The Master of Muscigny (The First Admiral Series Book 5) (5 page)

Switching the setting on the Ultra-Sonic Scalpel, Radkor shrugged his shoulders to release the tension, licked his lips and focussed his attention on the next phase. The silent, expectant pressure of the Courtyard was starting to effect the Medical Officer.

“Marc, I’ve re-broken your shoulder, now, I have to clear away the bone growth that has deformed your shoulder, it shouldn’t hurt, but if it does you shout out.”

Again, Marc nodded his assent, and Radkor, using the Med-Scanner to view the fracture site, used the Ultra-Sonic Scalpel to clear up the new bone growth that was distorting the shoulder and causing all of the nerve and muscular problems for the young man.

Slowly, Radkor used the Bone Disintegration setting to scour away the rough new bone growth from the edges of the fractured shoulder blade.

“I could really use a drink about now,” Clement smiled to Radkor.

“I’ve got a really good mind to join you,” Radkor replied quietly, not taking his eyes from the Med-Scanner as she swept the Ultra-Sonic Scalpel along the fracture line. “Do you feel anything, Marc?” he asked the patient.

“Just thirsty.”

“Well, we’re nearly done. Right, Clement, when I finish with this I want you to hold the shoulder completely still.”

“Very well.”

“There we go,” Radkor said quietly as the last fragments of unwanted bone were disintegrated, “there, hold it steady, Clement,” he held the older brother’s hand on the shoulder blade.

“Marc, we’re going to re-fuse the bone now that we’ve gotten rid of all the excess growth,” Radkor explained quietly. “I’ll give you a little bit more pain medicine just in case,” he added, drawing out the Dispenser once more and dropping another square of analgesic onto Marc’s naked shoulder.

Replacing the Dispenser in the satchel, Radkor changed the setting on the Ultra-Sonic Scalpel once more. This time, the Bone Fusion setting was selected.

“Here, Clement, hold this,” Radkor passed the Med-Scanner to the left hand of young man supporting the two halves of the fractured shoulder blade in his right. “Hold it like, so,” he indicated, holding the young man’s hand in position over the fracture site, “when I move this instrument, you follow it with that one, do you understand me?” Radkor indicated the Ultra-Sonic Scalpel.

“Yes, sir.”

“Right, are you ready Marc?”

“Yes.”

“Right, Clement.” Radkor took hold of the base of the shoulder blade, “Take your hand away and hold the instrument where you saw me working before.”

Gently, Clement removed his hand from the shoulder blade and held up the Med-Scanner to where Radkor had instructed. Carefully, Radkor manipulated the two halves of the facture into position with the faint squelching and scratching sound of bone grinding into place. Then, when he was happy with the alignment, Radkor operated the Ultra-Sonic Scalpel to fuse the right hand side of the fracture. With a full centimetre of bone fused, Radkor switched over to the left hand side with Clement moving the Med-Scanner perfectly.

“Excellent,” Radkor pronounced, viewing a perfect fit with the right hand side of the shoulder blade.

With a few deft strokes of the Ultra-Sonic Scalpel, Radkor fused the left of the fracture and began to move along the shoulder blade to complete the job.

When the bone was finally fused, Radkor sighed quietly. Taking the Med-Scanner from Clement, he checked his handiwork and pronounced himself pleased with the result. Slipping the Med-Scanner and Ultra-Sonic Scalpel back into the satchel, Radkor took out the Dispenser once again.

“Just about finished now, Marc,” Radkor announced in the spell-bound silence of the Courtyard. “Thank you, Clement,” Radkor dismissed the older brother, who nodded in acknowledgement.

“Father, you can release his arm now,” Radkor said to Jacques, “but slide your hand between his arm and his chest to hold him up if needs be.”

“Very well,” Jacques replied bracing himself against his son to support him.

“Marc,” Radkor said, “I want you to lift your arm, like so,” Radkor indicated raising his own left arm, elbow bent to shoulder level.

In the stifling silence of the Courtyard, every pair of eyes watched as Marc of Ibelin slowly, and with great effort, raised his arm as Radkor had instructed.

