Chapter Ten
Raoul groaned, turning his head from the dazzling sunlight stabbing through his eyelids, and then gasped as a lance of pain stabbed through his head. He was overcome by a wave of nausea, rolled to his side, and puked.
Dimly he became aware of a bucket held beneath his head as he wiped bile from his lips with trembling hands. Finally, expunged of the little in his stomach and exhausted, he fell back into his bunk. "What-" He tried to run his hand over his face, but the effort was too much.
"Here," Dubeau appeared at his elbow with a damp cloth. "Wipe your mouth."
With a supreme effort Raoul did so, sweat breaking out all over his body as he exerted himself. Dubeau slipped a supportive arm beneath his shoulders and raised a glass of warm, bitter water to his lips. "Now just sip," he commanded. "That's it."
Lowered back to his bunk again, Raoul moaned in pain. His entire head seemed about to split open. "What- what happened?" he asked thickly.
"Don't you remember?" Dubeau asked.
"No."
"I'm not surprised; it was a nasty knock you had. You're lucky you fell onto the deck and not overboard!"
"What happened? I don't... remember." All he could bring to mind was a horrible, sinking feeling of dread, of terrible danger. He shied away from it.
"Slipped, or tripped, I'm not quite sure which, and bonked your head on the side, so far as I could make out. My back was to you at the time. You have a nasty goose egg, though; I'm not surprised you feel so ill. You probably have a bit of a concussion." He paused. "You should rest. I've set the sea anchor; we'll be fine. Do you want anything to eat?"
Raoul almost vomited again, his stomach roiling. "God, no," he mumbled.
"All right, then. Look, I'll leave the bucket and the water here on the floor by you, all right? If you need anything I'll just be out front. Try to rest."
Raoul nodded, then winced in pain. "Laudanum?" he rasped.
"Already in the water, Raoul. Rest; you'll be fine.
"I'm here."
Raoul closed his eyes, uncomforted.
Raoul spent what seemed to him to be several more days in bed, alternating between sickness and sleep. The laudanum helped the pain but left him groggy and violently nauseous; Dubeau was left rinsing the bucket out overboard on a regular basis.
He couldn't seem to think straight. What was wrong? He supposed it must be an effect of the concussion or the laudanum, but he continued to feel a thick coil of dread winding through his guts, like some dreadful worm gnawing at his intestines. His stomach heaved again at the thought. Thank God for Dubeau, he thought, having once again spilled his guts into the ever-present bucket, and wondered why the thought brought him no comfort.
The man was attentive and Raoul was ill and could find no fault in his behaviour. He lay back again and once more passed into a deep sleep that granted no ease.