Artemis(111)

At barely six bells it was not yet time for Kydd to go on watch at the helm, but he was not ready to go below, and swung forward. Abreast the fore-hatch was an anxious group in troubled conversation; Kydd saw Petit's lined features and nodded to him. Petit came over and touched Kydd's arm. 'I'd be beholden were yer mate Renzi ter help us,' he said in subdued tones.

'Nicholas says as how he's no physician.'

His forehead creased with worry, Petit appealed, 'Yair, but 'e's book-learned, he is, knows a mort more'n he says. Say that it would be kind in 'im jus' ter step down an' clap peepers on Billy Cundall - he's very bad.'

Kydd touched him on the shoulder. 'I'll tell him, Elias.'

Renzi snorted. 'Rank superstition! If I top it the physician, it would be a mockery. I will not!'

'Nicholas, could ye not go to them? Some words o' yours, little enough t' ask, they'd bring some comfort.'

Renzi frowned with irritation, but Kydd pressed on, 'They trust you, an' even should ye not know the medicine, y' words will give ease.'

With reluctance Renzi allowed himself to be dragged down to the berth deck, to the familiar mess of before. Cundall was lying in his hammock in the centreline of the ship, moaning and writhing. Grimacing at the charade Renzi stood beside him and the others crowded around.

‘I see,' he began hesitantly.

Cundall looked up at him with piteous eyes, a lost soul who barely resembled the loquacious braggart of before. Renzi took a wrist and made to feel the pulse - he had no idea what to do, so nodded sagely and let it drop. 'How long has the rash been present?' he asked gravely.

'A coupla days. Will I die?' Cundall cried.

Renzi was at a loss. He had come prepared to go through a few token motions, to offer the reassurance of his presence, but he was speaking to a man who was ill of an unknown fever, asking him to pronounce sentence: life or death. He thought briefly of physicians he had seen, solemnly descending the staircase after visiting a sickroom, and asked the same question. His conscience tore at him at the prospect of laying either alternative before the victim.

He cleared his throat. 'We see here as clear a case of persona non grata that I have yet seen.'

Petit looked pleased. 'Be damned! Will 'e be better?' There was a perceptible lightening of mood among the onlookers.

Renzi moved quickly to head away from the moral quicksands of an answer. 'Do you steep six ounces of Calamintha Acinos for two hours, and bathe the afflicted region every hour. That is all.'

'We don' have yon calaminthy, Nicholas,' Petit said respectfully.

'Oh, a pity, it is a common herb in England, the basil,' Renzi said, in lordly tones.

'Hey, now!' Quashee pushed himself forward. 'My conweniences! I have basil in my conweniences, Mr Renzi!'

'Splendid! Its carminative properties are always useful you'll find. I must go.' Renzi left speedily.

'Cundall is in good hands, I see,' Kydd said, hurrying to keep up. His open admiration for his friend caused Renzi to wince. 'May I know what is your "carminative"?'

Renzi stopped; turning to Kydd he spoke slowly but intensely. 'My "carminative" means that an essence of basil is said to be excellent for the quelling of flatulence — farting, if you will. Now pray do me the service of never again putting my sensibilities to hazard in this way. Physician indeed!'

It was clear that Mullion was sinking. He barely moved; the ferocious muscular pains coursing in his legs and back caused spasms that stopped his breath for long moments, his face racked with suffering. Kydd patted his shoulder. There was littie he could do — he was now acting quartermaster with Hallison down, and he was due on watch soon.

Kydd left to go aft, but at the main hatch he bumped into Renzi. 'Mullion is draggin' his anchors for the other world,' he said. 'Could ye not—'

'I could not,' Renzi said curtly.

Coughing respectfully Petit appeared, standing with his hat off before him. 'Thanks t' you, Mr Renzi,' he said, 'an' Billy Cundall sends 'is respects, an' the rash is quite gone, now.'

With a groan, Renzi waited for Petit to leave, then glared at Kydd. 'So they all believe me now a master of physick.'

'Aye, Nicholas,' said Kydd meekly.

The number of sick had risen sharply, and there was now a significant effect on the balance of men skilled in specifics in the watches; Fairfax was constantly worrying over his watch and station bill. Kydd's temporary new rate as quartermaster was an important one. He took up position at the conn, with responsibility for the watch glass, the slate of course details and other navigational matters, leaving littie time to dwell on illness.

The watch drew on, the officer-of-the-watch, Party, unforgiving of the slightest sign of sloppiness. Later in the afternoon Rowley emerged on deck to take the air. It was not the custom for officers to promenade the fo'c'sle: the quarterdeck was their proper place. There was no alternative open to Rowley other than to begin a slow circuit of the quarterdeck, unavoidably confronting Party on each lap. Kydd had always felt uncomfortable at the clear dislike the men had for each other, and hoped that Rowley would soon go below.