June 1 - Surgeon's Wagon

Montreuil continued his work in silence, ignoring the boy’s question. Once he had cleaned the wound, he went to work on the bones, checking to be sure they were setting properly and making adjustments where necessary. That done, he wrapped them in a fresh dressing and only then did he look up at the Englishman. “La,” he said with finality.

Pye grit his teeth, the knuckes of his other hand, which was curled into a tight fist were bone white. Montreuil was not the gentlest of surgeons by nature, probably, but right now he was not even trying to be. He was however not prolonging the pain for longer than necessary.

Pye could give him that. ".....right. You don't understand." So he could not be told if he would fire again. He nodded and stood. He tucked his shirt in with one hand, awkwardly and then turned. "Thank you." No need to tell a surgeon that. It was his job. He left the wagon carefully and looked relieved at least that his fingers would not get infected and there would be no need to hack of his arm. He looked about to see if Le Bras was anywhere still to be found. He had a choice. Follow Le Bras where he was needed or.. technically, do his other duty. Which was to nurse Sykes back to health.

He did not want to help him escape even if he should have. But.. if perchance Sykes owed him, would that not put him in a much better position. Pye considered that and nearly tripped. One thing at a time. Get seated first, think more on it , second!

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Montreuil shouted at the lad's back, his voice rising steadily in a tower of colorful language. "He says, 'stay here," the assistant's translation was concise if nothing else, "Now you will earn your keep."

"Not you!" the surgeon snapped at Le Bras and the others, "I have enough work to do without him making more! He can make himself useful to me or he will be of use to no one. You can fetch him later, now go." Le Bras knew Montreuil well enough by now to know when he was bluffing, but he had no intention of rousing the man further and obediantly fled.

Montreuil approached the redcoated Englishman, noting with distaste that he had shifted position so that his injured side was shielded by the wagon's wheel. He felt no sympathy for the man -- he was an enemy, and Montreuil did not doubt that the boy was telling the truth about the origins of his own injuries -- but his ill temper was further inflamed by the fact that the man should find it necessary to take such precautions while in his care.

That was another thing he did not like, he thought, kneeling beside the redcoat, wasted effort, for now, thanks to the young grasshopper's antics, he would be obliged to examine the man again. No serious damage seemed to have been inflicted, he noted with grim satisfaction. That was well for the boy.

The wound in the man's leg had already been bandaged when he arrived and Montreuil had not considered it a priority. Now, there was time for such things. The ball, it appeared, had already been removed, but the wound would have to be cleaned; Montreuil would not trust the work of an English physician. Even so, the man's eyes looked rather too bright for Montreuil's liking. No doubt this would be yet another wasted effort.

"Can you clean and bind a wound?" Montreuil demanded of the boy through his interpreter.

"...I can try." Pye had followed the surgeon as obediently as a trained pup, without meaning to. He watched Sykes silently and when addressed answered in turn. He could do, what he could, with his uninjured hand. His other he could use to the best of his knowledge, only with the other three fingers, but not with the two broken. The fingers were now fairly well immobilized and thus the use of his hand was somewhat better, if still hurting.

"...if he tells me what to do." He was no surgeon. But he might have observed enough to know some things. "He's aware of m' injuries."

"Get him away from me!" Sykes shouted, his eyes never leaving the boy. "Keep him the hell away from me!"

"You can be tended by him or not at all," Montreuil retorted matter-of-factly, "Do you want to lose the leg?"

"I'll do it meself," Sykes protested, an edge of desperation creeping into his voice.

Montreuil ignored the last remark. Let them work it out between themselves. "If," he began, turning to his assistant, "when I check on him later, I find even so much as a hint of further damage, it will go hard with the boy."

"How should I convey that?"

"Use your imagination," snapped Montreuil and stalked off to attend his other patients.

"Do not make it worse," the assistant instructed the grasshopper. He studied him silently for a moment, then suddenly grinnned, holding up two of his fingers corresponding to the boy's broken ones and miming a snapping motion, "Or else." With that, he handed the necessary materials to the boy and returned to his own work.

Pye flinched, drawing away from the man as if his fingers were in danger presently. The threat was very well understood. Make it worse, and his fingers - other fingers might go snap. He nodded sharply in response. No further harm to be caused to the injured. None. The fact that he was trusted with doing it all and on his own, was somewhat disheartening but he decided to keep his mouth shut about it.

He balanced the cloth and bandages in his arms and watched the man leave. With a sigh he turned towards Sykes, who was evidently far from eager to see him come closer, let alone tend to his injuries.

"...You.." He knelt beside Sykes. "If you cooperate we'll both be finished with this sooner.." His eyes narrowed. " You'll live, and your leg won't rot off of ya. Fair?"

The boy's change in manner scared Sykes more than any threat he could have made. Fair? Cooperate? The hell he would. He glared at the rifleman, his entire body tensing. "**** you."

"..I ain't bringin' you a lass after this an'.. judgin' by yer injuries....isn't 'zactly what you'll be doin' fer a while." Pye replied calmly. he enjoyed the fear he saw in Sykes's eyes. Even if he would do nothing to deserve that feeling, he was enjoying getting some of his back.

"...So." He began and laid the armful of material on the ground to his left, careful to have the bandages on top, so that they would not get dirty. "You've got any injuries up on yer rib that need cleanin'?.. othern' bruisin' which I can't be helpin' you with. " How things changed. The attacker once, a patient of the victim now.

