Aurorarama - Jean-Christophe Valtat [29]
“I have listened to these,” said Playfair, waving a wax roll he had taken up from the table, “especially ‘Lobster-Cracking.’ These are, Mr. d’Allier, or should I call you Mr. Air-Loom Gang, impossibly low frequencies whose resonance could cause lasting lesions in the organism. Taken with drugs, they could provoke a coma, or even cerebral death.”
Gabriel felt like telling the doctor to mind his own drug business but tilted down his mental silver helmet instead. What came next, however, crushed his visor like a tin can.
“We discovered that roll,” said Wynne, “in the handbag of one of your students, a certain Ms. Phoebe O’Farrell, whom we found unconscious in the street not far from the Botanical Building late in the afternoon. We are worried about her condition, since she has not regained consciousness yet.”
Gabriel felt a cold sweat on his forehead and palms, and a curious buzz arose in his ears. He clutched his chair, turning his rage into images of mayhem and murder. He saw himself spoon out Wynne’s eyes and spit into their orbits. Cruelty made sense to him as it never had before.
“She seems to be in a kind of cataleptic trance,” said Playfair, handing the roll to Wynne. “She had some trace of snowcaine in her hair and we strongly suspect what she had taken caused a bad reaction to the music. Your music.”
“Interesting. Could I see her later?” asked the anonymous man in an affected voice.
“Oh, certainly,” said Wynne, as if he ran the clinic. “I am you sure you would be of great help to that poor girl.”
“We should also keep you under observation, but this gentleman,” Playfair said, indicating the top-hatted man with what Gabriel thought a slight gesture of disapproval, “has accepted Mr. Wynne’s idea that he can help us by giving you a quick mental examination.”
Gabriel still said nothing, slowly calming down, preparing for the next attack.
“It is nothing painful,” continued Playfair.
“Just a few questions under hypnosis. To make sure everything is all right,” explained Wynne.
“I refuse,” said Gabriel flatly.
“Observation will take more time,” said Playfair, with a sigh, “much more time. Precious time that I will not be able to devote to Ms. O’Farrell, I’m afraid.”
“Not to mention that Ms. O’Farrell’s parents, who have not yet been informed of the accident, may take it badly that you refuse to cooperate with the authorities. Especially given some of your colleagues’ testimony about your personal involvement in their daughter’s education,” Wynne threatened.
“I do no doubt your own parents would be proud of you, Mr. Wynne,” Gabriel said, so icily his words congealed in front of him and fell on the floor like little hailstones.
Wynne flinched, almost imperceptibly, and Gabriel knew he had turned his Guardian Angel into a personal enemy. There was a moment of awkward silence.
“I am tired of all this and have nothing to hide, after all,” said Gabriel, like someone who feels he has gone far enough. “Just promise me I’ll go free afterward, and I accept.”
“This could be considered, I suppose,” said Wynne, moodily.
“Do I have your word of honour, Mr. Wynne?”
The other two turned toward the Gentleman of the Night.
“You have it,” he said, straightening up. “And I accept your apologies.”
“I do not demand that much,” answered Gabriel.
“Now, if you please, Mr. d’Allier …” said the man in the top hat, who seemed in a hurry to be done with the circus of it all.
He rose and stood in front of Gabriel, two fingers forking as if to poke out his eyes, and searched to “catch” his gaze with his own green intrusive irises. Gabriel felt the violence of the impact. The eyes, after