Artemis

and even more so when the man began to scream and clutch at him in terror. A knot of men waited outside, including a marine sentry who had let his musket fall and stood in wide-eyed horror.

They escaped with the surgeon's bulky chest — a hurried search had not turned up any book worthy of the name — and rapidly made their way to the Captain's bedplace cabin. He was lying quietly in his suspended cot, his eyes closed. Renzi set down the chest carefully, conscious of the tense presence of the officers and the Captain's coxswain.

'Pray leave us. He is, er, not to be excited,' Renzi pronounced. At least they would not blunder about in front of an audience. He looked apprehensively at Kydd: in all his rich and varied life he had never been in such a bizarre and helpless situation.

At his words, Powlett opened his eyes. 'Renzi!' he said thickly. 'Do your duty, man!'

Renzi blinked. Do something, his very being shouted. But if he did the wrong thing? 'Does it pain you, sir?' he opened.

'Yes!' Powlett said briefly. 'And this goddamned headache is oppressive to my spirit — it's pounding my brain - the pressure,' he said, a tremor in his voice. Renzi noticed heavy sweat beading the rash and trembling spasms of long-endured pain. In the confined space his senses swam. He reached out to steady himself, and his hand found the doorlatch; he staggered out of the cabin. The officers gazed at him in silence. He pulled himself together and said, 'Er, the loblolly if you please - I must have assistance.' At least it would buy time.

The lad limped up, and Renzi drew him into the empty Great Cabin. 'I must consult,' he muttered. 'What's to be done?' he asked, with a quiet dignity.

The loblolly looked frightened. 'I — I don't know!' he whispered.

'But you've been surgeon's mate all this while,' Renzi coaxed, 'you must have seen something!'

'Not this!' He dropped his eyes. 'I seen him do things, but he never showed me 'less he wanted something done.'

They would not get anything from the scared boy. Renzi felt a surging despair. It was unfair to expect anything: they had never suffered a killing fever like this before. 'A cruel headache. What did the doctor do for that?' It was at least doing something.

The loblolly thought and said, 'Calomel.' Seeing Renzi frown he added, 'And bleeding, o' course.'

Renzi had been bled once. He barely remembered it as he had been dead drunk at the time, but he had a dim recollection of gleaming steel and a sharp pain in his arm before he had fainted. 'Can you do a bleeding?' he asked the loblolly.

'I never seen it - surgeon always did it private, like.'

Renzi glanced up at Kydd, whose healthy complexion was rapidly paling. Kydd shook his head. 'We must bleed him,' Renzi said, and dismissed the terrified lad. Together they returned to the Captain, firmly closing the door behind them.

'We must bleed you, sir,' Renzi said, trying to sound as confident as he could. He pulled open the surgeon's chest, a neat complexity of compartments containing pharmacy bottles and dried herbs. Inside the lid were clamped a bewildering array of steel instruments.

'Which one do you use?' Renzi whispered. The prospect of cutting into the Captain's living flesh was appalling. He fumbled among the contents of the chest.

'I heard y' use a fleam,' Kydd interjected weakly.

'And which the devil is that?' Renzi said, in a low voice.

Powlett stirred. 'Get on with it, you rogues.'

Renzi's heart thudded. He selected a bright blade with a point; it gleamed evilly in the soft light of the lanthorn. He pulled up Powlett's nightshirt sleeve, baring the pale arm.

'What are you waiting for, you lubber?' Powlett's voice was a weak parody of its former self. His head twisted away in anticipation of the blade.

Renzi hesitated. He pushed the knife against the Captain's skin, which dimpled under the pressure, but he could not steel himself to bring to bear the necessary force. Then he felt Kydd's presence and steadied.

It was easy, really: the knife sank in, and dark, venous blood gouted obediently, turning the bedclothes scarlet, a spreading flood of red that seemed never to end.

'The cup, you mumping fool!' Powlett's muffled voice sounded from the pillow.

'We'll use a glass,' Renzi told Kydd, and took a brandy glass — but by then Powlett had slipped into a swoon.

Shakily, Renzi emerged from the cabin. He told the waiting group what they wanted to hear and left.

Haynes died, never having left the deck once, crouched in great pain against the ship's side, and cursing brokenly towards the end. He was followed by Cundall and three others. But the last man to die caused Artemis the most grief.

Fairfax had the men mustered aft. 'I have to tell you - it is with intolerable feeling — our brave captain is no longer with us.' There were gasps and cries from the few who had not heard the terrible news. The first lieutenant's grey worry-frown deepened. 'Therefore, for the present, and until we return to England, I, er, will be your captain.'

There was no response from the silent mass of men. 'Carry on,' snapped Parry.

'You do that agin, you pocky bastard, an' I'll cut yer liver out!' Stirk's eyes flashed hatred at Crow across the table.

Crow said nothing, but he held his head very still, fixing Stirk with his hard, glittering eyes. Then Crow slowly passed his hand across his chest and began a deliberate scratch under his armpit. Stirk launched himself across the table. Crow snarled and smashed his fist into Stirk's face.