I felt that I was on the verge of going mad. Word and thought failed me equally. However, an idea did cross my mind that perhaps I had already passed out and was now sprawled out on the floor and seeing all this insanity in a fit-induced nightmare.

This new stupor spell lasted only about half a second, and then every gear in my brain immediately doubled its rotation rate. So, you want this woman set at liberty, Monsieur Mayor, I thought feverishly, desperately trying to maintain an impassive facade. She had spit in your face – she obviously hates your guts – what in God's name could be your stock in her freedom? Are you intimately involved with this woman, Monsieur Mayor? Does this perhaps-perchance have something to do with that child she was blathering about?

Blathering about. Blathering. About. She blathered. About. About?

What about?

Oh, but this is intolerable, I thought as I watched the candle flames dance away from me for the second time that evening. This time they did not return.

The world faded to a dull gray. Figure blended with background. I could no longer distinguish between a piece of furniture and the wallpaper pattern. All sounds melted together into a single low-pitched hum vibrating somewhere in the back of my aching skull.

The woman was speaking again, but I could no longer discern any meaning in her babble; my focus was elsewhere. It was just as I had feared: the thawed slush had gotten into my powder after all. While I pondered whether or not it was even worth the effort to attempt reloading with this batch, I heard rifle reports and screams from the southern edge of the marsh where Bonaventure and his team of six had been sitting knee-deep in muck all morning long with the intention to ambush the Cossacks. Instantly I heard the cornet calling the cavalry together. Gun still unloaded, I set running towards the growing clouds of powder smoke, thinking that even though Bonaventure (in pace requiescat) was a bit thick in the head, his stupidity may have bought me a few crucial minutes.

On sheer instinct I dashed across the field towards the spare, sickly birches that grew in a thin crescent below our camp; there was a decent vantage point to be had right on the edge of the growth where the hillock sloped sharply off into a deep ravine. Blue clouds were growing thick all around me, but the sun still shone through the smoke like a copper coin. I was almost there when the ground under my feet bucked and threw me off its back like a bad-tempered colt.

/Sssh. It's all right now. I'm here./

The voice made my heart drop into my britches.

/It's alright, love. You're in bed, we've had a bit of a scare, but it's all right now./

Scare?

/You were with someone. You got overexcited. Nothing serious./

The voice died down and I felt a gentle but firm pressure on my wrist.

/Just lay back and relax. I'll be right back with some water./

No! No! No no no, man, come back!

/You mustn't exert yourself./

Two strong hands gripped my shoulders and pressed me into the cot with the same firm gentleness as before.

/ Eugene is watching over you. I will be right back. Count backwards from tventy for me./

Zwanzig. Neunzehn. Ach...

For a few moments there was only darkness and salt – I must have bitten my cheek landing. I rolled over onto my stomach and attempted to stand up. There was no pain anywhere, but my ears were ringing. Using my hands to prop myself up, I lifted myself enough to survey my surroundings. The blast appeared to have blown me straight into the ravine. Two other fellows had been blown therein with me: one of them lay neatly against the dirt slope, gurgling through a massive torrent of blood erupting from his torn throat, and the other was curling his body into a tighter and tighter ball in an attempt to keep the intestines from falling out of his gut.

"Where to... Where to...?" he kept mumbling, as if waiting for an attack order to be signaled. "Where to...?"

Straight up now, I thought and slowly got back onto my feet. My balance was not perfect, but that did not matter. I was close.

/Goodness, are you up again? Lay down immediately. That's an order/

And then, instead of crisp frozen dirt under my boots, there were smooth cool floorboards under my bare feet. There was also a window open right next to me; a fresh jasmine-scented breeze was cooling my bare chest. Confused, I reached out to touch the murky surface of the glass when there came footsteps behind me, and Isaac said with his usual resignation:

"Oh, you insufferable lout..."

I was gripped, turned round and shepherded back to the cot, where I had a sheet thrown over me and my hair pulled back from where it got pinched between the boards; my right arm was pressed everywhere and bent at the elbow, and then the same done to my right leg and knee. Through it all, he kept talking, grumbling, berating me for being a naughty patient without any regard for the perilous nature of my condition, and a lot of other nonsense that I'd been hearing from him on weekly basis for the past three years. Yes, it's been that long. I've been counting. You've been with me for that long, Isaac, you silly bastard, you glutton for punishment, God knows...

"Sssh. No more mumbling." A moist compress was laid out across my forehead. "Have you counted back from tventy for me yet?"

I felt my throat tighten. "No," I said. My voice sounded like I'd been screaming for hours. Perhaps I had.

"Then do so," he murmured. "Silently. Focus on the numbers and let everything else flow out of your mind. Relax your body."

Achtzehn. Siebzehn. Sechzehn.

Something sharp pricked my right index finger. It was so unexpected that I couldn't stop myself from wincing.

"Good. Very good. Keep counting."

I counted. There were three of them guarding that infernal cannon. Not one, not two, as I'd hoped (one of them for one of us – for symmetry), but three. Although one of them was clearly not going to present any significant obstacle: he was a short, big-headed lad who couldn't have been more than fifteen or so. Probably an impressed serf. The other two were adult, but also not the most well-fed of individuals. None of them inspired much fear, but the fact of their trinity did inspire caution. Three flimsy men are one thing, but these three flimsy men all had sharp bayonets. Even if I got two of them quickly, there was a damn good chance the third one was going to stick me on the rebound. I was going to need help.

/Ssh, ssh... Don't be frightened, love. It's all just a nasty dream. You will wake soon and all this will be forgotten. Just relax and let yourself wake up./

I shook my head to have the strange voice clear out. It vanished, but another took its place almost immediately: a muffled female one. Something was said about mischief and silk, then about snow and walking, and then it was gone again. I rebuked myself for going mad at such an inopportune moment and looked around, thinking. It was becoming difficult to discern anything in the thickening smoke, but luck was with me. The answer lay about a two hundred paces away, frothing at the mouth and kicking the air like a fiend.