelle insisted. “His remains are under this sheet. I can show them to you if you want, but they’re so disgusting you’ll probably explode your brain in horror.”

“Lewis Holmes doesn’t exist, does he?”

The sheet covering Scapegrace bunched suddenly as Clarabelle gripped it. “He does. He’s right here. I’ll show you if you don’t believe me.”

Oh dear lord, she was going to pull the sheet off. She believed her own story. She was going to pull the sheet off and then it would all be over.

“Clarabelle, wait,” Synecdoche said. “You don’t have to. It’s OK. You’ve been working really hard to fit in and … I believe you. I do. Go on now, you’d better put those remains somewhere safe.”

“I will,” said Clarabelle.

Scapegrace heard Synecdoche walk away, and suddenly the gurney was moving again.

“She believed me!” Clarabelle whispered.

Scapegrace was too relieved to answer.

The subdued bustle of the Medical Wing quietened, and the light beyond the sheet changed. They were in a new room. The gurney’s wheels squeaked. Clarabelle turned them into another room, and the light changed again.

“OK,” Clarabelle said, pulling the sheet away, “we’re here.”

Scapegrace and Thrasher sat up. It was a large room filled with electronic equipment that beeped and chattered. The centre of the room was taken up by a water tank in which floated Scapegrace’s old body. Beside it was Thrasher’s corpse.