Elizabeth’s face registered dismay. “Is it madness?”
“No,” William said, “it is opium. At least, I cannot tell if the other may be true as well, but opium is definitely a factor. You may trust me,” he added. “I had rather a lot of the stuff when I was wounded, and the dreams it gave me still make me shudder. We cannot call this a choice freely offered and freely made until Monsieur Frankenstein understands who we are.”
Elizabeth nodded, looking Viktor over in a way that made him wonder if he were a vision of hers, rather than she being a vision of his. “How shall this be accomplished?”
“Time,” William said. “Fresh air. And tea, if there is any in there. You seem unwell, sir,” he added to Viktor, in French. “Allow us to come in and tend to you.”
“I have feared,” Viktor agreed, “that I