The stunned silence was shattered by a loud gasp as the arm rose slowly from the young man’s side, bunched into a fist and turned over as the fist was released.

“Father!” Marc exclaimed, his eyes wide with surprise and excitement, like a child who had discovered some great secret. “Do you see, father!?”

After the great gasp, another voice broke the silence.

“WITCHCRAFT!!” a voice bellowed.

“SORCERY!!” another joined in.

The Courtyard then erupted into angry shouting. Fingers were pointed and swords half-drawn as more than one hundred voices argued and threatened. The Ibelin contingent quickly formed a protective screen, with Clement front and centre, around Jacques, Marc and Radkor, whilst Billy Caudwell quickly assessed the situation.

“Troopers!” Billy said, the order being fed directly though the tiny speakers in their helmets. “Pistols, setting one!”

In an instant, all eight Landing Troopers drew their side-arms and set the pulsar-bolt yield to setting one, the lowest setting available to them. As the mayhem and shouting continued in the Courtyard, Billy glanced over to the Princess, who stared impassively at the commotion. Catching the Princess’s eye, Billy smiled resignedly, shook his head and shrugged as he too drew his side-arm. The Princess, in response, stifled a smile.

Holding the pulsar-pistol his right hand, Billy used his thumb to push the slide control on the left side of the grip all the way forward to operate the ‘low stun’ setting. Looking towards the Troopers, Billy could see that all eight were facing the huge shouting match that was unfolding in the Courtyard. With their pistols behind their backs, the Troopers were ready for action, but not threatening or in an aggressive posture. Patiently, Billy waited for someone to restore some kind of order to the mayhem, comfortable in the knowledge that if trouble should arise, the Troopers could cut down everyone in the Courtyard in less than fifteen seconds.

Amidst the pandemonium, Radkor, still remarkably calm despite the threat of weapons around him, watched as Jacques of Ibelin held his son close to him. With tears glistening in his eyes and his lower lip trembling, Jacques clung onto his newly-healed son as the young man, exhausted from the treatment and the effects of the drugs, hung limply in his powerful arms.

“Praise be to God, praise be to God...” Jacques mumbled over and over again holding his son’s fair-haired head close to his own stubbled cheek, kissing him gently behind the ear.

“SILENCE!!” the great booming voice of Seneshcal Joscelin of Edessa cut across all of the arguments and shouting.

Moments later, the shouting began to subside as final insults were traded.

“I will have silence!!” Joscelin bellowed once again bringing the Courtyard back to order. “I see no witchcraft here,” Joscelin announced. “What say you, my Lord Archbishop?”

“Satan does not send emissaries to restore to us brave young Christian knights with strength and vigour!” the cleric announced after a long delay. “This, is a Godly man; doing the Lord’s work in healing the maimed and those in pain!”

There would be no further argument. Despite the suspicious murmurs, the Courtyard returned to a grudging silence for the Archbishop’s judgement. Quietly, Billy ordered the Troopers to replace their side-arms. Taking out the Dispenser once more, Radkor carefully placed five squares onto Marc’s body. At his left shoulder blade, neck, upper spine, upper left arm and just behind his left collar bone. With the first square of pain killer, he included the neural stimulator drug that would begin to regenerate the lost nerve tissue. The other four squares would deliver controlled dosages of pain relief over the next forty-eight hours to control the pain of the regenerating peripheral nerves. The young man had been lucky, Radkor considered, the main nerve had been partly severed and would regenerate quickly. Had it been completely severed, then the whole procedure would have been far more difficult.

“Marc,” Radkor asked again, “do you want me to remove the scarring?”

“No thank you,” the young man slurred, “the girls like scars,” he mumbled before he passed out in his father’s arms.

A peal of raucous laughter broke out in the Courtyard as Jacques reached out his right hand, taking hold of Radkor’s forearm.

“Thank you for giving me back my son,” Jacques said with real sincerity.

