26
Chancellor Vipond hurried into his rooms followed by IdrisPukke. If this sounds grand for someone who was no longer the Chancellor of anything but the rump of an idea there were only two of these rooms, neither of them very large. The heavy, if grubby, curtains were pulled even though it was the middle of the day and he had already opened them himself that morning. IdrisPukke by nature more alert to small oddities was about to stop him but his half-brother was too quick and whisked the curtains open with great and sudden briskness.
‘Good God!’ shouted Vipond. IdrisPukke had put his hand to his sword as soon as the curtain started to open and it was out and raised by the time Vipond stepped back in such great alarm. Both looked on astonished at the sight of Cale sitting in the thick window ledge with a knife on his lap and staring at them.
‘You want to be careful with that,’ he said, looking at IdrisPukke. ‘You’ll have someone’s eye out.’
‘What in God’s name are you playing at?’ shouted Vipond.
Cale stepped down from the ledge and put away the knife.
‘I’d have got the butler to announce me properly but I didn’t like the look of him. His eyes were too close together.’
‘You did that deliberately,’ said Vipond and sat down. Cale did not reply.
‘You know, Cale, the Ghurkhas swear a vow that they’ll never sheath their sword until it’s tasted blood.’
‘Lucky for you you’re not a Ghurkha then.’
‘Where’s Vague Henri?’
‘He’s hurt – bad. He took an arrow in the face at the border. Can’t get it out. We need a surgeon.’
‘There are two, I think, with us here. I’ll see ...’
‘Not a Materazzi surgeon. No offence.’
‘I’ll see what I can do. Where is he?’
‘He’s with three of my men in a farm about ten miles away.’
‘So it’s not just you and him?’
‘Not exactly.’
He explained about the Purgators.
‘You’re telling me,’ said Vipond, ‘you’ve brought a hundred and sixty Redeemers here.’
‘They’re not really Redeemers.’
‘And what do you expect me to do with these hundred and sixty non-Redeemers?’
‘Well, I won’t tell anyone who they are if you don’t. Have you ever seen a Khazak mercenary?’
‘No,’ said Vipond.
Cale looked at IdrisPukke.
‘No,’ he said at last.
‘Then they’re Khazak mercenaries. Who’s going to know different?’
‘It’s a bit thin,’ said IdrisPukke.
‘It’ll have to do. I’ll worry about it later. Vague Henri is the point.’
‘He must be in great pain.’
‘Not really.’
‘Every philosopher can stand the toothache except the one who has it, right?’
‘No. You’ve seen that kit I have for stitching wounds and that.’
‘I remember.’
‘It’s got a small cake of opium in it.’
‘You never said.’
‘Why would I?’
‘Sounds a bit indulgent for Redeemers,’ said IdrisPukke.
‘They can be very generous when it comes to themselves. Nobody likes the idea of dying in agony if they don’t have to. Anyway, with a hundred and sixty of us we can keep him toked until the cows come home. We got the shaft out but it snapped off and the head is stuck real deep.’
In the end IdrisPukke persuaded Cale to bring Vague Henri into Spanish Leeds while he sorted out the surgeon. Cale took two days of rations for the Purgators in one of two wagons and sent it on to a wood twenty miles away with the two Purgators who’d been guarding Vague Henri. Then along with Hooke, who fancied himself as a bit of a doctor, he made his way back to Spanish Leeds with the nearly unconscious Vague Henri lying in the back of the other wagon. As long as they could keep him from his occasional fits of shouting they’d have a good chance of getting into the city. The borders might be jumpy but Spanish Leeds was a merchant town and the men who’d made it rich didn’t see that it was necessary yet to start annoying customers or encouraging the authorities to begin sticking their noses into things that didn’t concern them. So Hooke gave Vague Henri an extra half-cake of opium to keep him quiet and shoved a pile of blankets over him. They passed into the city without a problem and soon Vague Henri was snoring away back to a lighter state of unconsciousness in Vipond’s bedroom being examined by the uneasy surgeon, a John Bradmore, who IdrisPukke had managed to bribe to come and offer his opinion.
The surgeon spent twenty minutes examining Vague Henri and dictating to a secretary.
‘The arrowhead has entered the patient’s face just under the eye.’ He felt along the side of Vague Henri’s neck. A groan. ‘Fortunately it is, I think, a narrow bodkin type, head – five or six inches perhaps. Um ... no question of pushing it through the wound – we’d take half his brain with it.’ He sniffed and grimaced. ‘Close to the jugular. Tricky.’ For a further three or four minutes he touched and squeezed, apparently indifferent to the continuing smothered cries of poor Vague Henri. He dictated a few more notes and then turned to IdrisPukke.
‘What did Painter tell you?’
‘I’m sorry?’ evaded IdrisPukke.
‘I know you consulted him. Besides, you needn’t tell me, I already know. He said the wound should be left for up to fourteen days until it becomes loosened by pus. No?’
IdrisPukke shrugged.
‘That’ll work – once the wound has filled with rot the arrow will be easy enough to remove. Mind you, he’ll die – slowly of blood poisoning or pretty quickly as the withdrawal bursts his putrefied jugular vein on the way out.’ Bradmore sighed. ‘It’s very difficult, you see. The head of the arrow is jammed in against the bone. It’s a question of getting a grip on the head but it’s in too deep and stuck so far. That’s why Painter wants to let it decay its way out.’
‘What do you suggest?’
‘Not that anyway. The wound must be cleansed and deeply – an infection has started already. It must be stopped while I work out some way to grip the arrowhead.’
There was a short silence broken by Hooke, who had crept in unnoticed and hidden himself at the back of the room.
‘I think I can help.’
There was another muffled groan from Vague Henri. It was not a cry of pain but of protest. Unfortunately the wound and the opium meant that no one could understand a word he said.