To whom it may concern—
Regis read.
—I am writing to keep His Majesty abreast of developments on the case of our patient, Spero Perdita. Very little has changed since my last missive: after two months in our care, Mr Perdita has arrived at a point that I would describe as stable. He continues to tolerate the moderate dose of medication well and I see no reason why he shouldn't do so indefinitely. He gives no further indication of hallucinations—neither auditory nor visual. He has an understanding of the truth of his wife's passing and he reports no further desires to harm himself or others. It is my opinion that all remaining woes are a natural result of the grieving process, which he will move past in time: for instance, he is reclusive, in spite of reports of his social nature before the death of his wife.
Physically, his health is much improved as well. A regular diet has restored some of his previous weight, though he was never a large man, and proper nutrients have halted further hair loss. We intend not to hold him for much longer: if he remains on the proper dose of medication, I see no reason why he cannot regain his independence, as he so clearly desires. If it suits His Majesty, it can be arranged for someone to check on him at regular intervals to ensure his health.
There is one final thing of note. Mr Perdita has stated multiple times that he has something to deliver to His Majesty, but insists that no one but the king can know what it is. As such, I can give no hint as to what he refers, but to write that he does so.
Your Loyal Servant,
Doctor Sal Medens
Regis fingered the corner of the page, reading over the last paragraph one more time before looking up to watch the city scenery pass by through the Regalia's window. He could guess what Spero was referring to. When they had last spoken, Regis had asked for help tying the crimes committed at Phoenix Incorporated back to Bastien Kurick. At the time, Spero seemed to think he did have such a thing in his possession: emails, he had said. Then again, at the time, Spero had not been of sound mind.
Wishful thinking, perhaps, but Regis meant to find out anyway. If Spero said he wasn't going to pass the information to anyone but the king, then Regis was inclined to believe that. Besides, he was anxious to see how Spero was faring with his own eyes. That was the only thing that would cure him of those haunting images from their last meeting.
"We're here, Your Majesty." Cor glanced at him in the mirror and Regis looked up, pulled from his thoughts.
"Thank you, Cor," Regis said, folding the letter and tucking it into the inner pocket of his suit jacket.
His door opened for him, held from the outside by one of the crownsguards that had accompanied in a second car. Even inside the Wall, Cor was loath to let him travel without a full guard. Indeed, even inside the Citadel, these days, Clarus had half the staff following his every move. Perhaps it was for the best, given what he had recently proved he was capable of when left to his own devices.
"Your Majesty." Lieutenant Ackers bowed as Regis stepped forth from the Regalia. Regis gave him a nod of acknowledgement before moving for the steps.
Cor fell into step beside him.
The psychiatric hospital was the only one of its specialty in Insomnia. Indeed, in all of Lucis because beyond the Wall that closed the Crown City from the rest of the kingdom, there was very little in the way of technical or medical advances. It was housed in an older building, away from the business bustle of downtown Insomnia, but still within the upper city. As such, its predominant features were carved stone statues—in the likeness of Lucian monarchs or the Gods personified—and dusty glass windows inlaid with iron. It was a beautiful piece of architecture. He only hoped that extended to what lay within, as well.
"King Regis!"
It was Doctor Medens, Regis' correspondent, who met them at the top of the stairs with a bow.
"I am so pleased you were able to find the time to visit. Mr Perdita will be happy to see you." Dr Medens was a tall man, but not a big one. He was dressed well, but his appearance wasn't altogether tidy. Perhaps it was due to the fact that his shirt was buttoned one hole off.
"That is my hope," Regis said, following as the doctor led the way inside.
Dr Medens glanced sideways at him and Regis didn't miss the hesitation. "To be perfectly frank, Your Majesty, I have yet to witness Mr Perdita to be truly pleased about anything—and this in spite of reports that he was once a joyous fellow."
"But he does smile." Regis made it a statement rather than a question. His tone, perhaps, was more sharp than he had intended.
"You've seen his smiles, then? Peculiar. Truly. Most people smile to indicate kinship in one way or another: we laugh together and feel attached, you smile at a friend when you pass on the street, a nervous smile in an uncomfortable position—even—may be due to a desire for acceptance or to be passed over as non-threatening. Mr Perdita on the other hand, applies the expression in an opposite way. His smiles unsettle the beholder and make you feel apart from him—make you feel as if you want to remain apart from him." Dr Medens gestured while he spoke and walked while he gestured. His steps, like his words, grew steadily more rapid as he explained. "It is my belief that this connects back to his reclusivity. He maintains a desire for solitude in his grief. He seeks it. And so he turns his every action into a projection of that desire—oh. Here we are, then. I do apologize. I can get carried away with these things."
He stopped outside a door and bowed once more to Regis. "Forgive me, Your Majesty."
"Not at all," Regis said. "I appreciate you passion."
"Well—thank you." He flashed a smile and turned to knock on the door. From inside, Regis could just faintly hear the sound of a violin—this time it was a proper tune, rather than the disjointed scratching that Spero had produced the last time Regis had heard him with the instrument.
