I started to rise. "Hey, wait a minute . . ."
Mycroft placed a firm but not forceful hand on my shoulder. "Please sit down and don't be afraid. Your pain will be gone in a few moments."
"No, I don't think so," I began to say, and it was Midge who intervened.
"Mike, wait."
I stared at her. She gave a brief shake of her head.
"I want you to trust me, Mike." Mycroft's voice had altered subtly: it was both soothing and commanding—and very hard to resist. I sat down again and he drew up a chair so that he could be close. "I want you to trust us all," he said, pushing up his sleeves to the elbow. I wiped perspiration from my eyes, agog at what was going on and uncertain of how far I was prepared to let it go.
Mycroft smiled at me as though aware that I thought him crazy and he was quite prepared to enjoy the joke with me. His smile was knowing and encouraging at the same time. He then did something I hadn't expected: he put his own hands into the liquid.
The people around the room—they were of all ages and of more than one nationality—joined hands and closed their eyes. Mycroft, too, had closed his eyes, his lips moving slightly as though intoning a silent prayer. I thought the mob might start chanting "Ommmm" at any moment.
I suppose I must have looked desperate, because Midge held on to me as if to prevent my escape.
"Midge . . .?"
There was a peaceful kind of excitement in her eyes, an inner shining that hinted she was beginning to believe in these nuts.
I felt my burned arm being lifted, and turned back to Mycroft, ready to pull away. His smile discouraged any such reaction and I allowed him to bring down my arm into the greenish liquid.
I got ready to scream, yet not once did I attempt to draw back—I was already learning that this mild-looking man had a hidden persuasiveness. He immersed my hand, then the rest of my arm up to the elbow, and although I couldn't feel the fluid I knew it had more substance than plain water. It looked oily smooth.
Immediately the terrible burning pain ceased, soothed by the cool liquid; I felt as though my arm had been frozen in ice.
Mycroft's fingers lightly stroked the skin, his eyes closed once more, lips moving only slightly. The relief was so immense that I nearly whooped with joy; instead I breathed a huge sigh. I was conscious, too, of the pressure from Midge's fingers on my shoulders and when I turned my head to look up at her, her eyes were also closed, her brow wrinkled in concentration.
"Midge," I said, "the pain's gone."
She opened her eyes, looked at me, looked at my immersed arm. Her relief seemed as great as mine when she hugged my neck.
Mycroft still held me there, continuing to gently stroke my flesh; his fingertips somehow left a tingling trail in their wake. Glancing around the room, I saw that the others still had their eyes closed, one or two of the women swaying on their feet as though about to swoon; their hands were clenched tight in each other's and I had the impression of energy flowing through every individual, passing on to the next, then the next, going full circuit.
Insane, I voiced, strictly to myself. But I couldn't deny I was no longer hurting. Yeah, and what happens when the hand comes out of water? The liquid's obviously a pain-freezer, so how's the arm gonna feel without it? I was soon to find out.
Mycroft opened his eyes and lifted the hand clear. He held it there while liquid drained off, then turned to me and I was unsure if there wasn't just a trace of mockery in his smile. /
The swelling of my flesh had definitely subsided, although my fingers remained puffy; that awful glowing redness was still there, but no more blisters were forming. Best of all, I could feel no pain, only a numbed stiffness.
"I don't believe it," I said incredulously.
"There's no need to," he replied. "Accept, that's all you have to do."
Mycroft rose and the people began to open their eyes, some of them being held steady by those beside them. They released each other's hands to break into applause and I wondered if Mycroft was going to take a bow. Instead, he held up a hand and the clapping stopped.
"We must only be thankful that our young friend no longer suffers," he told them. "You've witnessed our mutual strength, now reflect upon that for a while on your own." He was so casual, so matter-of-fact, his voice even and friendly; no tub-thumping or showing off as you might expect from some quasireligious leader who'd just pulled off a pretty good stunt.
His followers left the room, most of them smiling happily, the rest deep in thought. They were a mixed bag all right, of various ages and nationalities as I've said, but also of different types, from the slightly freakish (wild hair, wild eyes) to the mundanely straight (smartish clothes, bland faces).
Gillie came forward and carefully wrapped a linen towel around my arm, allowing the excess moisture to be absorbed before removing it again. Then it was Sandy's turn: she'd produced bandage and gauze from somewhere and proceeded to dress my arm, ever so gently laying the gauze over the burns first before applying the bandage.
"We oughta let a hospital handle this end of things," I suggested uncertainly.
Kinsella was grinning all over his all-American face. "No need for that, Mike. You're gonna be fine, you'll see."
"The dressing is perfectly sterile," reassured Mycroft, "and you'd find a nurse would do no more than this."
"They might give me a shot or pills or something."
"Unnecessary, but of course you must do as you see fit.
I suggest you rest today and see a doctor tomorrow if you're still uneasy. There won't be any more pain."
I found the last bit ridiculous—Christ, I'd been really scalded— but I didn't want to appear tetchy, not after what he'd done. "Yeah, well, let's see what tomorrow brings."
I was able to smile.
Mycroft, apparently, had already lost interest in me, and was studying Midge with that minimal smile (I was sure it was slightly mocking) on his face once more.
"And you are obviously Midge," he said.
His gaze was a bit too penetrating for my liking, oddly bringing to mind Ogborn the lawyer's barely disguised interest in her all those weeks ago. I'd never looked kindly on dirty old men.
"I don't know how we can ever thank you enough," she replied, and I could tell the tension was only slowly draining from her. Despite the room's dimness, I could also see that she was very tired.
"Thanks are neither sought nor required. I've heard much about you and you'll forgive me if I say I'm glad that you finally had cause, unfortunate though the circumstances were, to visit our Temple."
Gillie and Sandy had gone to the windows and were drawing back the curtains. The light broadened and brought some cheer back into the room.
"Hub has invited us on several occasions," said Midge, "but with so much work in the cottage . . ." She flapped her hands at our standing excuse.
"Ah yes, Gramarye." The name pleased him, his smile becoming warmer.
"You know our place?" I asked.
He didn't even look my way. "It's been described to me. Tell me, young lady, are you very happy there?"
If Midge was surprised by the question, she didn't show it. "Yes, very. We both are. It's a wonderful home."
"In what sense is it wonderful?"
Now she was taken aback. "It . . . it's so peaceful, so serene. And yet full of life. Lots of animals are attracted to it, and there's so much . . ." She floundered, unable to find the right words.
Mycroft found one for her. "Vitality." It wasn't even a question.
"Yes," Midge agreed eagerly. "Yes, that's it exactly."
Mycroft seemed satisfied. He dried his own hands, then pulled down his sleeves. "I would clearly love to speak to you again," he said finally.
Midge just nodded, then turned to me. "How are you feeling, Mike?"