"Now," the artisan said as we drew closer, apparently just starting, "someone ordered a lantern the other day, so that is what you're going to see me make. We will end up with a leaf-shaped cylinder with a reddish tint."
The voice vaguely registered as familiar, but I paid little attention as a thick pole with a large glowing ball on its tip appeared above the crowd.
"I know this looks orange," he continued, "but it will turn clear. First, I roll my clear glass in the shards of red." Someone ahead of us moved, and I caught a glimpse of the ball turning from a hot white orange to a dull red as it cooled. "My goal is to melt the red into the clear, so with each layer, my glass goes back into the furnace to heat."
He put action to his words, but less than a minute saw him repeat the process. He must be burning that gas as well, to have such a hot flame.
"See what I mean?" He displayed the molten glass to the front row, pointing out the melted shards mixing with the clear to give it a slightly red tint. The colored glass would make an excellent night lantern.
"Why do you mix it with red?" someone asked from their place close to the rope.
"Good question. Red light works at night for hunting, as many animals are unable to see the color. A red light to a colorblind animal looks grey, like the moon. You are far less likely to spook an animal with colored light." He patted a loose shard away with some newspaper, then continued when they did not reply. "Now that we have our color, we need to make it a lantern instead of a glob."
"Just looks like a glob to me, sir. What is it?"
I chuckled at his tone. Orderlies were not taught how to compound medicines, nor were most people taught how to do so without a pharmacist nearby. He eyed my ointment cautiously, as he should. Even I would not do this if we had another option.
"Did you notice my stick is hollow?" the man continued, showing us his end of the pole. "With the glass on that end, I can blow in this end—" He purposely popped the metal to make a lady in the corner laugh, "and the lantern begins taking shape over there."
"What would you be doing right now?" I asked, my gaze on the stars as if to block out the memory of blood and gore from just a few hours prior. "If you were at home, I mean."
"Glassblowing." He swatted at me when I grinned. "Stop laughing! My father is a glassblower. He taught me the trade, but I decided I wanted to travel the world." He paused, mirth fading as his attention turned skyward. "I'd give 'most anything to be there now. Mum always knew what to say when something went wrong, and Father would toss me an apron and tell me to get to work. After a few hours, I would find myself telling him everything." He released a sad sort of laugh. "I still can't believe they're gone."
"We blow a little air at a time, to get the bubble to form. See it? Then, when it is large enough, we start adding the angles."
No. Not possible. I knew that voice, but how—
Footsteps carried the artisan across his work area, and I left Nicolas behind to limp after them, straining to see through the press nearly leaning on the rope. The glowing ball cooled quickly on a flat piece of metal, but the contact just as rapidly put the sides in the lantern's glass. Within moments, he held up a finished lantern, and I finally glimpsed his face.
"You are the first doctor to make us learn so much," he griped during yet another lesson. "I was perfectly happy just being an orderly, you know."
"How do you expect to help anyone just being an orderly?" I retorted. "We lose more doctors than the cavalry loses horses, Murray. If I go down, you need to be able to carry on."
"Better for you not to go down," he grumbled, but he stopped complaining.
"John?"
I blinked. My friend stood between me and the demonstration, worriedly watching for eye contact. I met his gaze for barely a moment before hurrying through the door. My leg protested my speed, but I knew which memory would come next. I had no wish to relive that here.
"John, wait!"
"Alec!"
Nothing. The gushing blood slowed, then stopped, and my friend's lifeless eyes stared through me. A sob caught in the back of my throat. We had known each other since childhood, but there would be no more late nights under the stairs. He was gone.
"Farewell, my friend."
Two fingers closed his eyes, but Murray's hand on my shoulder brought me back to our surroundings.
"We will join him if we do not move, Doctor."
I nodded. With our line retreating, I did not have time for anything complete. Harry and I would both grieve the loss when I returned.
If I returned. Bullets flew around us, kicking up puffs of sand with every near miss, and I easily heard the coming villagers behind the snipers. Anyone not dead from a bullet would receive a worse end on the sharp edge of a Khyber. I doubted Alec's family would receive his remains.
"This way."
Men lay dead and dying everywhere. More than once I nearly tripped over a body, and though I tried to help, also more than once a man died as soon as I reached him. Murray tried to hurry me along.
"He is gone, Doctor," he said, frantically urging me after the fleeing forces. "Please. Come on!"
The man took one final breath and lay still. Perhaps Murray was right. I could do nothing for anyone here, and I grabbed my bag to follow him.
I did not reach my feet before pain exploded in my left shoulder.
"There you are, John. Can you hear me?"
"Doctor! Doctor, can you hear me?!"
I found myself on the ground, face buried in the sand as Murray screamed something that he had probably learned in an Indian tavern. He rolled me over, swearing again when he saw the blood, and the movement radiated enough pain for me to locate the injury. Barely two inches from my jugular, I would not be conscious long. He needed to run.
The medical bag vanished from my grip, and I let my eyes close. I had told him many times to leave me behind in the event of injury. The battalion needed at least one doctor, and I had taught him enough that he would be fine. He would escape, get out of this living nightmare to return to his family.
Then pressure landed on my shoulder, painfully bringing me to awareness as he fought to stem the bleeding. He deftly evaded my attempt to push him away.
"Leave…me."
"No."
Using a creative layering scheme of compression bandages and tight knots, he anchored a bandage over my injury then pulled me to my feet.
