An Officer's Room in Belem

"I could do so, were to give them to me."

Stephen paused for another moment, before he reached into his breast pocket, and unfolded the piece of paper. "Here."

Padstowe took the piece of paper which the doctor had withheld from him before, and scanned down the list. It did not escape him what an enormous concession this was to him - and a remarkable display of trust.

Stephen waited while Padstowe perused the list, half of his mind caught in an intense feeling of relief, and the other half berating him - he caught sight in the mirror of some lather on his ear, and wiped it away self-consciously.

Padstowe tallied up the addresses in his mind, placing them on the abstract map of Lisbon he kept in his head. He went through and told the doctor where each one was - knowing that he would not want them to be ringed on a map (besides, a map of Lisbon was fairly useless to anything but a bird), and giving him prescise directions.

"I hope that is in order?"he asked anxiously, after he confirmed that the doctor remembered his directions to the final address.

"I believe so," said Stephen, tugging on his earlobe and frowning slightly at the list. "I shall be in a sad way tonight, I fear, with all this walking ahead of me. I plan also to indispose one of our French agents tonight - it will call for a close watch."

"In what way?"

Padstowe did consider for a moment that Stephen might meen that he was in danger here at the hospital - but none knew the doctor's identity, nor of Padstowe's connection with him, and so dismissed the idea almost as quickly as it had arisen.

"The watch? Well, I shall have to wait until I see and hear someone use his assumed name, to his face - only when I am certain of his identity can I wait until he is alone. I shall search his rooms for anything incriminating first, but attaching guilt to the name is in many cases easier than attaching the face to the name."

"I understand."

The captain looked at the blankets, back up the ceiling, and then to Stephen - some very swift train of thought seemingly going through his head.

"Stephen, did you say that you had spare paper? Would you be willing to leave me some, along with a pencil so I might try writing? I do not think I should yet manage a pen and ink."

"I did and I would - I agree that ink would not be the best course of action, if only in case of a spill and a mess, but activity in general would be most beneficial. But you are to pause when they bring you your food - you will enjoy it more warm."

"Yes, doctor," Padstowe said in a voice of utter meekeness - so utterly meek that it could not possibly be taken seriously.

Stephen quirked an eyebrow. "You made a promise, Jonathan."

"That I did." Padstowe nodded, serious again. "I shall do my best, though I don't know how good my best might be."

"Many men say that the most a man can do is his best. I am not one of those men; men only say that they have 'done their best' when they have fallen short - to promise only one's best is to often to admit failure before the attempt is begun." He smiled, lest Padstowe find any sting in his words. "You are an honourable man, Jonathan, and so if you were to promise to eat all that they bring you, your honour would bind you to do thus, and we shall all be away from this place sooner."

"Amen to that," Padstowe mumbled. Then in a clearer tone; "How much longer till you think I might be moved back to my lodgings?"

"Sure, does that not depend on how much you eat? If you can be sat up and down with little pain tonight, I will speak to Mister Whiting about tomorrow or the next day."

The Captain visibly perked up and that suggestion.

Stephen smiled at Padstowe's reaction. "But only if you well enough. There will be no orderlies to help you, only myself and Senhora Sanata, and I may still need to be about the city."

"The attentions of Senhora Santana are a trial I am willing to endure," Padstowe said gravely. "If it gets me out of here."

"Whether Senhora Santana will be able to endure you is another question altogether, however," Stephen said with a hint of a smirk. "You will need to be able to do some things by yourself - we cannot overly impinge upon her time."

"Give me a pencil and I shall start 'doing things' immediately," he said firmly. "And by this evening hopefully I shall be able to piss for myself too."

"That will be a great help," Stephen said in absolute seriousness, searching in his knapsack for a pencil. "Although when we met to decode she seemed to have a very sensible attitude towards nudity. The paper is somewhat creased, I am afraid - if you were planning on any formal letters, I could ask Mister Whiting if he has something more suitable?"

"No, this will do very well, thank you."

He did not really have anyone to write to; nor any news to report that he did. On the other hand, though.

"Perhaps you could ask Mr Whiting for one sheet of good paper, and a lump of sealing wax?"

"I will - I shall leave you pen and ink also in that case. Do you need anything else? I should be on my way."

"No, thank you. The paper shall be enough. I shall use one of Mr. Dawson books as a desk."

With that he tried resumed his efforts to move up the bed so he could sit, his arm muscles straining. He managed to move himself about four inches, before he had to stop - his breath burning in his chest and his amrs giving out under him. He smiled weakly at the doctor.

"See? Up and about in no time!"