{ Edited - 8th Oct, 2021 }
{ Edited - 9th May, 2024 }
"It nearly is," said Millard. "It isn't easy and it isn't pretty, but it has been done—once. An illegal experiment conducted by Miss Peregrine's own brother, I believe, in the years before he went mad and formed the splinter group that would become the wights."
"Then why haven't I ever heard about this?" said Enoch.
"Because it was extremely controversial and the results were immediately covered up, so no one would attempt to replicate them. In any event, it turns out that you can bring a normal into a loop, but they have to be forced through, and only someone with an ymbryne's power can do it. But because normals do not have a second soul, they cannot handle a time loop's inherent paradoxes, and their brains turn to mush. They become drooling, catatonic vegetables from the moment they enter. Not unlike these poor people before us."
Emma's hands instinctively covered her mouth as she absorbed Millard's words, creating a brief moment of silence. "Oh, hell. He's right."
"Well, then," said the clown. "In that case, things are even worse than we thought."
"I'm not sure I follow," said Horace.
"He said the monsters stole their souls!" Bronwyn shouted.
"These peculiars didn't lose their abilities," said Millard. "They were stolen from them—extracted, along with their souls, which were then fed to hollowgast. This allowed the hollows to evolve sufficiently to enter loops, a development which enabled their recent assault on peculiardom—and netted the wights even more kidnapped peculiars whose souls they could extract, with which they evolved still more hollows, and so on, in a vicious cycle."
"Then it isn't just the ymbrynes they want," said Emma. "It's us, too—and our souls."
Hugh found himself standing at the bottom of the whispering man's bed, with his final bee buzzing furiously around him. "All the peculiar children they kidnapped over the years . . . this is what they were doing to them? I figured they just became hollowgast food. But this . . . this is leagues more evil."
"Who's to say they don't mean to extract the ymbrynes' souls, too?" said Enoch.
We felt a special shiver run down our spines. The clown then shifted his attention to Horace and uttered, "How's your best-case scenario looking now, fella?"
"Don't tease me," Horace replied. "I bite."
"Everyone out!" ordered the nurse. "Souls or no souls, these people are ill. This is no place to bicker."
We filed sullenly into the hall. "All right, you've given us the horror show," Emma said to the clown and the tall man, "And we are duly horrified. Now tell us what you want."
"Simple," said the tall man. "We want you to stay and fight with us."
"We just figured we'd show you how much it's in your own best interest to do so," said the clown. He clapped Millard on the back. "But your friend here did a better job of that than we ever could've."
"Stay here and fight for what?" Enoch said, already trying to change the subject. "The ymbrynes aren't even in London—Miss Wren said as much."
"Forget London! London's finished!" the clown said, clearly a bit irritated now. "The battle's over here. We lost. As soon as Wren has saved every last peculiar she can from these ruined loops, we'll posse up and travel—to other lands, other loops. There must be more survivors out there, peculiars like us, with the fight still burning in them."
"We will build army," said the folding man. "Real one."
"As for finding out where the ymbrynes are," said the clown, "No problem. We'll catch a wight and torture it out of him. Make him show us on the Map of Days."
Timone shot me a quick glance, suggesting that if I genuinely desired my brother to be a part of my life again, I needed to ensure his safety as well. It's not an ideal environment for him here currently, and I believe Timone would agree with me that Bryce is incredibly fortunate he didn't join us on the train to assist in locating Miss Wren.
"You have a Map of Days?" said Millard.
"We have two. The peculiar archives are downstairs, you know."
"That is good news indeed," Millard said, his voice charged with excitement.
"Catching a wight is easier said than done," said Emma. "And they lie, of course. Lying is what they do best."
"Then we'll catch two and compare their lies," the clown said. "They come sniffing around here pretty often, so next time we see one—bam! We'll grab him."
"There's no need to wait," said Enoch. "Didn't Miss Wren say there are wights in this very building?"
"Sure," said the clown, "But they're frozen. Dead as doornails."
"That doesn't mean they can't be interrogated," Enoch said, a grin spreading across his face.
The clown turned to the tall man. "I'm really starting to like these weirdos."
"Then you are with us?" said the tall man. "You stay and fight?"
"I didn't say that," said Emma. "Give us a minute to talk this over."
