BY CHANCE, Bill was drinking in that same bar, the one where they’d met him, but as soon as he saw them he stood up and hurriedly led the way back to his lodgings.

“You’d best lie low for today and tomorrow,” he advised. “Let’s hope Simon and his mates don’t find us. Once the ship has sailed, you’ll be safe. I’ll scout around. They won’t know me—unless Luke isn’t the friend you think he is…”

That seemed like sound advice to Rachel and Michael, so they spent the rest of that day and the next day in Bill’s lodgings, sorting out their belongings and putting to one side those that they thought they wouldn’t need for the voyage. They sent out Bill to buy provisions, and also, at his recommendation, good waterproof jackets and trousers for both of them.

“…for there’ll be plenty of salt water flying around, if I know the Labrador coast and the Straits of Newf!” remarked Bill. “Even in the summer it can get rough. And you’ll have to learn your sea-legs once you’re aboard. I can’t help you there: it may be uncomfortable for both of you.” He chuckled.

At mealtimes the rum was passed round liberally, and both Michael and Rachel were developing a liking for the liquor. “Don’t overdo it!” warned Bill. “Neither of you is used to strong drink. But it’ll be a help when you’re aboard ship, you’ll see!”

Bill had meantime been down to the harbour and confirmed the passage for the three of them, aboard the Pinta. