‘If you’re all done being amazed, I need help over here,’ Othello said in a cracked voice. Fletcher’s eyes widened when he saw Atilla’s leg.
Othello had cut through the cloth around it to reveal a jagged hole that streamed with blood. Fletcher had never seen a bullet wound before, and the damage looked far worse than the tiny puncture he had imagined.
‘We are lucky, the bullet didn’t hit any major arteries. The bone is definitely broken though, so we can’t attempt a healing spell. Last time I saw a wound like this, a Pinkerton had shot a young dwarf for not paying them protection,’ Othello said, cutting a long strip from the bed sheet using Atilla’s tomahawk. ‘The best we can do is dress the wound to stop the bleeding. Lift his leg for me.’
They helped Othello wrap the wound, until Atilla’s leg was swathed in a thick band of white bandage. Tenderly, Othello wiped the crusted blood away.
‘I know Atilla seems as racist to humans as many humans are to the dwarves, but he has a good heart. He just has a hot head to match,’ Othello murmured, propping a pillow under the sleeping dwarf’s head.
They stood in silence whilst Othello dabbed at his brother’s forehead.
‘I think we need to discuss what happened tonight,’ Sylva spoke up.
‘I agree,’ Fletcher said. ‘But we need to get Seraph first. He deserves to know what kind of danger his family might be in.’
‘I’ll go,’ Othello said. ‘I need to get a spare uniform from my room anyway. We will need it if we are to sneak Atilla out tomorrow.’
He stomped away, followed by a dejected looking Solomon. Fletcher knew that Othello was probably holding the whole world on his shoulders at that moment.
He sat on the side of Lovett’s bed, groaning with satisfaction as he relieved his tired feet. He stroked Sariel’s head absentmindedly and she responded with a rumble of appreciation. Grinning, he scratched her beneath the chin the way Ignatius liked. She rubbed back and yipped with pleasure.
‘Um, Fletcher,’ Sylva stuttered.
Fletcher looked up and saw that she was blushing, her face and neck flushing with scarlet.
‘Sorry . . . didn’t think,’ he blurted, pulling his hand away.
She stood for a moment, then sighed and sat down on the bed next to him.
‘I never thanked you,’ she muttered, twisting her hands together.
‘For what?’ Fletcher asked, confused.
‘For following me. If you hadn’t . . . Grindle might have caught me again.’
‘I don’t know; I think Grindle might have been in for a bit of a surprise. You said Sariel was worth ten men, that makes it an even fight. If it hadn’t been for you, we could be in the middle of a civil war right now. You made the right call.’
Valens buzzed excitedly and nudged Fletcher’s hand.
‘I think Captain Lovett wants to know what’s going on. Tell her what happened in Valentius Square and I’ll let her know what went down tonight.’
The story took some telling; Othello and Seraph arrived by the time they had finished it. Seraph was still in his pyjamas and squinted in the light.
‘Othello filled me in on the way,’ Seraph said, staring at Atilla and Lovett’s unconscious bodies. ‘I just have one question. Why would the Forsyths hire Grindle to kill you that night in Corcillum, but also want to be your friend?’
Sylva stood and chewed on her lip.
‘I always thought they wanted my friendship so that they could supply the elves with weapons should an alliance be on the cards,’ she said, pacing around the room. ‘But what makes me their enemy? Why would they want me dead?’
‘I think the real question is, why would they want you executed publicly,’ Othello said matter of factly. ‘They could have killed you at any time. Why make such a statement?’
‘To incite a war between the elves and Hominum,’ Seraph suggested. ‘A real one. That would increase the demand for weapons and keep their business afloat, even with the dwarves competing with them.’
Fletcher felt a wave of disgust. Starting a war, for profit?
‘So they want the best of both worlds . . .’ he muttered. ‘If the elves ally with Hominum, the Forsyths plan to secure a weapons contract through their fake friendship with Sylva. But they would prefer a war because it would make them more money. They didn’t abandon you at the market, Sylva, they led you right into Grindle’s arms!’
‘Don’t say I told you so . . .’ Sylva stared at her feet.
The room went silent, only broken by Valens’s angry buzzing as he flitted to and fro.
‘Those evil little prigs!’ Seraph growled. ‘I knew they were up to something but this . . . this is treason!’