Over the next three days, Evan's life ran like a machine on rails, every gear meshing precisely with the next.
He followed Pulis's instructions, stopping the Mercury Pill, Aspirin, and Phenobarbital and taking only two Magic Potions each day.
He attended classes by day and hauled sacks at the harbor by night.
With his mental faculties fully restored, Evan could finish his daily homework during breaks and lunch, even without the fourfold boost to his concentration from Phenobarbital.
His mind was clear, his memory was back, and he finally had the study efficiency of an ordinary person again.
The middle-class boys caused him no more trouble.
Whenever Lebon spotted him down a corridor, he lowered his head, spite in his eyes and a strange grin on his lips.
But he never dared say a word. He quickened his pace and took another route.
Thompson would not even stay on the same floor. The moment Evan came into view, the American Football prospect turned toward the nearest exit and vanished.
But they had changed tactics.
Instead of getting physical, they shut him out completely.
Apart from teachers at the front of classrooms, no one at school spoke to Evan.
They avoided contact, avoided his eyes, and refused to sit at the same table.
Even when they approached him head-on in a corridor, they stepped aside early, as though dodging an invisible obstacle.
Evan did not care in the slightest.
He enjoyed the peace.
With no social distractions or hollow pleasantries, he could put every minute to good use.
From the second day on, Professor Pulis stopped sneaking around to draw his blood.
He openly told Evan to come to the laboratory at exactly four thirty every other afternoon, when he would take a small tube of blood for analysis.
The process was properly organized, with a record sheet, a place to sign, and even a clean cotton ball and a strip of medical tape for Evan.
Evan had no reason to refuse if he wanted to keep receiving Magic Potions.
His engineering coursework was a mountain he could never finish moving.
On ordinary days, Evan had almost no time to himself.
Classes, homework, hauling sacks.
Classes, homework, hauling sacks.
The days felt copied and pasted, each one a repeat of the last.
His only comfort was that his body was growing stronger at an unbelievable rate.
Visibly stronger.
By the fourth day of taking the two Magic Potions, Evan's Physique had reached 1.903.
Nearly twice the baseline for an ordinary person.
His arms, once so thin the bones showed through, now carried a firm, even layer of muscle. The veins in his forearms stood out clearly when he exerted himself.
He could easily lift a hundred pounds and carry a fifty-pound sack of tobacco thirty meters in one hand without breaking a sweat.
When he ran along an empty stretch of the Dock District at night, he covered a hundred meters in just over ten seconds and was only slightly out of breath afterward.
With a body like that, he could carry three sacks at once at a brisk pace and finish a normal day's work with ease.
To help his body absorb the Blood Potion, he even volunteered for an extra hour.
That earned him forty cents a day, barely enough to cover his growing food bill.
On Friday afternoon, after finishing his first batch of Magic Potions, Evan went to Pulis's laboratory as usual.
He had expected to ask for more, but Pulis had already prepared them.
This time, they were not pills.
Two thumb-sized glass vials stood on the workbench, slender and sealed with black wax.
They held a dark red liquid, thick as melted wax. When a vial moved slightly, the liquid crept slowly along its inner wall.
Pulis pushed the two vials toward Evan, his expression a shade more serious than usual.
"The medicine is sensitive to light. Take it once a day after sunset. Come see me Monday afternoon."
Evan respectfully tucked the vials into an inner pocket of his jacket, then could not help asking, "Professor, what does this medicine do?"
Pulis's answer was as brief as before.
"It will make you healthier, as before."
Evan murmured an acknowledgment, hesitated, then spoke again.
"Professor, can I take other medicines?"
He rubbed his hands together, looking suitably embarrassed.
"I had to pay Lebon two dollars for his medical bills, and I'm almost out of money for food. I was hoping to find some work testing medicines over the weekend."
As he said it, he was waiting for a different answer.
He had expected Pulis to refuse, then offer him a respectable, better-paying job instead.
Perhaps he would even say in a tone that brooked no argument, "A test subject as valuable as you belongs to me alone."
Then Evan could deepen his ties with Pulis naturally and gain access to more resources.