“He hasn’t used those arm muscles in over a year,” Radkor replied, feeling awkward. “They’ll be stiff and uncomfortable for a while, so keep him working on that left arm. Swing the sword, raise the shield, as much movement as possible until he’s back to full strength.”

“It shall be done,” Clement promised. “God bless you,” he added as Radkor turned to return to the Landing Trooper position.

“Physician!” the Princess interrupted his progress. “Approach us,” she commanded.

Looking over to Billy Caudwell, nervously, for guidance, he saw the First Admiral nod and changed direction towards the throne. Where only minutes before, armed men had shouted and bawled for his blood, they now respectfully made way for him. Heads were bowed in respect as they shuffled out of his way until he reached the Archbishop who had quelled the uproar.

“May God bless you my friend and guide you with his wisdom,” the Archbishop said cryptically as he formed the sign of the cross in front of Radkor, knowing just how dangerously ill the King was.

“Thank you, My Lord Archbishop,” Radkor gave a polite shallow bow, “you look a little tired and weary, My Lord, may I?” he produced the Med-Scanner and Dispenser once again.

“Of course.”

Having declared Radkor to be ‘Godly’, he couldn’t very well refuse his ministrations now.

Running the Med-Scanner over the Archbishop’s chest and hands, Radkor made his pronouncement as loudly as he could.

“Your Grace has a slight fever! You have been working too hard and worrying too much about His Majesty, haven’t you!?”

“Is this true?” the startled Princess asked, well aware of the Archbishop’s double-dealing nature, never dreaming that he might have been unduly loyal to the Crown.

“Your Highness, I...” the Archbishop was struck speechless by the implied compliment.

Tapping the Dispenser against the Archbishop’s hand, the square of anti-biotic was immediately absorbed into the skin.

“A tonic for you, Your Grace! And, something to deal with that ‘fever’ you have!” Radkor said with a wink, stressing the word ‘fever’.

“God bless you once again,” the Archbishop replied with a gasp and a relieved and grateful smile.

“Physician!” the Princess called for Radkor’s attention. “Would you also do us the kindness of attending His Majesty?”

Having seen a crippled arm restored to function, Princess Sibylla realised that this very special Physician was the King’s best and only hope right now.

“An honour, Your Highness,” Radkor bowed deeply and was led away to the private Apartments by one of the armed men dressed in the Royal Livery.

“My Lord of Edessa, we believe you bring us a petitioner from a far off land?” the Princess turned her attention to Billy Caudwell.

“Your Highness, may I present Admiral Coudouille,” Joscelin pronounced Billy’s name Code-wee.

Inwardly wincing at the atrocious pronunciation, Billy stepped forward and bowed politely.

“Admiral, we are led to believe that you have been shipwrecked upon our lands?” the Princess asked, carefully avoiding the mention of flying ships after the altercations over young Marc of Ibelin.

“That is true, Your Highness.”

“And, we believe that you bring us gifts and petitions?”

“Yes, if it please Your Highness.” Billy ushered the Landing Troopers forward.

In rapid order, the Landing Troopers brought out the four chests, which they deposited, unopened, in front of the Royal throne.

“If it pleases Your Highness,” Billy said with a dramatic flourish, opening the first chest. “Gold,” he said, which raised a loud gasp from the Courtyard when they saw the hundreds of gleaming coins.

“Diamonds.” The next chest was flung open.

“Silver.” The Trooper pulled open the chest he had carried.

“And, rubies.” The final chest was flung open.

Astonished at the richness of the gift, Princess Sibylla leaned forward from the throne, her eyes wide with delight. In one huge donation, the Royal Treasury had been massively replenished for years to come.

“This is a most generous gift, Admiral, what boon do you seek from us.”

“Your Highness, we simply seek your permission to stay on your lands whilst we repair our ship and carry on our way.”

“How long will your repairs take, Admiral?”

“We calculate possibly a few months.”

“Where is your ship now?”

“Your Highness, it rests near the Muscigny estate,” Joscelin interrupted.

“Didn’t Lord Robert die quite recently?” Sibylla queried the Seneschal.

“Yes, Highness, he died bravely in battle.”