“Released? I’ve heard that term used once or twice before. What does it mean?”
“It is when we are sent to your world as a reward for our service.”
I looked at Clarissa and said, “Home!” then to Kata, “How do we get released?”
“The gods will decide,” she answered, and her tone signalled an unwillingness to discuss the matter any further.
It took six rounds of toast and two cups of tea to stop my stomach from grumbling. When I’d eaten my fill, we left the kitchen, crossed the black-and-white-tiled floor of the big square vestibule, and settled in our lounge. It was a bright and cheerful room, with tall windows in two of the walls.
I was telling Clarissa about my training.
“It was brutal. Over and over, I was ordered to assault a tree stump with a heavy sword.”
“You brought the weapon back with you,” she said. “It’s by the front door.”
“I have to carry it whenever I’m on duty. I’m positive the dashed thing is heavier than I am. I could barely stand up by the time Spearjab released me. There’s not a single part of me that doesn’t hurt.”
“Exercise has never been your forte, but I’m sure you’ll adapt to it.”
“I don’t want to! I never want that accursed blade in my hands again. It’s the one I saw in my vision, Clarissa. The one I shall use to murder Mademoiselle Clattersmash!”
“It is? How curious! But if you really saw the future, then you should regard the vision as an opportunity.”
“An opportunity to do what?”
“To change it.”
For the briefest of moments, my heart filled with hope. Why hadn’t I realised that before? Of course! All I had to do was avoid ever being alone with Mademoiselle Clattersmash!
The image of the Yatsill’s butchered corpse invaded my mind’s eye. It blurred and became the ragged carcass of Polly Nichols.
“It won’t work,” I whispered. “I have no control over my Mr. Hyde.”
For the first occasion in all the time I’d known her, I witnessed my friend lose her temper. Slapping her hands down onto the arms of her chair, she shouted, “Why the blazes do you persist with this absurd notion, Aiden? You are not Jack the Ripper! For crying out loud, don’t you think we all have a darkness within us? Don’t you think I’ve imagined wreaking a terrible revenge on Rupert Hufferton for what he did to me? He killed my father! Caused my mother to die of grief! He made a twisted ruin of me and threw me out of my home and into the streets. I was an outcast, and it was his fault. I haven’t just imagined murdering him—I’ve spent hour after hour daydreaming how I might bring him down, deprive him of his riches, destroy his reputation, take away everything he holds dear. I’ve even thought how satisfactory it would be to hold him prisoner and torture him! Horrible things! Horrible!”
I stared, open-mouthed, at her.
“It’s natural!” she insisted. “It’s perfectly normal to harbour such thoughts about a person who’s done you a terrible wrong!”
“But—” I began.
She halted me with a palm directed at my face. “No. Just listen. That Tanner girl and her father made of you a victim and gave you little choice but to leave Theaston Vale. Anyone would react with rage at that, but up until then your life had been a sheltered one, your character mild, your emotions unformed. You didn’t know how to articulate your fury, so you locked it deep inside yourself and refused to acknowledge it. Then, in London, when you stumbled upon the corpse of Polly Nichols, you experienced primal fear. The horror of that experience was also suppressed and got mixed up with your imprisoned wrath. It left your memory impaired and is causing you to doubt the integrity of your own character. You imagined that Jack, to commit those dreadful murders, must possess the same intensity of anger as you, and since you find it inconceivable that anyone but you could possibly possess it, you’ve concluded that you must be the Ripper. Bad logic!” She leaned forward until her goggles were close to my face. “You are not a murderer!”
My heart rejected her assertion, but intellectually she made perfect sense. I said, “How, then, do I overcome this delusion?”
“You are akin to a dormant volcano. If you erupt, it might be destructive. If, however, you can find a way to relieve the pressure in a more measured fashion, that will do much to calm your inner turmoil.”