Alright its been awhile since me last update three days less than a month in fact. I would like any who have problems with this to please have Baldrick make you a time machine so you can go back and punch Shakespeare –insane laughter- Yes I have shown that special to everyone I know since I got Ophelia. But here we are getting off topic. Sorry if this chapter is a bit dull I had to get a few things set up before I could continue with the suspenseful – dangerous – stuff. I must also say that this piece was written by a contemporary writer for a contemporary reader – meaning there will be no out of date spellings – and for that to your disbelief's horror no British spellings – in short no colours and no miss – sorry. To keep the contemporary occupied however for this chapter you may see a link to all the names I have created save Kiara who was originally Joe Kerwin - Lyn made me change him to her to keep the piece interesting. blah. Now read on!
admiralty
thursday - day five
"It should only be one of three things Doctor-" Stephen nodded impatiently he didn't need Mr. Warren to remind of things he already knew. Warren sighed deeply and looked to the letter on his desk. "The message designating the point of contact could have been intercepted - the entire source has gone off, or your contact may very well have been murdered for his pocket money." "I did find him in the exact place of the meeting," "Just so," Mr. Warren's face again fell back to the letter as if rereading it would change its contents.
"Everything depends on this source Dr Maturin - everything the whole damned show. So without a scrap of evidence to the contrary I am forced to believe the message intercepted and the code broken."
Warren wouldn't consider the possibility of a double agent that much was clear or he would have listed it. Stephen for a second wildly hoped that this meant that each agent with them had his complete unwavering trust, though he knew enough through his own end to know that this would be impossible.
He shifted in his seat and began to feel uncomfortable as the heat of the room rose in sharp contrast to the cold morning he had left only a short while ago. With this contact it was completely necessary for him to trust his fellow agents; the message for point of meeting had to be sent by a different agent and with a new code, each time there would be new intelligence.
Stephen, however, had never before seen Warren in such a passion - perhaps he was right and the code was only broken. Perhaps. Warren wasn't one to be reckless with his agents. Though something in Stephen's instincts, somewhere beyond his reasoning mind told him that this hadn't been the case.
When Stephen did finally look up it was to see Mr. Warren gazing now at other papers. He seemed far off having already considered and dismissed this problem and moving on to others. Stephen suddenly sensed that his presence was no longer required, or indeed appreciated.
He quickly rose, "Well sir I must now bid you good day – there are cases in the hospital that will require my attention." Warren visibly jerked himself from his thoughts, "Yes of course. You will not forget...the day after next?" "I will not," "Good day then, Dr Maturin."
Stephen now felt the cold misty rain hit his face as he began his walk through the streets of late morning London. He hadn't seen the point in calling for post-chaise at the Admiralty, where he was going wasn't far. He quietly passed through the scores of markets indoors and out on London's streets. Past a brief picture of a six-foot tall Scot arguing over the price of two goldfish with a overshadowed Chinaman. The markets that had the misfortune of being out of doors were weathering the rain like heroes; though if they packed in every time it rained in London they would do little business.
He cursed her for the moment bitterly; he knew that when he arrived he wouldn't receive the cup of coffee that would be heaven itself right about now. Though through this unforgivable fault he grudgingly had to admit that she was the only agent he should even consider passing this on to. This thought made him stop dead in his tracks.
Trust? Was this word – was this thing within him anymore? Above all to trust a woman - who he knew from experience could so easily deceive with a pretty smile. Stephen pressed on: he supposed that he was glad that if his fickle subconscious had chosen someone to trust at least it was he had known for a considerable time, and he flattered himself to think that he knew something of her nature.
When Stephen finally did stop it was in front of an old brick Georgian style townhouse. He sighed deeply knowing it would be tea he would have to settle for. He was quickly shown in by Madam Vasseur then thankfully seated by a roaring fire. He sat completely content listening peacefully to the rain outside, sinking still deeper into his chair not caring if he was to sit there forever.
Stephen, however, didn't have to wait long for Kiara to find him. She wore a day frock that fitted the morning exactly and as Stephen had said London life did not suit her in the least, the color was gone from her face along with it if Stephen wasn't mistaken more than two stone. Her overall appearance resembled that of a ghost not at all helped by the room being dark with no amount of lighting that could bring life to the dreary morning.
"Good morning Stephen," said she. "Good morning dear Kiara." "So how is himself?" she asked joining Stephen by the fire. "Well – well he has a new ship - Lygnus. His spirits have soared," with Kiara he didn't feel the need to elaborate on this thought. "I'm glad to hear it," she smiled, "When he hadn't written I assumed as much."
