Quintspinner (26 page)

He was so engrossed in his plans that he did not heed the sailing master’s call for more sail, did not look to see where he stepped. A length of cable of woven hemp whipped by his head, snapping the tip of his ear as it was sucked up from its neat coil upon the deck by the newly freed canvas which boldly inflated in the tropical breezes high overhead.

Surprised by such movement in close proximity to his head, Edward instinctively ducked and whirled around, tripping over a crew member. The sailor had been one of many crouched down on hands and knees, all of them either scrubbing the decks with the abrasive surface of a holystone, or using a caulking mallet and iron to stuff the deck seams anew with oakum and tar. He fell heavily onto his back, pinning the sailor’s arm and caulking iron beneath him.

Shock slammed into him and a fierce stab of pain tore through his flesh as the pointed tip of the caulking iron gored his flank. He laid on the deck, struggling to breathe, his body deeply impaled on the sharp edge of the fan-shaped tool. Its handle protruded just below his rib cage.

Horrified that their royal passenger had been injured on their shift–and likely mortally at that–the men on deck rushed to transport Edward into Dr. Willoughby’s care.

“Leave the blade where it rests!” Dr. Willoughby ordered, tearing Edward’s fine shirt from his body in order to examine the punctured area. “Bring packing and wet tobacco. And I need a lamp. Immediately!” He squinted in the low light and palpated the area, but even without the clarity of a lantern, he knew that he needed to look no further.

Edward Graham was a dead man.

Or would be soon. It was only a choice of timing.

If the iron were to be removed, Edward would bleed out in a matter of a few heartbeats. His abdomen had already begun to swell from the bleeding within. If the iron were to be left in place until the bleeding clotted, his body cavity would most likely fill with putrification over the next couple of days, slowly poisoning all of his systems, painfully leading to a confused state of mind, then a coma, and then death. Which way to go to arrive at the same destination? It should be Edward’s choice, he felt.

Bending close to Edward’s face he saw that his patient was still conscious.
Damn it!
It was such an unpleasant thing, offering a man a choice of deaths. It would have been a much simpler thing to have withdrawn the iron if he had been unconscious and not capable of making that one last decision for himself. However, here they were, with Edward’s dark eyes fixing on his own as he began to explain to Edward his options.

When he was through, Edward simply grunted, “Bring Tess to me.”

Tess arrived at her father’s side looking bewildered and frightened. Her eyes widened when she saw Edward lying on his side upon the surgical table. Edward beckoned weakly to her.

“Come here.” His voice was faint and she bent her face close enough to hear him. “Go to my cabin. Under the bed there is a small box that will be unlocked by this key I wear around my neck. Take it and open the box. Inside you will find a bronzed item shaped in the form of a small jeweled bird. Open the bird and place the ring you find within it on your fourth finger on your left hand and come back to me.” He coughed weakly and his breathing became more labored.

“I will
not
wear your engagement ring!” Tess hissed into his ear, low enough that her father would not hear.

Sweat glistened on Edward’s brow and he began to shake. Tess recognized the early signs of impending death. She had seen shock set in before, in other patients of her father’s. Edward attempted to moisten his lips with his tongue.

“It is not … not an engagement ring. Tess. I plead with you for my life. Take the key and get the ring. Put it on and return here.”

“And why should I do that? Why do you want to have it here?”

Edward’s eyes were as dark as sweet pools of molasses. He was pleading with her. He did not look threatening, did not look anything but resigned and sad and in need.
Why have I not noticed that about him before?
She was startled at her sudden feelings of compassion for him. His eyes searched hers, desperately raw with his need.

“Tess. The ring. It is the emerald spinner. Wear it next to your ring of blue tourmalines and the powers of both will be magnified.” He hesitated in his explanation and took several quick shallow breaths, grimacing in pain with each one before continuing. “With their combined strength, you can save my life if you so choose. Spin the rings together and use your mind to will the bleeding to stop. Use your thoughts to keep the wound clean. But you must hurry.” His next words were mere whispers.

“I will not survive without your help.”

A strange compulsion to do as Edward pleaded washed over Tess, although she could not identify even one logical reason as to why she should do anything to assist with the man’s survival. It had been still early evening when, following Edward’s instructions, Tess found the ring nestled within the belly of the palm-sized bronze bird, just as he had described.

She slipped it onto her fourth finger, barely registering its magnificent design and ran back to where Edward lay ominously still. As she watched, his chest had risen slightly with a shallow breath, and without opening his eyes, he addressed her.

“Spin them,” he softly whispered the instruction. “The rings. Do you feel the attraction they have for each other?”

She did. There was an invisible pull, a surge of warm pulsing energy in her hand. Edward reached out, his own hand feebly grasping her wrist. “Spin them again!” he commanded, the desperation in his voice coming through even in his throaty whisper. Tess didn’t move, confused and embarrassed that she was being drawn into such childish beliefs in magic.

“The decision is yours,” he acknowledged when Tess hesitated, “but I have made mine.” He looked at her, his voice as soft as velvet.

“I wish to live.”

Dr. Willoughby wiped the sweat from his own brow. Although the medical cabin was always uncomfortably warm, only he knew that he had been perspiring more in nervous anticipation of removal of the iron from Edward’s back than from the stifling air. In spite of the doctor’s explanation of the outcome, Edward had decided to have the iron withdrawn.

Edward had also insisted in having a few private whispered exchanges of words with Tess before the removal.
That is to be expected.
She was, after all, the man’s fiancée. The doctor had seen the ring from Edward that Tess had returned with and was impressed by so gracious and honorable a gesture.

Even if it is to be the man’s last action of his life.

Tess had allowed Edward to hold her hand for a few moments and she had then gently placed both of her hands on the site of his wound, one of them directly around the blade handle, and the other, now adorned with the two rings on her outstretched fingers, slowly circled and hovered over the wound site. Her eyes were closed and her lips moved silently. Her father looked on in surprise.

I had no idea that she was so taken to prayer. I suppose her words would be as good as any for a Christian send-off.

The extra time Tess had spent ministering to Edward in this fashion had allowed the doctor to position an empty cask on the deck floor just below the table where Edward laid. It looked to be just large enough to hold the entire blood supply from an adult male. Dr. Willoughby supposed that there would have been some clotting by then but not enough to have made a real difference in the expected volume of an impending ex-sanguination.

It was time.

Dr. Willoughby sighed. There was no further reason to put off the inevitable. His daughter’s secured future was about to literally bleed away before their very eyes.

He braced one hand against the lower edge of the back of Edward’s chest, and pulled firmly on the iron’s handle, withdrawing its blade slowly from the wound. It made a wet, sucking noise as it exited the wound’s entrance. As had been expected, a burst of warm blood exploded from the puncture site, gushing over his hands, spilling down onto the table and splashing loudly into the empty cask below. And then, just as suddenly, it slowed to a trickle. The doctor stood dumbfounded, his eyebrows arched high in surprise.

What is happening? Where is the blood?

The wound still bled but no more than as if from a superficial slash of a knife. He checked the wound entrance carefully.

He must have bled out internally

But no, Edward Graham moaned, then sighed deeply, and stretched out both of his legs.
Hardly the posturing of a dead man!