Arthur sits reading, propped up against a pillow in a four-poster bed that looks straight out of the Palace of Versailles. Next to the bed, on an equally ornate bedside table is an untouched tray of fruits and nuts along with bottles of water and juice.

“Finally, you’re here,” he says, putting his book down. I glance at the title. It’s a self-help book about relationships. I try not to grin.

“I’m starving,” Arthur tells me. “Bran forbade me from eating until you arrived.”

“From what I can ascertain,” Bran pipes up, “a remedy or cure is most effective if administered when the body is empty of liquids and food. Therefore, the optimal timing is just as a bardia reanimates.”

“Being the bardia in question,” Arthur says, “what kind of remedy have you got for me this time?”

Bran pulls a flacon from his pocket, uncorks it and hands it to Arthur. “I won’t tell you what’s in it,” he says, “but it’s meant to do the same thing the last four have: ease your craving for death so you’re in full control of when you choose to die next.”

Bran hands me a leather-bound journal and a pen. “Since you will be living under the same roof, you can record Arthur’s reactions. Please write down anything relevant, then ask him the questions written inside the front cover.”

“Okay.” I pull up a chair and prop the journal on my knee. I glance at the last entry and write the date, time and Arthur’s name in the same order.

“Go ahead,” Bran says to Arthur. “Drink it.”

Siaka pours a glass of water and waits. Arthur tips his head back, empties the flacon into his mouth, swallows, then—his face twisting into a grimace—grabs for the glass of water. Chugging it, he looks at us, eyes watering.

“First question,” Bran prompts.

“Ah, Question 1. What did it taste like?” I read.

“Cat pee,” Arthur responds.

I look up to see if he is joking. He’s not. I jot down, “Taste: cat piss.”

“Question 2,” I continue. “Do you sense any aftertaste?”

“If possible, an even stronger note of cat piss, followed by what I would imagine floor polish tastes like.” Arthur’s nostrils are flaring, and it looks like he’s trying not to throw up.

I write down his response, then run through the rest of the questions, noting no immediate physical reactions, no lightheadedness or swimming of vision. I get to the end of the list.

Satisfied, Bran stands and says, “Good, good. Louis will stay with you for the next hour to note any other immediate reactions.”

“May I eat?” Arthur eyes the tray of food.

“Yes, of course,” Bran replies.

Plucking up a date, he pops it in his mouth. “Mmmph,” he moans, closing his eyes in ecstasy. “Oh my god, the first thing you eat after dormancy is always the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”