When Kiara caught sight Stephen starring down into his tea she realized this wasn't the reason he had called. "Would you like me to ask Madam Vasseur to put on the coffee?" she silently scrambled for the right words. "No. Thank you," Stephen then sensed the awkward atmosphere and decided to just come out with it.
Still acutely aware of the fact that he was speaking with a woman, even one that he had known for so long, he began to go into what had happened. He then continued with Mr. Warren's response – finishing with reassuring of its likelihood. Kiara politely listened though she was annoyed at the small pauses indicating his censorship. She was, as always, forced to read between the lines; as a lady what else could she do? When Stephen finally did finish his one-way conversation there was a long moment of silence as both contemplated what to say next then, "You don't agree with him – Mr. Warren – you don't feel that the message was intercepted."
"No..." Stephen began slowly then sighed deeply realizing now he would have to account for himself. "If it were - then why wouldn't he have waited?" "You did say you were a few minutes late?" "Yes – yes I did," Stephen presently began to study the remaining tealeaves in his cup.
Kiara didn't need him to explain she had had enough experience of this sort of thing to know that intuition was half the game. Stephen though scorned himself for saying as much as he did and worrying her with his irrational fears. When he had thought of visiting he had wanted to leave her convinced that Mr. Warren was of the right way of thinking. But, as was so often the case, he said more than he intended in her company. She did have a queer way of getting things of that nature out of him.
Kiara watched the fire as it violently cracked. What did he suppose had happened? She knew she couldn't press him for any more information now: he would only go back to insist that he agreed with Mr. Warren even if it was as plain as the nose on his face he didn't.
"Well I'm afraid I must leave you now my dear – I have patients waiting in the hospital." "Must you go out in this weather?" Kiara felt a sudden guilty relief at seeing him go, "I'm afraid I must, good morning Kiara." "Good morning Stephen..."
The excuse that he had given both Mr. Warren and Kiara was genuine, to a point that is, the truth was none of his patients needed his immediate attention. Most of them could be handled by his assistant and would be surgeon's mate if he could have accepted Jack's offer, Mr. Glenn, an amazingly young, agreeable man with - despite his age – had at least some skills in physic and who had been to sea without sickness several times. Stephen was more interested than anything else in the state of Mr. Edwin Grey the midshipman whose leg he had to take from gangrene the week before.
Before the surgery the young man was pale for the loss of his first ship and his equally unsuccessful captain's court-martial; for weeks after he wouldn't even speak with anyone. It was for that that Dr Maturin had worked so tirelessly to save the badly mutilated leg. At the end though it seemed to be less dangerous to take it than to let him keep it, even with facts as they were, though after he had he wasn't sure that it was. Grey had stopped taking food and slowly began to falter, losing weight and becoming paler by the day. Stephen had left London uneasy even with Mr. Glenn at hand.
Glenn now told Stephen that Grey had taken to starring at his new wooden leg for hours on end. After all His Majesty's Navy had plenty of room for Admirals missing an eye and an arm, but none for a lowly midshipman who ha duty in the tops. How was he to advance now?
After his few words with Glenn who answered his questions shortly in his deep hoarse voice, Stephen went to look in on the patient. When he did he found that his spirits had gone up considerably since last he saw him, and that in his place was an entirely new midshipman: he was refreshed and awake and busily chatting with another lost mid from HMS Sienna who was sitting on Grey's sea chest next to him. When Stephen greeted them both the other mid quickly and quietly left as if being caught at something. Grey now didn't seem to be able to stop talking; on he went now to Stephen who was lucky if he caught every other word of it as he checked the stub that Grey had left for a leg. Grey spoke in such an excited passion of a slew of nautical things that flew right by Stephen Maturin, though he greatly enjoyed the continuous flow of words and for some reason found himself fighting back a smile despite himself.
When he was finished he stood br Mr. Grey's window – him now having moved on to the ship of the line he was to be in – he might well berth by himself – his new captain was known to be one of the fortunate men in His Majesty's Service for prize money – it looked out to the dreary city sitting in fog and still being rained upon. Stephen's next meeting would not be until the day after tomorrow. Though now that he had some time for the thought he wasn't terribly worried, similar things had happened to him before many times and probably would again. It came with the trade. As he quietly reflected now he realized -though never at any time of meeting, as if a warning.
