Along the Infinite Sea by Beatriz Williams Read Free Book Online

already slowed. “This will sting,” I said, and I tilted the bottle to allow a stream of gin on the torn flesh.
    I was expecting a howl, but the man only grunted and gripped the side of the leg. “He needs a doctor, as quickly as possible,” I said to the men. “Has someone telephoned Dr. Duchamps?”
    There was no reply. I put my fingers under the injured man’s chin and peered into his eyes. His pupils were dilated, but not severely; hemet my gaze and followed me as I turned my face from one side to the other. I glanced back at Charles. “Well? Doctor? Is he on his way?”
    Charles crouched next to me. “No.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œToo much fuss. There’s someone meeting you on the ship.”
    â€œShip? What ship?”
    The injured man said, “My ship.”
    â€œYou’re going with him,” said Charles. “You can still drive the launch, can’t you?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou’re the only one who can do it. The rest of us have to stay here.”
    â€œWhat? Why?”
    â€œCover,” said the injured man, though his gritted teeth.
    I looked back down at the wound, which was now only seeping. Probably the bullet had only nicked the femoral artery, otherwise he would have been dead by now. He was a large man—not as large as Herr von Kleist, but larger than my brother—and he had plenty of blood to spare. Still, it was a close thing. My brain was sharp, but my fingers were trembling as I pressed the shirt back down. Another fraction of an inch. My God. “I don’t have the slightest idea what you mean,” I said, “and why not one of you perfectly able-bodied men can help me get this man to safety, but we don’t have a minute to waste arguing. Give him a fresh shirt. If he can hold it to his leg himself, I can take him to his damned yacht. It
is
a yacht, isn’t it?”
    â€œYes, Mademoiselle,” the man said humbly.
    â€œOf course it is. And if the police catch up with us, what am I to say?”
    â€œThat you know nothing about it, of course.”
    I took the fresh shirt from Charles’s hand and replaced the old; I took the man’s large limp hand and pressed it to the makeshift bandage. “I’ll take the gin. Charles, you put him in the launch.”
    â€œYou see?” said Charles. “I told you she was a sport.”
    4.
    On the launch, I took pity on the man and gave him the bottle of gin, while I steered us around the tip of the Cap d’Antibes and west toward Cannes, where his yacht was apparently moored. He took a grateful swig and tilted his head to the stars. The lantern sat at the bottom of the boat, so as not to be visible from shore.
    â€œYou are very beautiful,” he said.
    â€œStop. You’re
not
flirting with me, please. You came three millimeters away from death just now.” The draft was cool and salty; it stung my cheeks, or maybe I was only blushing.
    â€œNo, I am not flirting. But you
are
beautiful. A statement of fact.”
    I peered into the dark sea, seeking out the distant harbor lights, smaller than stars on the horizon. The water was calm tonight, only a hint of chop. As if God himself were watching over this man.
    â€œAm I allowed to ask your name?” I said.
    He hesitated. “Stefan.”
    â€œStefan. Is that your real name?”
    â€œIf you call me Stefan, Mademoiselle, I will answer you.”
    â€œI see. And what sort of trouble gets a nice man shot in the middle of a night like this, so he can’t see a doctor onshore? Argument at the casino? Is the other man perhaps dead?”
    â€œNo, it was not an argument in the casino.”
    He tilted the bottle back to his lips. I thought, I must keep him talking. He has to keep talking, to stay conscious. “And the other man?”
    â€œHmm. Do you really wish to know this, Mademoiselle?”
    â€œOh, priceless. I’m harboring a criminal