"I have consumption."
Silence rang in Maturin's cabin. The physician stared, emotionless, at the deck beams; Captain Aubrey buried his face in his great rough hands and let out a noise somewhere between a howl and a pained whimper. "What now, Stephen? What now?"
"I ask only that we continue as normal, for as long as such a charade is possible."
"How long-" Jack swallowed, and gaped. "How long can such a thing be carried on? This- consumption. One isn't jolly likely to recover, am I right?"
"Unfortunately, you are." Maturin sat up, slowly, wincing. "Even I cannot be certain how much time I have. The disease could become dormant, or I could very well suffer another haemorrhage tonight and bleed to death in its course."
"Oh, stop, stop!" Aubrey cried, flinging his hands out. "Do you feel the barest panic at knowing that you will die? You're as cold-blooded as one of your lizards, God save me!"
"Quiet, man. All of Surprise will be down to see what calamity has befallen us, that you should shout so." An incongruous flicker of amusement fluttered across the doctor's cadaverous face. He pulled a watch from his waistcoat pocket and consulted it. "Unless Killick has fallen to sloth in his habits, he will be rousing you in five minutes for luncheon. I suggest-"
"-that I return to my cabin so Killick might fuss over me like a nervous chicken?" The captain hooted raucously. "Come, come, I believe you are correct." He sprang up, dusting his breeches absently. "Do join me, Stephen, if you feel you are able."
"I shall be along in one quarter of an hour."
"Well enough, then." Aubrey strode briskly out of Maturin's cabin, slamming the door with his usual unfussy recklessness. He checked up and down the narrow, dank corridor and, finding nobody, sank to the floor, staring flatly at the salt-streaked wood a scant three feet from his nose.
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Stephen Maturin stood, barely, at his table, the same that held screaming wounded and occasionally, a dead man, in the midst of pitched battles. The table was never empty, even in the most abjectly calm of cruises; several ruffled books, a particularly odd specimen of crested seabird, and the remains of the physician's good blue coat were scattered willy-nilly over the scarred surface. The coat was a particular sorrow to Stephen; it had not held up terribly well in a sea-chest that had, belatedly, been discovered to be the headquarters of several squadrons of ordinary clothes moths. "It would have been some consolation if the moths had, at least, been a new species," he mused, gripping the table's edge for balance.
Death, he thought, was nothing but a great voyage. The captain stared it straight in the face every time he set sail, in battle, in disease, in accident. Why then can I not understand it? This is a natural illness; I am a naturalist. But my work will not help me one jot, and I will die.
Nearly unconsciously, he began to shake. The table rattled slightly under his hands, and a small brown bottle protruding from under his ravaged coat tapped upon the scratched wood.
"Of course," he whispered. "Laudanum, then..." He coughed once, twice, and flinched at the pain in his lungs. "There's only half a glass left, maybe less." Maturin held the bottle up to the light, and swore quietly when it leaped from his clumsy fingers and shattered on the cabin floor. Staring at it, he cursed again, a bit louder. But -
The great straw-wrapped demijohn, holding one gallon, was still half full. Stephen lifted it from its nest under a shelf. "I might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb." He poured a glassful and tossed it back, admiring the lights reflected from the cup to the cabin's ceiling. "Oh, why not have another?" Pouring a second quickly, he drank it off in one practised gulp. A soft, sweet grey fog descended. Merciful heavens, this is a lovely feeling. Against his better judgment, Maturin poured and drank another glass.
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Well'a'now. Another chapter for you all - please read and review! I get to give a 5-minute informative speech about tuberculosis tomorrow, which I haven't even rehearsed.. I have a date with my bathroom mirror. Please review! Thanks!
Ash Phox: Stephen's a bloodless sort of fellow. I don't doubt that he could murder somebody, then sit down and eat a full meal.
Mary Anne Talbot: The above is what's next! Muahaha! Seriously though, thanks for the review. I hope you enjoy!