An Officer's Room in Belem

"Damn it, but I am not a cripple!" Padstowe said irritably after he had taken a few sips. "I should be able to do this for myself!"

"You will be," Stephen said soothingly, "in a matter of days, with the blessing. You woke up a day ago, Jonathan, and with your current rate of recovery, you might be up and about in as little as two weeks. I know how frustrating it is, but it is only for a short time."

"Feels like a goddamn eternity!" Padstowe complained, another wheezing cough startng up his throat.

"It is not, Jonathan. After Mahon, I could not lift a glass to my lips for months. You will survive two or three days."

That did not do much to comfort Padstowe, and he fell sullenly silent. Then recalling the source of that morning's arguement he forced himself to speak.

"They hurt you very badly, then."

"Quite terribly, but even that was not to the extremity," said Stephen matter-of-factly.

"How long were you in their power?"

"I am not entirely sure," Stephen said quietly, putting the cup down and moving back towards his chair. "It was a rather timeless experience, somewhat like a dream. It must have been a little over a week, by my calculation."

"One night was bad enough for me," the captain said quietly.

Stephen frowned. "Then perhaps you should give thought as to whether you wish to remain involved in intelligence work, Jonathan." He patted his leg gently as he walked by. "But we will bring him to justice. Do not distress yourself, my dear."

"I do not mean endurance-wise," he added hastily, as the doctor had clearly mistaken his meaning. "I meant that my assailant sought to do in one night what yours sought to drag out. I find myself surprised that I am still here."

Stephen bit down so fast and so hard on his tongue to stop his response that he winced. He sat down, frowning at the papers. "Try to get some rest, Jonathan."

And he had done it again apparently.

"I should not have said that."

"Perhaps not," said Stephen, without looking up from his pages. "It is one thing to be the victim of someone who wants you dead, and quite another to be the one who prays for it. But I hope that you will never understand, Jonathan."

"Though maybe I shall," he said quietly. Padstowe settled back against the pillow again, another wheezing cough wracking his chest as he closed his eyes and tried to find sleep once more.

"No, you will not. Not while I have power to prevent it," Stephen said, penciling a note on his sheet.

Though Padstowe doubted that stephen would be able to prevent much, were he caught. The prospect had flashed through his mind on a number of occassions, but it never did to linger on it. He could not afford to.

"Maybe," he mumbled as he let his mind wander again.

Stephen watched as the captain began to drift into sleep, silently shook his head, and returned to his codes.

It was in the early hours of the next morning that one of the orderlies knocked softly on the door to Captain Padstowe's room. When he received no reply he turned the handle and poked his head into the room.

"Sir? Doctor?"

Stephen sat up with a gasp, and tore away a sheet of workings that had become stuck to his face. He blinked, jealously covered the sheets with his arm, and turned around in his chair to stare ferociously at the orderly. "Yes?"

The orderly gazed with trepidation as he regarded the physician who seemed to have... ink on his face? The Captain was still sleeping peacefully in his bed, but all the same he cleared his throat and spoke quietly.

"This letter just come for you, sir; by special messanger."

He held out the missive to Maturin, the image stamped in its red wax seal clearly visible.

Stephen rubbed at his eyes crossly, snarling at the missive as he snatched it from the orderly. He barely registered the seal as he cracked it and opened up the letter.

His face softened as he read. "Oh," he said quietly, and again as he ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end. He blinked and smiled as he reached the end, and looked up at the orderly with a far more amiable expression on his face. "Is the messenger still here? Might I send back a reply?"

"He is, sir," the orderly said, somewhat relieved to see the doctor looking less aggressive towards him. "He said he had been given instructions to wait if there was to be an answer."

Otherwise I wouldn't have dared disturb you at this hour, he added privately to himself.

"There is, there is - a moment and I am with you-" said Stephen, knocking an ink-pot over. "Hell and death!" he hissed as he rescued his sheets, with an anxious look to Padstowe to make sure he had not woken him. "The briefest of moments, I beg-"

"Yes, sir."

The orderly stood uncertainly by the door, afraid to advance further at the flurry of activity the gentleman had suddenly engaged in. over on the bed the captain murmured softly, shifting slightly in his sleep, but notwaking.