The Great Ellini (Book One of The Powder Trail)

Chapter Thirteen: Oxford Nature

Sergei had expected old age to protect him, but it didn't. Stepping into a room that contained Ellini Syal was like experiencing a mild brain fever. He felt as though all his nerves were firing at once, calling up every memory and sensation he associated with love, causing his entire romantic life to flash before his eyes. But fortunately, he was a scientist, so there wasn't a lot to get through.

He was dimly aware of the skimpy summer dresses worn by his older sister's friends when he was fourteen. He could smell sand and pine needles—that must have been from the time he sat on the sand dunes with Elisabetta and explained to her about entropy. And he could taste cherry pie—tooth-achingly sweet, with a kick of almonds that went straight up his sinuses and almost knocked his head back. He had no idea what that was about.

He clapped his hands to try and dispel his confusion and turned to Jack. "Would you mind bringing Alice up here? I think she's in the glass laboratory."

Jack gave him an ill-tempered shrug. "Why can't you ask Danvers?"

"Why do you think I can't ask Danvers?"

Jack sighed, raised his eyebrows at Ellini as though to say, 'you see what I have to put up with?' and slouched out of the room.

Sergei shut the door behind him and gave Ellini the least threatening smile he could muster. It probably didn't fool her.

"Jack's a fascinating case study," he said, "as I'm sure you can appreciate. Perhaps you are wondering why he doesn't remember you?"

"No, I—" Ellini had wrapped the fingers of one hand around her wrist. It was probably meant as a casual pose—something non-committal to do with her hands—but, in fact, it looked as though she was trying to slow her pulse by squeezing. "Well, yes, it did puzzle me at first. But perhaps it's a good thing."

Sergei didn't know what to say to that, so he took refuge in scientific explanations. "In fact, his memories of you—and most of his emotional responses—have been chemically blocked by a compound not dissimilar to the medication which prevents him from thirsting after violence."

"You should put it in the water," said Ellini, with a half-hearted attempt at a smile.

"That might be a bit premature. But it seems to be working rather well. Of course, the brain being the tangled place it is, forgetting you has led to the loss of other, seemingly unrelated, functions. His intelligence has decreased by about ten per cent—although I don't consider that to be a big loss, because I've always felt he was too intelligent for his own good anyway."

"Surely you can't believe in being too intelligent for your own good here? In Oxford?"

"Very well," said Dr Petrescu, smiling. "He's too intelligent for our own good. It comes to the same thing. We look after him now."

Ellini nodded, and began to wander around the room, avoiding the patches of sunlight streaming in through the windows.

"Oh, he's also under the impression that he can't speak French," Sergei went on, "which is very amusing, because, when you speak to him in French, he understands you—and even sometimes replies in the same language. But, because he doesn't remember learning French, he just assumes we're all speaking English. I can only surmise that skills are stored in a different part of the brain from the memories of learning them. One day, I shall write a paper on it."

"Did he... volunteer for this procedure?"

"He gave his permission," said Sergei, perfectly well aware that this wasn't the same thing.

Again, she gave him a polite nod, and he decided it would be expedient to change the subject. He took a letter out of his pocket and unfolded it with almost reverential care. "I must admit, when you first applied to help with my research, I thought that having you here would be far more trouble than it was worth. But then I read your notes. You have been some kind of a doctor for the new breeds yourself, I think?"