The sick bay

Foxley nodded. "My pleasure, sir."

Stephen bowed his head, and turned around to head back to the sickbay, his head close to splitting.

Bridgens had quite automatically transferred all of his allegiances to the new doctor by this point, and as Stephen entered he greeted him with a cup of coffee. "Markham sent this on, and asked if you'll be coming to dinner, sir."

"Oh, bless him," said Stephen, taking the cup and drinking a mouthful. "I do not know - is there anything else to be done here? Thompson, yes - thank you, M'Clure - and, now..." He crossed over to the man with the broken leg. "What is your name?"

"Donald," the man said. "Broke me leg."

"How are you feeling yourself, Donald? I will just take a look at it..." said Stephen, pulling back the blanket.

"Feel prime, sir, just prime," he answered complacently, mellowed by the effects of his morning draught.

"Mister Crozier has his day book where he writes things down about patients," Bridgens said helpfully.

Stephen nodded to Bridgens, and turned back to Donald. "Your leg looks quite fine as well, Donald - with the blessing you'll by up and about in now time. How did you break it?"

"In hold," he answered briefly. "Stowin' horse."

"The stallion?" said Stephen, raising an eyebrow.

Raoul found his way to the sickbay. He had known that his words to Lieutenant Leat had been slightly misleading, but he was concerned for the doctor. It had not been that long ago that he had been so weak that he had almost collapsed: he had a fractured skull of his own! And from the sound of it, the entire ship had placed their trust in him.

He opened the door and looked in, wondering if the doctor would be alone.

Stephen nodded thoughtfully at Donald's abrupt affirmative answer, and turned wearily when he heard the door open, to see Raoul standing in the doorway. He relaxed. "Capitaine. Do not fear; we will do everything possible for him. I am sure he will be quite well."

"I know you will, doctor. If anyone can save him..."

Raoul looked at the other patient, at the Marine and the young assistant. "But you will try to do more than is possible - and you need to eat and sit and rest." He smiled at the doctor, whose face had that familiar look of pain and exhaustion. "Come - make all secure here, and there will be dinner."

"It is time for dinner already? Jesus, Mary and Joseph... Bridgens, M'Clure, Thompson, you'll be served first; I will watch him while you eat. Bridgens, help Thompson, if you please - no weight on that ankle, remember..." he said as they left, and he took the seat next to Crozier, holding his hand palm-up over his face. "If they are already serving dinner in the wardroom please go ahead, Capitaine - I will wait until someone comes back. He has to be monitored, you see."

Raoul leaned back against the wall - no, probably that was the wrong word: if there was an English word he did not know it. "Dinner is informal," he said, and smiled. "I am glad, I do not have my dress uniform with me. I think they will serve us when we go - there will always be officers on duty, and those who must rush to take over. I will stay with you, if I may."

Thompson had managed not to put any weight on his ankle so far, apart from when absolutely necessary.

He swung his feet off the table, grateful for the new, clean bandage M'Clure had wrapped around his injured ankle. The swelling was still there and the bruise had gone a lovely purple colour.

He reached for his crutch and tucked it under his arm again. "I'll be all right, thanks, Bridgens, I'm used to it now." He looked across at the Doctor. "D'you want me back right away after dinner's finished, sir?" he asked, wondering why it would take the Doctor, the surgeon's mate, the loblolly boy and him to all keep an eye on Doctor Crozier at the same time.

Stephen gave a tiny smile. "Thank you, Capitaine." He looked at Thompson. "Yes, Thompson. Have you any other duties?"

"No, sir, only I need to tell Corporal Johnson - or Sergeant Quinn - where I'm goin' to be at, sir. I'm on the sick list till... Well, Doctor Crozier was goin' to check it again on Monday and say whether I could do light duties after that, but, well," he shrugged. "I dunno what's goin' to happen now, sir."

"With the blessing, Mister Crozier will still make that appointment, Thompson. Tell your sergeant."

"You think so, sir?" Then it was as good as done, wasn't it? He nodded. "I will, sir."

Raoul remained watchful - was the man delaying in case this French prisoner was a threat to the doctor?

"The doctor will be quite safe," he murmured. "And I can give any assistance needed."

"He has been very stable thus far, thank God" Stephen agreed. "But I will stay to make sure of it."

Thompson flushed red. "'M sorry, sir," he said. "Was just waitin' to see if Doctor Maturin wanted to tell me anythin' else. I... I know you'm friends, sir." An' you'm the Captain's guest, an' all, he added mentally, wondering why the Frenchman had thought he needed the reassurance.

"No, Thompson, on your way - the sooner you come back, the sooner I can eat myself," said Stephen as he pressed his fingers to Crozier's jugular.

"Aye, aye, sir. I'll be back soon's I can," Thompson said, and carefully made his way out of the sickbay aft to his mess.