“If you can manage it, you could coat the punctures with the salve. I can reach the rest. And that should take care of things.”
She took it from the top of her dresser, coated her fingers, spread it as gently as she could on the punctures. Then moved on to the scoring along his ribs.
“You should take this,” she told him.
“I’ll make more.”
“How long does it take to make?”
“A bit of time.” She’d helped him, he reminded himself, so he owed her honesty. “And a day to cure.”
Nodding, she took more salve, coated her injured arm with it, closed the jar, and then to his amused surprise, dropped it in one of the pockets of his cargoes.
“If I need more, I’ll ask for it.”
“All right.”
She looked at the bowl, the way his healthy red blood lay over the sick and black. “What will you do with it?”
“I’ve some ideas to work out. For now, seal it up. You’ve a steady hand, Sasha. And I’m grateful.”
“Then don’t be careless again.” She bent down for the candles, handed them to him. “I’m going to finish Riley’s painting, then I’m really going to be ready for one of her famous margaritas.”
“I could do with one myself.” He set the candles down, slid the knife in his belt, then picked them up again. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
He started to the door, stopped to turn back to her. “I’ve never thought you weak, not for a moment. I hope you’ve stopped thinking of yourself that way.”
“I have.”
“I’m glad of it.”
He took his knife, his candles, and the copper bowl with poisoned blood and clean mixed to his room, then went back for the herbs and plants.
A day to cure, he reminded himself when he considered putting off making the salve.
So he cleansed his knife, sealed the blood. And got to work on the housewifery.
CHAPTER TEN
Riley mixed margaritas on the terrace, and considered playing bartender her kitchen contribution for the day.
Along with the full pitcher and glasses, she brought out her maps.
She poured the first glass, held up a finger while she sampled, then smiled. “Definitely. More where this came from,” she said, and sat. “I got us an RIB,” she began.
“What is that?” Sasha asked.
“Rigid-hulled inflatable boat,” Doyle told her. “How big?” he demanded as Sasha murmured, “Inflatable?”
“Twenty-eight feet, with a wheelhouse. My contact says she’ll do seventy knots.”
Bran considered the pitcher, decided why the hell not, and poured out glasses. “The friend of a friend of an uncle?”
“Not this time. Cousin of a friend’s husband.”
“Outboard?” Doyle asked.
“Yeah. Can you handle an RIB?”
“I can, and have.”
“Good, that makes two of us.”
“When you say inflatable . . . ” Sasha began.
“Fast, open—stable. It’s a good dive boat,” Riley assured her. “I can score us diving equipment, but we’re going to have to shell out some.”
“I can get shells, all you need,” Annika said.
“Pay,” Riley explained. “I’ve worked us a deal, but it’s not free.”
“I don’t know how to dive.”
“You’ll stick with me when the time comes. I figure we start with the easier-accessed caves, work our way up—or down. Can you snorkel?”
“I haven’t in years.”
“It’ll come back to you.”
As they spoke Sawyer studied Riley’s maps. “I’ve done some research on some of these caves. The easier accessed won’t be a problem, which strikes me as the problem. I don’t think we’re going to find what we’re after somewhere anybody can get into.”
“That’s a good point. But we should eliminate in any case.” Bran glanced around the table for agreement. “And practice as well.”
“What about your compass?” Sasha tried a sip of the margarita and thought Riley was right. Definitely. “Would it help with location or direction?”
Obligingly, Sawyer took it out, laid it on the map. Where it sat, still and quiet.
“Battery low?” Riley suggested.
“Ha. Usually it means I can’t expect miracles until I put some work into it.”
“It’s fair.” Annika nodded. “To deserve miracles, you must work, and believe. This is very nice,” she said to Riley as she drank.
“World famous for a reason. Okay, I can outfit us, get us going for the cost of fuel, oxygen, and a hundred euro a day. If that works, we can pick up the boat in the morning.”