“Put him there.”
“But the blood…”
“Aye, the blood. Elizabeth will have my head, but there’s naught to be done.”
“I’ve stopped much of the bleeding,” Ethan said, lowering Diver onto the sofa as gently as he could. “I was afraid he might bleed out. But the ball remains in him and-”
“Wait,” Warren said. “You stopped the bleeding?” He stared at Ethan, recognition flashing in his eyes at last. “Mister Kaille!”
“Aye, sir.”
“Forgive me. I didn’t…” He shook his head. “Elizabeth accuses me of being lost to the rest of the world when absorbed in my work. Perhaps she’s right. This man is a friend of yours?”
“Aye.”
“Then, let us see to his recovery, shall we?”
“Thank you, sir.”
Together they stripped off Diver’s coat, waistcoat, and shirt. Warren bent over him and probed the wound with practiced fingers. Diver, who had passed out somewhere between King Street and Warren’s house, stirred but did not wake.
“When you said it was an arm injury, I didn’t think much of it,” the doctor murmured after some time. “But this … The ball is in there still, right next to the brachial artery, which has been severed.” He looked at Ethan. “There must have been a great deal of blood.”
“Aye, there was. I thought … I cauterized the artery, thinking it was the only way to stop the bleeding.”
“It was. You saved his life.”
Ethan heard a catch in the man’s voice.
“Can what I did be repaired?”
Warren continued to examine the wound, wincing at what he saw, or perhaps at Ethan’s question. “I fear not. The damage to the artery is…” He shook his head. “I don’t believe it can be mended; it never could be. And … and as a consequence of what you did, the lower part of his arm has been denied blood for a long time.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“But hear me,” Warren went on. “The ball has shattered the humerus-the arm bone-beyond repair, or at least beyond my capacity as a surgeon. He was doomed to lose this arm as soon as the ball struck him.”
“But surely a physician of your skill-”
“I can’t work miracles, Mister Kaille. I’m afraid that’s your bailiwick, not mine. Did you try to mend the bone?”
Ethan shook his head, feeling ill. “I was afraid even to make the attempt, lest I make matters worse. This healing lies beyond my talents as well. My one goal was to stop the bleeding.”
Warren assayed a smile, but failed. “As it should have been. You did the right thing, Mister Kaille. I offer this as both a surgeon and a friend.” He briefly rested a hand on Ethan’s shoulder. Then he left the room. Ethan turned back to his friend.
“This is the second time I’ve gotten you shot,” he whispered, smoothing Diver’s hair off his brow. “And I may have cost you…” He couldn’t bring himself to speak the words, even with Diver unconscious. “Forgive me.”
Sooner even than Ethan had expected, Warren returned, carrying a black leather case, several cloths, and some white material that Ethan guessed was for a bandage. He carried as well an amputation saw, with a curved iron frame and a serrated blade that made Ethan’s stomach heave. The doctor placed these items on a table beside the sofa and removed from the case a small pair of forceps and two small blades.
“We’ll deal with the ball first,” Warren said. “Do you have much experience with surgeries?”
“Very little, and none that was good.”
“Well, do the best you can. I can’t handle all of this on my own.”
Ethan nodded. And for the next several minutes he watched as the doctor went about his work with grim efficiency. When Warren asked for his blades or the forceps, Ethan handed them to him, but he held his tongue, and knew a moment of profound relief when at last Warren extracted the bullet, held it up for Ethan to see, and then set it on a small cloth.
“That was the easy part,” he said. He peered down at Diver’s arm once more, his mouth set in a thin hard line, his brow furrowed. “I’m afraid there’s nothing for it, Mister Kaille. I can’t repair the bone or the artery, and therefore it’s too dangerous for him to keep the arm. I’m sorry.”
“Let me try again.”
Warren raised his gaze. “With witchery, you mean?”
“With a conjuring, yes.”
“Are you sure that’s wise? If the bleeding starts again-”
“I won’t let that happen. Please.”
“Very well.”
Ethan had been standing by the sofa, but now he knelt beside Diver. Blood still seeped from his friend’s injury, which meant that he would not have to cut himself. Casting a quick, self-conscious look at Warren, Ethan placed his hands over the wound and whispered the words of the healing conjuring. The spell groaned and Reg appeared beside the sofa, but Warren gave no sign of noticing either.
The power of the spell tingled in the palm of Ethan’s hand, as if he were holding a dozen buzzing bees. He closed his eyes for several seconds, delving into the wound with his magick, trying to sense what effect his conjuring was having on the shattered bone and the burned end of the artery. But he wasn’t trained as a healer; he didn’t have as much experience with such spells as he should have. When he opened his eyes again, he found Warren watching him, avid, his eyes wide and shining with candlelight.
“Is this all there is to it?” the doctor asked, his voice loud after the long silence.
Ethan nodded. He had cast a good deal this night, and under heartrending circumstances. He was weary. Warren fell silent and said nothing more. When the spell had spent itself, leaving Diver’s wound bloodless but still livid, his flesh ravaged, Ethan pulled out his knife and cut himself, drawing a sharp breath from the doctor. Ethan ignored him. He muttered the spell again, and held his hands over the wound for several minutes more, until finally, this second conjuring spent as well, he pulled his hands away and rocked back on his heels.
Warren edged closer and bent low to scrutinize the injury. After a second’s hesitation, he probed the wound with practiced fingers. At first he wore a look of wonder, but as his examination went on, his mien turned grim once more.
“What you’ve done to the bone is remarkable,” he said, after some time. “More than I could ever have hoped to do. But still, there is too much damage, and the artery remains as it was.”
Ethan raised his blade to his forearm. “I can cast again.”
“Is there any reason to believe that your efforts would be more effective this time?”
He had no answer.
“We need to remove the arm now; the longer the delay, the greater the danger to your friend.”
Still Ethan kept the blade poised over his forearm, his gaze fixed on Diver, his vision blurred with tears.
“The hardest part of my profession is knowing when to give up, when to admit that the wound or disease has won. You can’t help him anymore. And there are others in Boston tonight who require my care. You saved your friend’s life, and that is no small thing. But there’s nothing more we can do to save his arm.”
Every breath Ethan took seemed to come at great cost, and his hands had begun to shake.
“Help me move him. We should do this on the table in my dining room.” The doctor spoke in even tones. Not light, by any means. But steady, reassuring, purposeful.
Ethan sheathed his blade. Together they carried Diver to the dining room and positioned him on the table. Warren returned to the common room to retrieve his tools and supplies, leaving Ethan alone with his friend. He could think of nothing to say, and before long Warren was beside him again, arraying his tools on the table.
“I need you to hold him,” the doctor said, his voice gentle. “He’s unconscious, which is a blessing-for him and for us-but nevertheless, you must keep him still. Do you understand?”
Ethan nodded, the motion jerky.
“Look away. Don’t watch any of it. It won’t take long, and aside from keeping him still, I can do everything else myself.” He pointed to two spots on Diver’s lower arm. “Grip him here and here.”