12. Albatrosses and Mirrors

Hi, I'm sorry for the delay (again). My poor, put-upon laptop has died (again!). I have borrowed (!) my dear sister's laptop, and hopefully the updates will come along regularly again.

Violet felt numb during the funeral. She was determined not to cry. No one else was crying. she caught Joseph Nagle's eye across the deck, and glowered at him. He fidgeted and shuffled backwards. He didn't want to upset Mr DeVere, but he wasn't sorry Hollom was dead. A gentle breeze sprang up, and ruffled Violet's hair. Surprised, she turned her face to the wind, and a sudden strong gust of wind took her breath away. A ragged cheer went up from the men, and orders were given to set sail. Violet remained motionless, oblivious to Peter Calamy's nudges and whispers, and Mr Pullings' glare.

A few hours later, night was falling, and the first few drops of rain hit the deck. They were the prelude of a heavy, relentless shower. Everyone not on duty ran below deck. Everyone except Violet. She leaned her elbows on the railings, and stared absentmindedly at the heaving, endless, grey sea. The rain dripped off her nose and eyelashes, ran into her eyes and plastered her hair to her head. It mixed with the silent, salty tears running down her face. Violet cried, not just for Hollom, but for everything and everyone she'd lost. For herself. For her brother.

Her tears ran out before the rain did. She felt...relieved, somehow. Stronger.

'Violet?' Stephen appeared behind her, and gently laid his hand on her shoulder. 'Are you all right?'

'Fine.' Violet's voice was clear and steady. 'I'm going to be all right.'

For a while, life went on as normal. Well, as normal as things could be on a ship. Rations

were reduced, and Violet ceased to notice the rather disgusting tastes of the food, ale and the rancid water. She now what it was like to be really hungry, not just peckish, or "ready for Dinner", as Mrs DeVere would say.

Since Hollom's death, Violet found she had less patience, especially with all the ridiculous supersitions the sailors had. The ache inside her dulled a little, but she found it harder to forget than she ever had before.

'We're getting close.' Jack confided to Stephen one evening. Violet was in the surgery, having a rare hour's rest.

'Close to the Acheron, Sir?' she piped up.

'Indeed.' Jack confirmed. He'd stopped questioning her presence in the surgery by now, simply taking it for granted that she would be here in her spare time, chatting to Stephen, poking at something in a jar, reading a heavy, dusty book. He seemed to have forgotten all about the curtsying incident. He didn't seem to have told anyone. Although Violet had caught Mr Pullings looking at her strangely occasionally. It was very unnerving.

Stephen was still upset, but he seemed to have resigned himself to the fact that he would not get to explore his islands. Everything was going well. Then it all went pearshaped.

'Look, Victor,' Stephen pointed. 'An albatross.'

'Oh yes, I see it!'

'Shh, they'll want to shoot if they see! Bad luck, and all that.'

'It's so graceful.'

'Yes.'

'Mr DeVere!' Mr Pullings called.

'Excuse me,' Violet darted across the deck. The bird suddenly swooped down by her ear, and soared back up into the sky. She stopped to watch. It truly was graceful, and seemingly without fear, boldly swooping perilously close to two sailors' heads.

'Mr DeVere!' Mr Pullings sounded really angry now. Violet turned again, but a gunshot stopped her dead in her tracks. Mr Pullings wasn't glaring at her anymore, he was looking behind her. Violet turned around in time to see Stephen crumpling to the deck. A marine was standing like a statue, horror on his face, a smoking gun in his hands. 'Doctor...' he gasped. Half of the crew ran to Stephen's aid. The marine knelt down and propped Stephen up a little.

'Stephen? Doctor?' Violet gasped, her voice trembling. 'Are you all right?'

Stephen fumbled with his waistcoat, and opened it to reveal a spreading patch of red on his side. 'Oh dear.' he sighed.

Jack roughly elbowed men out of the way. 'Stephen? Oh, get back, give him some air!'

It was worse than Violet had initially thought. The bullet had taken in a piece of cloth from Stephen's shirt. It could fester in the wound, and needed to be removed. The bullet hadn't pierced any major organs, but it was dangerously close. Removing the bullet would take skill and steadiness of hand. "Skillful" wasn't a word that described Stephen's assistant surgeon.

'He could remove it himself.' Violet explained to Jack later. 'But not on the boat, with all the lurching and bobbing around. If his hand slips...'

'Yes, ahem, yes.' Jack waved a dismissive hand. 'Why cannot Stephen's assistant perform the operation.'