"What is there to talk over?" said the clown.
"Of course, take all time you need," said the tall man, and he pulled the clown down the hall with him. "Come, I will make coffee."
"All right," the clown said reluctantly.
We gathered in a circle like we've done countless times during our challenges, but instead of talking all at once, we took turns speaking in an organized manner. The seriousness of the situation had us feeling sombre.
"I think we should fight," said Hugh. "Now that we know what the wights are doing to us, I couldn't live with myself if we just went back to the way things were, and tried to pretend none of this was happening. To fight is the only honourable thing."
"There's honour in survival, too," said Millard. "Our kind survived the twentieth century by hiding, not fighting—so perhaps all we need is a better way to hide."
Then Bronwyn turned to Emma and said, "I want to know what you think."
"Yeah, I want to know what Emma thinks," said Olive.
"Me too," said Enoch, which took me by surprise.
Emma drew a long breath, then said, "I feel terrible for the other ymbrynes. It's a crime what's happened to them, and the future of our kind may depend on their rescue. But when all is said and done, my allegiance doesn't belong to those other ymbrynes, or to other peculiar children. It belongs to the woman to whom I owe my life—Miss Peregrine, and Miss Peregrine alone."
Emma continued after a brief pause, nodding her head as if she wanted to ensure the validity of her own words. "And when, bird willing, she becomes herself again, I'll do whatever she needs me to do. If she says fight, I'll fight. If she wants to hide us away in a loop somewhere, I'll go along with that, too. Either way, my creed has never changed: Miss Peregrine knows best."
The others considered this. Finally, Millard said, "Very wisely put, Emma."
"Miss Peregrine knows best!" said Olive.
"Miss Peregrine knows best!" echoed Hugh.
"I don't care what Miss Peregrine says," said Horace. "I'll fight."
Enoch choked back a laugh. "You?"
"Everyone thinks I'm a coward. This is my chance to prove them wrong."
"Don't throw your life away because of a few jokes made at your expense," said Hugh. "Who gives a whit what anyone else thinks?"
"It isn't just that," said Horace. "Remember the vision I had back on Cairnholm? I caught a glimpse of where the ymbrynes are being kept. I couldn't show you on a map, but I'm sure of this—I'll know it when I see it." He tapped his forehead with his index finger. "What I've got up here might just save those chaps a heap of trouble. And save those other ymbrynes, too."
"If some fight and some stay behind," said Bronwyn, "I'll protect whoever stays. Protecting's always been my vocation."
Hugh then faced Jake, who had been unusually silent, and said, "What about you, Jake?"
"Yeah," said Enoch. "What about you?"
"Well," Jake said, "I . . ."
"Let's take a walk," Emma said, hooking her arm around his. "You and I need to have a chat."
* * *
After everyone went their separate ways, I silently made my way through the corridors. I lingered outside the ymbryne meeting room, eavesdropping on the muted conversations behind the closed door, yet I refrained from entering. I glanced into the nurse's room and spotted her napping on a stool amidst the peculiar children. I cautiously opened the door to Miss Wren's room and observed her soothing Miss Peregrine in her arms, delicately stroking the bird's feathers.
As I roamed the deserted corridors and rummaged through the vandalized rooms, I pondered what it would be like to return home. To live freely instead of being trapped in a cycle, away from my brother and mother. How could I possibly explain my decision to them, or to my peculiar companions and the ymbrynes? I probably wouldn't say anything at all. They would never allow me to leave, to escape their grasp once more.
I roamed around until I stumbled upon a spot where the rooms were partially frozen, with the ice creeping up halfway to the ceiling like a ship taking on water. It halted there, revealing the tops of desks and the heads of lamps peeking out like struggling swimmers. Outside the frozen windows, the sun was setting. Shadows danced on the walls and crept up the staircases, casting a bluish hue as the light faded, enveloping everything in a deep-sea cobalt.
As I walked back into the meeting hall, the sun had almost set and the room was pitch black. People were huddled around a couple of candles on the large oval table, some sitting in chairs while others sat cross-legged on the table, chatting quietly and looking down at something.
"It's pointless to argue," said Millard. "Some places have as many names as they have occupants to name them. Now please ask your serpent to back away, lest he crinkles the pages."