Sykes' face hardened. Whatever game the boy was playing, he was not going along with it. "You touch me again," he said, very slowly and quietly, "And I'll bloody kill you."

"I don't touch you, and you'll bloody die." Pye answered, glad that the surgeon's assistant had thought to provide water. Blood would be so much harder to remove with a dry rubbing of cloth against skin. "I do touch you and you still might die, but if you don't you can plan all your damn blackguard, miserable life how t' kill me." He snapped. "Get that through your thick skull."

"So yer a bleedin' saint now?" Sykes sneered. "Give it here, then. I been doin' this longer'n you been alive."

" Ain't a saint. Don't be sayin daft things. " Pye was loosing his patience. "Stop bein' a baby. Yer goin' ter faint if yer move too much, which I wouldn't mind but..." He shrugged and scowled. "We'd've been all done by now if you weren' actin' a brat."

"...Pa'.." calling Sykes old was not much of an insult, but never the less it was a fun one.

A muscle twitched along Sykes' jaw. He did not respond. He was done with this, whatever the hell it was. Just let the lad try something, he thought, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He was damned if he would make this easy.

Pye mistook Skyes' silence for silent acceptance. Well, it was about time too, he thought as he leaned over the man to tuck at his shirt. Since Sykes did not tell him whether his sides or front was cut and he was not exactly certain whether he was bandaged there anyway, he had to check.

He picked the leg as a thing he meant to check second also because he was not exactly sure how he could go about getting to it. Sykes would have to come down with his slops to reveal the injured thigh. If the man hated being touched, he'd probably have downright loathed to be uncovered in such manner even if for the sake of his own health.

“Gerroff!” Sykes snarled, snapping a fist up under the green-jacket’s chin and attempting to thrust him away with the other hand.

Pye yelped in surprise and a startled bit of pain when the fist caught him square on his jaw and had follow it suit.

He clutched at his chin and rubbed it, blinking at the man s if unable to understand what had just happened. "You daft brat." He hissed. "If it weren't for them you'd be cryin' by now! If ye were still alive n' kicking!" He added with a hateful glare."Wot's t' matter wit hyou?!"

The exertion sent darts of pain shooting through his right side and Sykes dragged in a breath between his teeth, bracing himself for retaliation. It didn’t come. Of all things, the boy appeared taken aback. Sykes regarded him with mounting incredulity. “With me? Jesus...” He must have given the lad one too many blows to the head back in the woods.

He sagged back against the wheel. “The hell d’you want, anyway?”

"..t' hell t' surgeon told me I should want. T' see yer wounds cleaned an' bandaged. " The lad kept his distance for the moment. He had about had with constantly acting as a punching bag. His body clearly agreed.

"...t' sooner yer let me tend t' yer leg there t' sooner you'll have me of yer back... well what touchin's concerned..." He paused and grunted. "..I promise ter not injure you worse. A'right? Even if you damn well deserve it."

Sykes considered this for perhaps a full three seconds, then let out a heartfelt curse. This was beyond absurd. "Gi' me the water and one o' them strips o' cloth," he said finally, hating every syllable. If the boy wanted this over as much as he did, then he could bloody well do some cooperating of his own.

"..." Pye sighed and rolled his eyes. "..fine.. but when it hurts too much you'll let me continue, a'right? Yer a stubborn ass." The animal, donkey. He moved the bucket of water closer to Sykes and then offered him one of the clean strips of cloth.

Suppressing a grimace, Sykes peeled back the tattered fabric. It was bleeding again, thanks to the green-jacket’s ministrations and most of the stitches had been torn out that morning. Brilliant. He gritted his teeth as the pain flared under his rough, hurried attempts to clean the wound. That his eyes continually shifted between the task at hand and the boy did not help matters.

“A’right. Le’s see the bandages,” he muttered when it was done.

"..I'll bandage you.. n' you best shut ye mouth 'bout complainin'." Pye said stiffly. "You'll ruin yourself with that daft effort you're puttin' into tendin' t' yeself. No better n' ..." He did not finish that but knelt at Sykes' side. He peered at the wound and frowned. It did need some work, not just a clean cloth to keep it tight together.

"...truce.. till we're done with you." He offered calmly. "'least you mus' see, it's a stupid time to solve a feud between us."

Truce. Right. ‘Truce’ was an empty word, used for manipulating gullible opponents into dropping their guard. “I ain’t the one with a busted hand,” Sykes snapped, “If yer so bloody concerned ‘bout this comin’ out right, then give it here.”

"...I ain't t' one who busted it.." He began then bit his lip. "... I ain't t' one with a busted chest neither. Look. I'll do it half way, you do it t' other half. It'll have less strain on yer chest, and... you'll still be doin' summat. I'd love ter break yer leg yes, but I think we ought 't get back first." He shrugged his shoulders.

"If we'uh do it t'gether.. I'll only be usin' one hand.. and you'll have t' bloody control yer so wantin' t' have." This was getting at his nerve.

“Well,” drawled the assistant, appearing as if from nowhere, “As entertaining as this has been....” He moved towards them until he loomed over the pair, his boot stopping just shy of brushing Sykes’ injured side. “It is time for the grasshopper to return to his friends. However, he has not yet discharged his duties.” He nodded for the boy to continue, “If you please.”