The Romulus Equation by Darren Craske Read Free Book Online Page A

ship’s medic to report to me at once. Let us pray the wind is at our backs, because we do not have one moment to lose!’

Chapter VIII
The Second Opinion
    Morning came at a crawl.
    The cracked window fractured the sunlight, painting the cabin in an eerie glow. Incessant creaking echoed around as the ship peaked and fell in the rough sea. Prometheus stood guard over Renard as he lay unconscious in one of three bunks in the cabin. Captain Slater had obliged Destine’s request not only of private quarters for her company, but also use of the ship’s medic. Eric Markham was an unkempt man, with lank hair and three days’ growth of beard. He looked unflinchingly at Renard’s wound as he prodded around inside it with a metal instrument.
    â€˜Here’s the little bugger!’ he announced, as he lifted a small metal pellet out of the hole in Renard’s stomach. ‘Now that the bullet is out we need to stitch the poor bastard up, or his guts will be spilling out all over the deck.’ Reaching into his pocket, Markham pulled out a small leather pouch. ‘Gunpowder,’ he said helpfully, as he took a pinch and sprinkled it liberally over Renard’s wound. He walked over to the stove in the corner of the cabin and took out a poker that had been resting in the coals, its tip glowing white-hot. ‘That hole is far too messy for me to even attempt to stitch him at the moment, so we’re going to use an old seafaring trick for wounds of this type. Your friend’s lucky he’s unconscious, because this is going to hurt like hellfire.’
    Markham thrust the hot poker onto Renard’s wound and the gunpowder ignited with a white flash. The cabin was ripe with the stench of burned flesh. Markham wafted the wisps of smoke away and took a closer look at the wound.
    â€˜That should just about do it!’ he said. ‘It’s not going to look pretty, but by the state of his face, it’s not like anyone would notice. I’ll need to patch him up, and then we’ll see how long he lasts. I give him a fifty-fifty chance… with gunshots it’s hard to tell. He’s lost a fair old amount of blood.’
    â€˜Thank you for your efforts, Monsieur Markham, we shall keep him under close observation’ said Madame Destine. ‘How long until he wakes?’
    â€˜Depends on how tough he is,’ replied Markham. ‘If he makes it through the day, there’s as good a chance as any that he’ll recover relatively quickly. And if he doesn’t, well… let’s put it this way… the mess I just made of his guts’ll be the least of his worries!’
    â€˜We shall pray for his speedy recovery,’ said Destine, quite truthfully.
    â€˜I’d better be off,’ said Markham. ‘The cook’s got a dose of syphilis that’s causing him no end of irritation, and if I don’t give him something for the pain, God only knows what’s going into the stew!’
    Prometheus winced, making a mental note to skip dinner.
    Renard was naked from the waist up with a dark red stain seeping through the bandages wrapped around his stomach. He was a ghastly shade of pale, and his chest was speckled with sweat. In truth, he looked dead already. Once Markham had left the cabin, the strongman reattached the leather straps around each of Renard’s wrists, binding him to his bunk.
    â€˜Just in case he wakes up and tries to slit our necks in the night,’ he said, receiving a firm nod of agreement from Destine. ‘We’re still a long way from Rome, Madame. What if he dies on us before we get there?’
    Destine shook her head firmly. ‘Do not fear on that score, Aiden. I have heard that some people can survive for several days with a wound such as Antoine’s. All depends on his willpower, and this is my son we are talking about, remember? If he has anything, it is a strong will. But he must not die. He
shall
not