Page 62 of The Journal of a Thousand Years
“It’s difficult to notice details under fire.”
“Stanley was—is—a scientist. It’s in his nature to notice things, and to experiment. So that’s what he did after he was discharged from Rosebank. He ran tests, and saw that Mr. Glass reacted instinctively when his life or that of someone he cared about was threatened.” His gaze slid to me then back to Alex. “He didn’t save himself consciously. He had no control. It just happened. Just like some diseases that are carried and transferred by blood. The mind can’t will them away. The body can’t always fight them off. Usually a cure requires medical intervention, or death is inevitable. Stanley noticed the parallels between some diseases and Mr. Glass’s magic and thinks doctors can learn how to transfer the magic from Mr. Glass into others along with a blood transfusion, the way some diseases are transferred.”
“Stanley’s theory is flawed. It’s widely known that magicians are born. Magic isn’t in their blood. It’s their essence. Like a soul,” he added, grasping at the analogy.
Alcott jerked his thumb at Gabe. “He’s not a normal magician. No one knows whyhismagic is different, but the why doesn’t matter. What matters is that itisdifferent, and so it needs to be studied to understand it. If the blood does carry his magic, and it can be extracted and recreated by scientists in a laboratory, imagine the benefits! Every British soldier could be given a transfusion before going into battle. Their chances of survival would increase enormously if time slowed for them when they were in danger.”
That was a specific, and somewhat unexpected example, given what we knew about Stanley Greville. He suffered shell shock from the war. Why did he want to help the military justify sending more troops into battle? Was it about money, after all? The government would pay extremely well for medicine that could give men life-saving magic. Either we’d been wrong about Stanley’s motives, or Alcott’s reasons were different.
Willie swore again. “You’d kill Gabe to make a cure for something that’s not even a disease? For something that won’t even work?”
Mr. Alcott shook his head. “He’ll be fine. Stanley doesn’t want him to die.”
“Look at him! He can’t afford to lose any more blood.”
Alex put a hand out to calm her, and addressed Alcott. “I’ve seen men who’ve lost too much blood. Gabe—” His voice cracked with emotion. He cleared his throat. “Gabe looks like them.”
Mr. Alcott hesitated, then shook his head. “Trust Stanley. He’s a good man. He only wants what’s best for as many people as possible.”
Willie scoffed. “At the expense of Gabe’s life!”
“If he does die, then it’s for the greater good. Why don’t you want to save hundreds, if not thousands, of lives?” He shook his head at her, chastising her for her selfishness.
Willie stared at him, speechless.
I took the opportunity to try and reason with Alcott. “Did you enlist?”
He blinked, taken aback by my question. “I was a stretcher-bearer. My two younger brothers fought.” The sudden shudder of his chin encouraged me to continue. I was on the right path.
“Does one of them suffer shell shock, like Stanley?”
“One does. The other…” He swallowed. “He didn’t make it.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss. I lost my brother, too. I miss him.”
A wave of emotion washed over me, as it often did when I thought about James. We had been so close, because of our family’s constant moves, our cold mother, and our absent father. He’d been my friend, protector, confidant and guide. There would always be a sense of something missing in my life without him in it.
“I understand that you wish you could do something to help your shell-shocked brother,” I went on. “But this is not the way.” I indicated Gabe, although I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. My nerves were shredded and I knew they’d break completely if I saw his vulnerable form again.
“It’s not just the shell shock,” he said. “It’s the deaths…the senseless loss of life. It’s too late to help the ones who fought in this war, but there will be other wars, and there are many still employed by the military. We can save them. It might take years, but it begins with him, with studying his blood. Stanley has assured me he will recover.”
“He won’t if too much blood is taken. You say Stanley believes he won’t take a life-endangering amount, but if that’s so, why didn’t he just ask Gabe to donate it? He could have given just a little over a safe period of time rather than all at once in this filthy hovel. The field tests at the races, the kidnap, the secrecy, all point to Stanley believing Gabe will die from this process and he doesn’t want to be arrested for murder.”
Alcott’s head turned ever so slightly in Gabe’s direction without breaking the connection with us altogether. My words had made an impact. Doubts were setting in.
Alex and Willie were utterly silent. I couldn’t even hear them breathing. Perhaps they didn’t dare for fear of startling Alcott, forcing him to double down on his denials.
“Please,” I begged. “You can’t murder one man to save others. It’s not right. Gabe’s life is no less valuable than anyone else’s.”
“It’s mathematical,” he told me. “That’s what Stanley said. One man to save thousands.” Alcott readjusted his grip on the gun handle and squared his shoulders. It was an argument I’d already lost.
I abandoned it. I had one more card to play. It was my last hope. If I didn’t crack the shell and get through to him after that, then I had no more. The only recourse left was for one of us to charge at Alcott and draw his fire away from the other two who would rescue Gabe. It was a dreadful choice to make. My next wordshadto work.
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Are your parents still alive, Mr. Alcott?”
He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “My mother is.”
“Do you remember her reaction to your brother’s death?”
