Riven Isles

38 | Poison and Passion

--Narrative continued by Professor Simon Woods—

It is remarkable how far I have come from my safe and reliable routine. I scarcely strayed from drifting between the comfort of Cornelius's grand library and my lonely laboratory, occasionally lecturing a small handful of pupils to whom my short life's dedication was just a steppingstone in their wider paths. Now, I hold a gun in my hands. Stars that be, a wild rifle weighs heavy in my clammy palms. My finger quivers over the trigger.

Somehow, no part of me longs to return to the quiet, predictable life I had. I always insisted, even to myself, that I enjoyed it. Being married to my work was everything, and yet... I would miss a certain purple scarf tickling my shoulder. I would miss sharing intellect outside of essays and demonstrations. Perhaps I would not, so much, miss the weight of this weapon and the responsibility with it, or the nauseating snakes writhing in the pit of my stomach at the question, could I kill?

The long grass brusges my chin and scratches unwantedly around my person, bringing out soft wrinkles in my salty clothing. A cool breeze ripples over my back and ruffles my oiled hair in a reassuring way. Cornelius and Lydia always believed that a lone sea breeze was the whisper of Laod's blessing.

As I am condemned, I cannot believe such things, though I appreciate the sentiment.

"Yous got drugs?" Harvey Cobbe grunts, dirty goblin talons ransacking my medical bag. Like a rat, he carelessly makes a mess of things, even with only one hand, his other clutched against his collarbone.

Scowling, I lower my rifle to the dirt and snatch my kit away. Disordered. How am I to find anything, if it is not in its designated compartment? "Cobbe! Pay attention, you fool. The captain is counting on the two of us, and everyone is counting on the captain."

He spits a revolting gob of tobacco and smears the juices on his lips all over the back of his hand and forearm. Then the animal shows me his two crooked middle fingers, one still burbling from its stunted height. I should bandage it, and the other stubs, but the thought of nursing this man particularly sickens me. It would wound my pride as much as his blasted side. The explosive had come out of nowhere. No other projectiles paid us any attention. I wonder if it was a misfire, or if the shooter simply lost sight of us after the first blow.

"I'll just bandage meself, then, eh, poofter."

I sneer and shove the bag back. "Are you in pain?"

"I've lost two and a half fine phal-en-giz—what did yeus say they was? Me fingers—and me whole side's a-lookin' likes chum for the fishes," Cobbe recounts snidely. "Am I in pain? Yeu dumbassed lil fag, am I in pain?"

The hairs on my nape rise in agitation. He's disgusting. He's offensive and crude.

I exhale loudly and scrape my fingers from my temples down to my chin, prickly with stubble. What would Elian think if I grew it out, I wonder? The texture makes me shudder and I lift my spectacles to rub my eyes. Sleep had evaded me last night and had only called briefly the night before. The dreadful creature spits again and I grimace. Revolting as he is, am I so revolting myself as to deny a suffering man help? Almost, perhaps, I loathe, but not quite.

"Let me bandage you, Mr. Cobbe," I sigh. "I don't have anything for your pain, but we can at least stem the bleeding. Then we really must pay attention. This Darling woman may not be as interested in one-on-one combat as Avery is."

"That's Captain Avery, to yeu," the gunner snaps, jagged teeth bared. "And it's part of the code, innit? They'll fight fair enough until the end. That's when yeu'd best grow a pair of men's balls and prepare to sheut the bitch. I ain't shooting without me lucky right trigger." He wiggles and bends his bleeding stub. "Ain't riskin' the captain on me left."