Chapter Twenty-Four
Neo-Pythagorean Complex, 13 March 1871
When Patrick next woke, he guessed from the change in the light coming from the windows that several hours had passed. No one waited for him, so he rolled out of the bed and tested the door—locked, of course. A meal waited for him, but he shook his head. His stomach growled, but he suspected the food to be laced with something to keep him fatigued and compliant. The strange taste at the back of his throat told him his breakfast had contained something, and his stomach rolled. Unfortunately the wall leading to the bathing chamber was closed, and he couldn’t get it to move.
Stupid, stupid, stupid… He walked the perimeter of the room looking for another possible escape, his steps providing the cadence to his self-recrimination. He