"We're leaving together or not at all, Doctor. Walk."
Murray refused to listen to my objections. I soon stumbled beside him, utter torture lancing through my chest with every breath. Only his arm beneath mine kept me upright, and time ceased to exist as my awareness narrowed. Yellow sand. Khaki uniforms. Red agony. Blood trickled down my back, and Murray expertly adjusted my bandage with one hand.
"I'm not…going to make it. Leave me."
"Don't say that!" He held me a little higher. "I am not leaving you." He adjusted me again, then abruptly changed our direction. "Merrit! Merrit, we need that horse!"
"Other…wounded."
Meredith hurried closer, the dull thuds of horse hooves following willingly. The horse stopped in front of us, and Murray merely pulled me closer when I tried to protest again.
"Shut up and climb. This one still has a saddle."
"Come back, John. You are not there anymore."
Many hands lifted me to the saddle, but only Murray's stayed with me once there. The horse's swaying gait hurt nearly as much as walking. It did not require effort, however, and my eyes soon drifted closed.
"Stay awake, Doctor!"
Awake. Yes, I probably should stay awake, and I grabbed the thought, using it as my lifeline. I could do little else. At times, I could not even do that, I discovered when Murray pulled me from the edge. If we did not reach help soon, Murray could give the horse to someone else.
"Doctor! Doctor, we found water!"
I forced one eye open. Blurry vision took in a ragtag group of soldiers, all marching the same direction, but a sloshing canteen blocked my view. I immediately became aware of my ravaging thirst.
"It's muddy," Murray warned.
It was wet—and welcome. Murray had to help me, but I gratefully swallowed my portion.
"We're going to Kandahar," he said as I finished. "Should take—"
The weapon's report and the pain hit simultaneously. The horse spooked when I flinched, but while Murray kept the animal from bolting, the sudden movement defied my battle to stay conscious. He dropped the canteen to hold me in the saddle as darkness washed over me.
White. Nothing but white. The brilliance strangely overlaid the darkness, and I blinked.
"That is it, John. Look at me."
More blinks revealed a half-shadowed alley. Voices carried from the street to my right. Snow provided a glistening blanket.
"John, can you hear me?"
The other end of the alley disappeared between buildings, and high walls blocked all but a small amount of light. I needed several seconds to realize a man stood in front of me.
Directly in front of me.
I flinched away, battle instincts still screaming. My choices were fight or flee, but part of me doubted the person intended to harm me after the regression instead of during. Better to retreat.
"John."
He spoke the same moment recognition bloomed. I stopped moving. Against all reason, Nicolas seemed to want me here. He would not harm me.
But where was here?
On second glance, the street to my right became the city market. A small corner of the Great House peeked around the wall, so I could not have gone far. A crowd cheered nearby.
"We are in the next alley." He moved slowly closer, pointedly avoiding the most direct path to the street. "You took one look at Tavish and bolted. I got caught in the crowd and did not reach you until you had already entered the memory."
I shook my head, hiding my shaking hands behind my back. His name was not Tavish. It was Gordon. Gordon John. Our shared name had become a running joke within a week of joining the battalion.
"John, look at me." He waited for me to tear my gaze from the crowded sidewalk. "I know they look the same, but he is not your Murray. Gordon John Murray lives in Scotland. He does not know he has a twin. I did not know Tavish had a twin until just now."
Listen to him, John. That man has lived here for years, but you just exchanged letters with Murray a few months ago. Remember? Right before we went to Sussex?
"Stay with me, John." He grabbed my arm, relief appearing when I looked at him. "Put at least a few minutes between the regressions, alright?"
I huffed what was supposed to be a laugh. I would try, if only to avoid someone else catching me in one, but I could make no promises. Not when some days elapsed more in the past than the present.
His expression announced I had not stifled the thought quickly enough. If Holmes' version of mindreading had been irritating, Nicolas' was frustrating, but he could not stop it any more than Holmes could stop deducing. Every barrier I had raised in London did nothing against a telepath. I needed to build another.
"You do not need to hide from me, and you know I will not share what I hear."
Yes, I knew, but that did not mean I had to like it. My problems were my own. I did not need to burden him with them.
"You are not a burden, John. Stop lying to yourself."
I merely shrugged, a mental block clicking into place as I watched him. Could he see through that?
Not fully, if his frown was any indication. I covered a sigh of relief.
"Your meeting is soon, is it not?"
His frown became a scowl at his pocket watch. "In fifteen minutes." He looked back up at me. "Are you alright?"
"Of course." I pulled my sleeves over my fingers, trying to hide my growing chill along with the continued trembling. I had been outside for too long. "Go to your meeting. I know the way back."
Hesitation stayed his answer, but he agreed soon enough. "I will come find you after the meeting."
"If you wish," I replied, unconcerned. "You know where I will be." If answering the door meant seeing another ghost, I would probably hide in my room until supper.
He thought I meant the library, proving my block had worked. "You might enjoy the shelf in the back right corner."
A nod served as acknowledgement. "Go on before you're late."
A final glance at me announced how little he wanted to leave, but he well knew my opinion on him neglecting his work. He disappeared into the crowd a moment later, and I turned my steps to the Great House. For all that the cold did not affect me as it had in London, I still felt it. My warm room sounded much better than the street corner.
Besides, the door had a lock, and I would not be able to hold that memory at bay forever.
Hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to review :)