Sinclair said. âHe has a simple fracture of the tibia, thatâs all. No rumâmorphine and alcohol make for bad bedfellows. Later.â He straightened and tried to smile. âBut I could do with a tot, if you would, Boâsunâa generous one. I feel in need of it.â With his strained face and pale complexion he unquestionably looked in need of it: nothing in Dr Sinclairâs brief medical experience had even remotely begun to prepare him for the experience he was undergoing. The Boâsun poured him the requisite generous measure, did the same for Patterson and himself, then passed the bottle and mugs to the men with the torches and the two ward orderlies who were standing unhappily by, strapped stretcher at theready: they looked in no better case than Dr Sinclair but cheered up noticeably at the sight of the rum.
The deck above held the officersâ accommodation. It too, had been heavily damaged, but not so devastatingly so as the deck below. Patterson stopped at the first cabin they came to: its door had been blown inwards and the contents of the cabin looked as if a maniac had been let loose there with a sledgehammer. The Boâsun knew it was Chief Pattersonâs cabin.
The Boâsun said, âI donât much care for being in an engine-room, sir, but there are times when it has its advantages.â He looked at the empty and almost as badly damaged Second Engineerâs cabin opposite. âAt least Ralson is not here. Where is he, sir?â
âHeâs dead.â
âHeâs dead,â the Boâsun repeated slowly.
âWhen the bombs struck he was still in the sea-menâs toilet fixing that short-circuit.â
âIâm most damnably sorry, sir.â He knew that Ralson had been Pattersonâs only close friend aboard the ship.
âYes,â Patterson said vaguely. âHe had a young wife and two kidsâbabies, really.â
The Boâsun shook his head and looked into the next cabin, that belonging to the Second Officer. âAt least Mr Rawlings is not here.â
âNo. Heâs not here. Heâs up on the bridge.â The Boâsun looked at him, then turned away and wentinto the Captainâs cabin which was directly opposite and which, oddly enough, seemed almost undamaged. The Boâsun went directly to a small wooden cupboard on the bulkhead, produced his knife, opened up the marlinspike and inserted its point just below the cupboard lock.
âBreaking and entering, Boâsun?â The Chief Engineerâs voice held puzzlement but no reproof: he knew McKinnon well enough to know that the Boâsun never did anything without a sound reason.
âBreaking and entering is for locked doors and windows, sir. Just call this vandalism.â The door sprang open and the Boâsun reached inside, bringing out two guns. âNavy Colt 45s. You know about guns, sir?â
âIâve never held a gun in my hand in my life. You know about gunsâas well as rum?â
âI know about guns. This little switch hereâyou press it so. Then the safety-catch is off. Thatâs really all you require to know about guns.â He looked at the broken cupboard and then the guns and shook his head again. âI donât think Captain Bowen would have minded.â
âWonât. Not wouldnât. Wonât.â
The Boâsun carefully laid the guns on the Captainâs table. âYouâre telling me that the Captain is not dead?â
âHeâs not dead. Neither is the Chief Officer.â
The Boâsun smiled for the first time that morning, then looked accusingly at the Chief Engineer. âYou might have told me this, sir.â
âI suppose. I might have told you a dozen things. You would agree, Boâsun, that we both have a great deal on our minds. Theyâre both in the sick bay, both pretty savagely burnt about the face but not in any danger, not, at
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