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“This’s my assistant, Deborah Schneider, and Colette Roberge—”

“The Chancellor of the University,” said Gilbert. “We’ve met.”

A commotion onstage caught their attention, and they turned toward it.

It generally took at least two minutes for the annual Fable de La Fontaine to descend into debacle, but this one had got there in record time.

The little girl playing the donkey was in tears. Despite Gabri’s reassurance that it was just an act, still the child took the dialogue personally as the other animals blamed her, or rather the donkey, for the outbreak of plague.

She was howling, “It’s not my fault.”

They paused while Gabri and the girl’s parents sorted it out.

In the unexpected intermission, Chancellor Roberge said, “I’m not sure if you know that Dr. Gilbert did landmark studies on the mind-body connection.”

“I know who he is,” said Abigail. “And I know about his research.”

“And I know about yours,” he said. “You’re making quite a splash in the scientific community. Maybe we can talk about it sometime.”

“Are you interested in endorsing my findings, Dr. Gilbert? We seem to have a lot in common.”

“How so?”

“I’ve often thought you didn’t get the proper recognition, especially for your early work. I’d be happy to try to get you what you deserve.”

Armand had positioned himself close to Professor Robinson. His back was to them, and while he listened closely to the conversation, his eyes remained on the stage, watching his grandchildren.

Honoré, in his first Fable, was wearing huge bunny ears and had dragged his toboggan onstage with him. Florence and Zora were both dressed as piglets and were trying to comfort the donkey. Saying the plague wasn’t her fault. They were just pretending.

“I’m retired now,” said Gilbert. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“The truth always matters,” said Professor Robinson.

“Truth?” Gilbert’s tone was amused. “No real scientist talks about the truth.”

There was a pause. “Are you saying I’m not a real scientist?”

The chilly undercurrent had reached the surface.

“But then,” Abigail was saying, “I understand why you wouldn’t be a fan of the truth.”

“Actually,” said Gilbert, “I am. Now I have more time on my hands, I’m finding the truth far more interesting than facts. The truth is, no serious scientist is taking your conclusions seriously. The Royal Commission won’t even let you present them. And for good reason. It might not be intellectual madness, but it is moral insanity.”

There was a pause as a pit opened in the conversation.

Abigail filled it with a single hoot of laughter. “Moral insanity? You, of all people, would say that?”

Listening to this, Armand was trying to work out what exactly was happening. What was really being said. What was really going on. Because something was.

“You need help,” said Gilbert. “Look at those faces. Half the people here, given a chance and a gun, would pull the trigger.”

Professor Robinson looked at the crowd, then back to him.

“And the other half, Doctor? They know that what I’m saying is rational and realistic. What scares people like you is that I’m just voicing what most are thinking.”

“Most?” said Gilbert. “I don’t think so.”

“You’re right. Not yet. But give it time. The Royal Commission might not listen to me, but others will. Others are. I have an appointment with the Premier next week. Now, you know my calculations are right. If you’d like to endorse what I am saying—”