'He's...' Violet hesitated. To her surprise, Mr Pullings stepped in. 'The man is not capable. He is not cut out to be a surgeon, and certainly not qualified to perform an operation requiring such skill and steadiness of hand.'

Jack nodded mutely. Violet steeled herself. Stephen had not asked her to speak to Jack about this, but she knew it could mean his life.

'Stephen could do the operation himself if we returned to land.' she spoke out clearly and bluntly. Jack (and Mr Pullings!) looked sharply at her.

'Mr DeVere...' Mr Pullings began angrily.

'We cannot return to land.' Jack interrupted. 'I...we...are so close. The Acheron is but a day's sail ahead.'

'But Stephen...' Violet began.

'Could you do it?' Jack asked. He spoke quietly, yet the whole room fell silent.

Violet felt the eyes of everyone - most of all Jack's - upon her, waiting. Could she? Was it possible? For a split second she envisioned completing the operation successfully, quickly, easily. Jack and Stephen forever endebted, the whole crew admiring. Perhaps she would become Stephen's assistant, in time a surgeon herself. She'd heard nothing from Victor. Perhaps he was dead, or perhaps he'd disappeared into Brazil, never to be seen again. She could make a life for herself here.

Then she saw another scenario. Herself, wide-eyed, straining to see in the dim light, fingers struggling to grip the ominously slippery scalpel, the boat lurching and rolling, instruments sliding out of reach, falling on the floor with a clatter. Desperately trying to keep her hand steady, even as her feet slide away from under her as the ship leans to the side. Her hand slips, she panicks, a horrible, sickly, cold feeling as she tries to undo her mistake. Lots of blood. Two grim-faced crewmen draping a white sheet over Stephen's still form. The look on Jack's face.

Violet shudders. 'No.'

Jack's shoulders slump. 'You're sure? Stephen speaks highly of your abilities. Maybe you could do it.'

'Maybe I could, sir. Maybe. But it is not a risk I want to take with his life.'

Jack sighed, pacing around the room. 'I'm so close.' he murmured.

Violet felt a rush of anger. How could he be so selfish? To sacrifice his best friend's life for his own pride?

'If you don't go back, he's going to die!'

Violet didn't realise how loudly she shouted until she heard her own voice echoing off the walls over the sudden hush that descended. Jack turned his piercing blue eyes on the red-faced, furious little midshipman.

'That is enough, sir!' Mr Pullings hissed, grabbing her arm. He dragged her outside the cabin. 'We will be having words later, if the captain doesn't wish to have them with you himself!' he growled ominously, before slamming the door hard in her face.

'I'm a idiot.' Violet groaned.

She went down to the doctor's surgery. She was probably supposed to be doing something else, but never mind, she was already in trouble. Violet dragged a chair up to where Stephen was lying, asleep. He looks fevered, Violet thought worriedly. She glanced over to the corner where Stephen's assistant was frantically flicking through medical books, chewing his nails and muttering to himself.

Violet dozed. She was dimly aware of shouted orders from above. She awoke fully when the ship lurched and nearly flung her off her seat. She stood and listened, heart beating could it be...yes...yes! They were turning around. Racing up to the deck, she nearly collided with Jack.

'We're going back?' she asked breathlessly.

Jack nodded. 'We're going back.'

Stephen looked mildly surprised when he awoke to find himself being carried over dry land towards a tent. Relieved too, Violet thought.

Jack insisted on helping...well, being present...when Stephen operated on himself. Serious though it was, Violet struggled not to laugh. Jack looked as if he was about to be sick.

Stephen used a mirror, angled on himself, to remove the bullet and cloth. 'Done?' he asked Violet weakly. She smiled reassuringly. 'Done.'

'Victor.'

Violet turned around, surprised again at how quickly she reacted to a name that wasn't hers. Mr Pullings stood behind her, hesitating.

'Sir?' Violet questioned gently.

'You probably saved Stephen's life, you know.'

'Jack...Captain Aubrey...would have realised it was the only way without me. He would have done it.'

'Maybe. But it may have been too late. I should have listened to you. I'm sorry.'

Violet was taken aback. It was entirely unlike Mr Pullings to apologize to an inferior. 'Erm...ah...it's quite all right. Sir.'

He nodded awkwardly. 'Anyway, I...fancy a game of cricket?'

Violet panicked slightly. She'd never played cricket. Victor probably had, but she hadn't. 'I've never played cricket.' she admitted.

Mr Pullings grinned crookedly. 'All the more reason to play.'