But Pulis merely nodded.
"You can. This medicine won't interfere with the others."
Evan froze for a moment, then hid his disappointment and smiled. "All right. Thank you for the advice."
He turned and left the laboratory.
After the Oak Door closed, the Female Assistant stepped out from behind a storage cabinet.
"That boy is rather greedy." Her voice was low and flat, devoid of emotion, as though she were reporting an experimental observation.
"I can tell he wants you to give him a respectable job."
She paused.
"I believe you could give him one, Master. It would make him trust you more."
Pulis stood at the workbench with his back to her, holding a glass slide up to the light with a pair of tweezers.
"Remember."
His voice was soft and faint, as if he were discussing something trivial.
"Do not grow too close to your food or develop feelings for it."
He set the slide back on its tray and turned around. Behind his lenses, his pale blue eyes were as still as ice.
"Humans would not want to live in the same room as pigs they raise, nor would they show those pigs too much mercy."
The Female Assistant lowered her eyes and nodded respectfully.
"Understood, my master."
Evan secured the vials, slung on his Canvas Satchel with its broken strap tied together with rope, and hurried out of the school.
He had barely stepped through the gate when a tram rattled past. The wind in its wake blew dust into his face.
"Just my luck."
He muttered to himself and went to the stop to wait for the next one.
As he idly watched a roasted-chestnut vendor across the street, he heard a faint flutter overhead.
Splat.
A lump of white bird droppings landed squarely on his left shoulder and spattered, warm and sticky.
Evan glanced down at his shoulder, then up at the sky.
A gray pigeon flapped leisurely away, showing no remorse for its handiwork.
Several people waiting nearby chuckled under their breath and quietly edged a couple of steps away.
Evan pulled a crumpled piece of rough paper from his trouser pocket, wiped off the droppings, and tossed the wadded paper into a roadside bin.
Then he waited a full twenty-five minutes for the next tram.
"What's taking so long?"
He dropped in a five-cent coin and squeezed aboard.
After a swaying thirty-minute ride, he got off and ducked into the familiar alley south of Gooding Street.
As usual, the clotheslines overhead were crowded with damp clothes and bedsheets. Drops of water landed on his hair, cold against his scalp.
He hurried through with his head down, muddy water splashing beneath his feet.
Then, without warning, someone emptied a basin of laundry water from a third-floor window.
Grayish-white dirty water, full of soap suds and a sour stench he could not identify, fell straight toward his head like a small waterfall.
Fortunately, his Physique was now nearly twice that of an ordinary person, and his reflexes were far better than before.
His body instinctively darted to the side before his mind could react. Most of the water struck where he had just stood, splashing mud everywhere.
But it still soaked part of his back.
Cold, dirty water ran down his spine, seeping into his shirt and leaving it clammy against his skin.
"Why is everything going wrong today?"
Evan picked up his pace, almost running through the remaining two alleys. He rushed into the apartment building, pounded up the stairs, and pushed open his front door.
Feeling thoroughly cursed, he went into his bedroom and locked the door behind him.
He took off the jacket stained with bird droppings and dirty water, threw it over the back of a chair, and changed into a canvas shirt his father had left behind.
Then he opened his bedroom door, went to the wardrobe in the living room, crouched, and pulled open the hidden compartment at the bottom. He reached for the biscuit tin where he kept his money, intending to take out enough for dinner.
The instant his fingers touched the tin, he knew something was wrong.
It was too light.
He took it out and shook it.
No coins clinked inside.
Evan's expression changed sharply.
He yanked off the lid.
Empty.
Completely empty. Not a single coin remained. Even the old newspaper he had laid at the bottom had been disturbed.
Two dollars and twenty-two cents. Everything he had left.
Gone.
Rage surged from the pit of his stomach to the top of his head, making his temples throb.
"What the hell is going on today?"
"It had to be that bitch."
Only two people had keys to the apartment.
Him and Mary.
Zack came by often, but he had no need to steal a few dollars from a poor student.
Evan was already sick to death of Mary. This final straw set him ablaze.
"I'm not the sickly weakling everyone could push around anymore."