Once he was suitably convinced they weren't being followed, Arthur snapped. "Alright! What the HELL was that? Stealing a goddam stagecoach in the middle of Saint-Denis, broad fuckin daylight?!" He'd intended to shout but his voice wouldn't rise to a satisfactory volume. "Charles, Lenny! I thought you had more goddam sense than that!"
"There was no other way around it." Charles defended smoothly, steering the battered stagecoach to a somewhat flat plane of grass as Arthur and Lenny watched for pursuers.
"What? Couldn't find a fancier stagecoach on the road-?" Arthur broke off into a torrent of hacking coughs. The unfinished scathing comment dying in his throat. His wild heartbeat lashing out in his rib cage, not doing him any favors.
One moment he was with Sister Caldéron and the next he was dashing off, barely able to keep Charles's head from being blown off. The thought terrified him to a core he didn't know he had, leaving him jittery and hypervigilant in ways he couldn't explain. He tried to shake off the feeling as he checked Charles over for bullet wounds. Thankfully he found none.
Tho the absence of injuries caused his temper to swell up again. Arthur was about to ride the river Styx for these people and THIS is the dumbass shit they pull?
"We weren't after the stagecoach."
"Well, what in God's name were you after?"
Charles was calm, facing forward and his low voice disappeared beneath the sound of the horse's hoves.
"What was that?"
"We were after the man we believe may have the cure for TB."
Arthur grew ridged with a sharp prickle of shock. Cure? He thought. What cure? Charles wasn't looking at him and Lenny was doing his usual pis poor job of casually looking away. "Who... how did you..."
"When you left camp, just before you disappeared for three weeks. I was on watch."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Charles turn to watch him but now Arthur couldn't face him.
He must have looked as dazed as he felt since Charles gently continued. "You mentioned something about it being John's idea."
Arthur nodded, eyes forward, focused between the ears of his horse. "I remember now."
"The cure" Charles went on, not allowing Arthur the time to be embarrassed. "The supposed cure," he amended. "was developed by the man in the in the stagecoach, a doctor Robert Koch."
Arthur eased back on the reins so he could peer into the window of the stagecoach. A balding man in a gray coat, mustache and beard, clutched a large doctors bag. His eyes darting from one place to another, desperately seeking an escape. Arthur nodded his hello when their eyes briefly met.
They drove the stagecoach behind a small cropping of trees before unsaddling to make the mans acquaintance.
Lenny stood on the other side of the cabin to block any exit and Charles and Arthur tried their best to appear non-threatening as they opened the door of the white stagecoach.
The frightened occupant pressed himself against the cushion as Charles climbed inside. "Dr. Koch?" he asked receiving a slow nod. "My name is Charles, we do not intend to harm you we wanted to ask you a few questions." he paused waiting for some indication the man understood him. Receiving nothing but a blank stare, Charles continued. "We've been told you've developed a cure for Tuberculosis?"
The response was spectacular. The man straightened up, vibrato and confidence quickly returning. He set his bag aside and leaned towards Charles, almost threatening. Arthur wanted to yank the man back but he trusted Charles knew what he was doing.
"I am," the doctor said with a remarkably thick German accent. "I postulate you vould like me to cure someone vit this terrible affliction?"
Charles nodded, frowning as the man smiled.
The Doctor looked at Arthur, still in the doorway, with assessing eyes. The gaze its'ef seemed to command a cough from him. Arthur hacked and gasped wetly, leaning on the carriage for support.
When it passed, he checked his palm. Blood.
He looked up as the Doctor reached for a thin pair of round glasses. Setting them on the edge of his nose he looked up again at Arthur. This time, his eyes held a certain gleam. A joy and excitement as he scanned over Arthur, eyes calculating and cunning. He felt a bit like he was being devoured by the intensity of the scrutiny.
The attention left Arthur unnerved, he couldn't help a quick glance to Charles. Charles, on the other hand, was giving a very heated glare to the German. His posture slightly leaning forward as if prepared to pounce.
"So." the German said smugly "You need my help?" It was said with the confidence of a politician and Arthur's wariness twisted into full-on distaste.
He was about to disagree by sending a bullet into his skull when Charles spoke up. "Here is the only deal we are prepared to offer you. You cure him, we let you go. Anything less than that ends with us killing you, you understand?"
Koch's smile dropped as he looked at Charles. "Y-yeas." he said after a large swallow. Arthur felt a bit vindicated seeing how frightened the Doctor was of Charles. He didn't bother to hide his smile as Charles climbed out of the coach.
"We bring the coach to Emerald Ranch, sell it and bring the Doctor back to camp." Charles looked back into the window and the doctor leaned away again. "If you try to run, we will kill you. If you try and fight us, we will kill you and if you call for help, in any way, we will kill you. You understand?"
"Crystal." the doctor murmured fearfully.
The ride to Emerald Ranch was promising in how uneventful it was. The doctor seamed sufficiently cowed from his first conversation with Charles and didn't seem to need his threats renewed as they were paid for the Stagecoach.
They kept away from the roads as much as possible on their way back to camp. The doctor riding with Charles. Lenny kept watch behind them and Arthur trotted along Charles like extra luggage.
They were making good timing, would definitely make it back to camp before nightfall but a constrictive burning in Arthurs' chest cause another bout of rough coughing. It lasted for several seconds and seemed to taper off till something thick and heavy was projected from his throat. He looked down to see his hand painted in blood. Dripping red and glossy... A lot more blood than before.
Arthur's world narrowed as he struggled through the panic to breathe. Each gasp heaving more blood.
Then all went black.