Jenny: Spiralling Downward

Jason, surprised and faintly irritated, turned from the wound he was dressing. The Irishman was looking down at him with a cool thunder in his eyes - a look of recklessness which the surgeon found himself not liking. Domitia did her best to reassure him, but he could not yet find himself ever reassured by Domitia's words. Besides, other than his own doubts - the man could make a break for it in the darkness once he got out - it was not his place to say yea. But he was saved from answering by a swift cry from the Guttersnipe and the figures of Ambrosius and Artos in the vestibule. The Merlin was dragging his bad leg with him and sweating with obvious fever.

Setting his hand to the Irishman's chest, he said, "You wait," and he thrust the other aside, running for Artos.

The Guttersnipe was there - it seemed everyone who could move was there. Ambrosius held the young man up and shouted down the talk, "Jason! Can you set up in his room?"

Jason dropped to one knee and took a quick look at the wound. It had reopened with savage ugliness. He sprang back. "Yes, sir. Guttersnipe, my kit. Minna," he turned to the old woman and set a hand on her shoulder, "see to things out here. Tell Gaius what blows when he comes up."

The old woman nodded peaceable. She left them with the grace of a leaf on a soft wind, and Jason turned back to the mess of Artos' leg. The young man was looking back at him out of icy eyes: he as holding the veil over them as tightly as possible, and Jason knew there was a world of pain throbbing behind them. And he did not let go of that veil until they got him to his room and had sent whoever did not need to be there back to the atrium, and then he lay and clutched the edge of his cot, groaning.

"Easy, old wolf," Jason murmured. He uncovered the ragged red wound. The stitching had loosened and made a torn web across the gash. He could put his whole hand in the wound. Teeth on edge, clenched with concentration, he took the kit from the Guttersnipe and set to work.

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