Hunting for Silence

26. Healing Stone

Back in Paris, I kicked out the first doctor who came to look after Mr Ambrose, and the second, too. The third I kept, because (a) he was the first one to speak English, and (b), he didn't propose to use leeches. I wasn't exactly a medical professional, but considering the massive amounts of blood my dear employer had already lost, I didn't really see the point of bleeding him some more. Besides—the doctor was already going to suck him dry with his bill. That would be hard enough for poor Mr Ambrose to handle.

If he survives, a tiny, scared voice in the back of my mind whispered. A voice I had never heard before.

I straightened my spine. Of course he'd make it! I wouldn't allow him to die!

'Well, doctor?' I demanded. 'Are you done yet?'

In response, the doctor looked up from his patient. He had a pincer-like instrument in his hand, and gripped between the pincers, I saw what looked little marble covered on tomato sauce. When my stomach realized what it really was, it rebelled.

'Nearly, Monsieur.' With a plink, the doctor dropped the bullet into a metal container. ''and me the bandages, if you please?'

Trying not to look at the prone form of Mr Ambrose on the bed, I handed him some strips of pristine linen—not ripped out of my shirt this time, but bought from the finest store in Paris. Mr Ambrose was going to be so furious.

Please let him be furious! Please, let him live to be furious!

Calmly taking the linen strips, the doctor used one to clean the wound, then wrapped it with another and tied the bandages with agile fingers. While he was still working, he glanced up at me out of the corner of his eye.

'Monsieur...Linton, was it?'

'Yes? And pay attention to what you're doing!'

'I am, Monsieur. I am. If I may ask, 'ow exactly did the patient sustain 'is injury?'

'A duel.'

'Monsieur Linton...' Tying the last knot, the doctor turned towards me. He picked the bloody bullet out of its container and raised it to eye-level. I had to swallow. 'Sis is not a pistol bullet. It comes from a rifle.'

My face remained stony. I had learned from the best. 'It was a long-distance duel.'

'Monsieur Linton, you cannot expect me to believe—'

'Do you want your fee, doctor?'

'Yes, of course, but—'

'Then get back to work and don't dare stop until Mr Ambrose is out of danger! Trust me, you do not want to know what he will do if Mr Ambrose does not survive.' I jabbed my thumb at Karim, standing in the corner of the room like a grim, turban-wearing sentinel. 'And you definitely do not want to know what I will do.'

The doctor's eyes flitted nervously between me and Karim. The big Mohammedan gave him his best you-are-about-to-decapitated-like-a-dog look. Quickly, the doctor turned back to his patient. He talked a lot less after that, and worked a lot faster.

Everything in me wanted to look away—but I forced myself to watch. I forced myself to observe every move, every little shift of his fingers. After the things Dalgliesh had done in the past, bribing a doctor definitely wasn't beyond him, and I wasn't going to let anything or anyone harm Mr Ambrose. However, the doctor did nothing but his job. He applied a second layer of bandages, covered Mr Ambrose with a thick quilt, and then pulled out a pencil to draw up a quick list.

'See to it sat you keep him covered, Monsieur. He 'as lost quite a lot of blood and might go into shock. If 'e does, send a messenger. I've left my card on the dresser. 'ere—' He tore the list off his notepad and handed it to me, 'is a list of suitable foods. Keep 'im on sis diet, and sat should support his convalescence.'