"Come in," Spero's voice called from inside. The music didn't halt.
Dr Medens cracked the door open and stuck his head inside. "His Majesty has arrived, Mr Perdita."
"Are you going to make him stand in the hall?" Spero's voice responded.
The doctor took a step back, giving Regis and Cor another apologetic look, and motioning them toward the open door. "If you need anything else, any orderly will be able to find me, Your Majesty."
"Thank you, Doctor." Regis gave him a nod and stepped inside.
The room beyond the door was an odd mix of hospital room and apartment. There was more furniture than the hospital rooms that Regis had seen, before, but it held a sterile quality that apartments lacked. There was nothing on the walls—though they had been painted a warm tan, perhaps in an effort to make it seem more homey—and every flat piece of furniture—the dresser, the desk, the little table—was devoid of any personal items. This, Regis suspected, was Spero's own doing. They had passed more than one open door, beyond which the rooms were cozily decorated.
"Hello, Your Majesty." Spero lay across the bed against the far wall. His violin rested on his stomach while he drew the bow languidly across the strings. After a few notes he stopped and turned his head toward them.
"Hello, Spero. How are you feeling?" Regis crossed to the desk beside the bed and pulled out the chair to seat himself.
"Bored out of my mind," Spero said. "Did you know there are five-hundred ninety-three knots in this ceiling?"
Regis turned his eyes upward. The ceiling was paneled with wooden beams and, apparently, together they contained five-hundred ninety-three knots.
"I'm sorry—I shouldn't use that phrase in a mental hospital. I am bored. I am not out of my mind." He heaved a sigh and pushed himself upright. "Would that I were. It was much more fun."
"I hope you do not regret coming here," Regis said. For his part, he didn't regret sending Spero back to the hospital. "You look much better."
It was just as Dr Medens had said: he no longer looked so much like a skeleton with waxy skin stretched tight over the top. His eyes fit his head and his head fit his neck. His hair appeared thin, but not quite so wispy and brittle. On the underside of his forearms there were only thin, smooth scars to remind them of how he had been.
"Do I?" Spero asked. "I feel much worse."
Somehow, Regis felt he wasn't talking about physically. The wild look was gone from his gaze, replaced, instead, with something slow and mournful. For all those months, he had been able to hide away his grief in the madness. Now he didn't even have that to fall back on. Regis could understand the feeling.
"I would like to be able to tell you it gets easier… but it still hurts," Regis said.
Spero set his violin down on the bed beside him and ran his hands over his face. "It always hurts."
"Will you face it, anyway?"
"What choice have I?" Spero looked up at him.
"I hope, someday, it will not be simply because you have no other choice."
"Well you still owe me something," Spero said. "And I have to finish my book for you. Speaking of owing—I have what you asked for. That's why you came, isn't it?"
"In part. Though I fully appreciate seeing you on the mend." Regis straightened in his chair, watching as Spero leaned forward and grabbed the laptop off the desk.
"'On the mend.' A peculiar turn of phrase." Spero opened the computer. After a few keystrokes, he picked it back up and held it out to Regis. "This is what you're looking for?"
Regis took the computer. Displayed on screen was an email, ostensibly from Bastien Kurick himself. Regis' eyes flicked over the text, his amazement growing with each passing word. He couldn't believe their luck. It detailed the how and where of the dumping that had occurred. If Kain's team could trace it back to Kurick, they had him as good as jailed already.
"This is precisely what we are looking for." Regis lifted the computer and passed it to Cor.
"Good. Then you can get that bastard. Lucky, though. It seems they've been doing a tidy clean-up job, but that when they fired me, I disappeared from their system. That little gem escaped notice. Until now." He pointed to the computer with the bow of his violin
"Can we take this computer?" Regis asked. "My men will require it to perform the trace."
"Fine, fine," Spero waved the bow, unconcerned. "It's Phoenix's computer, anyway. They cut their losses with me. Foolishly, as it turns out."
"Thank you, Spero. This will help immeasurably; your wife will see justice."
Spero nodded, mute, for once. His eyes shone bright with unshed tears. It was the first time Regis had witnessed him showing such an emotion.
"You're really not going to arrest me for taking part in that?" He asked at length.
"Of course not. We want Kurick, not those that he manipulated into doing his dirty work for him," Regis said. "No. You focus on feeling better: write your book; play your violin. I will see that Elaisse has her justice."
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
Regis held out a hand and Spero took it. "I am merely Regis to you, if you wish."
A smile tugged at the corner of Spero's mouth. It wasn't a mad flash of teeth with an unblinking gaze. It wasn't an unsettling, unamused smirk. It was a smile—or half of one, at least.
"I never thought I'd be friends with the king."
"I, on the other hand, have the luxury of always expecting to find myself in the company of brilliant and talented individuals who I am blessed to call 'friend'." Regis pressed Spero's hand. "Take care of yourself, my friend."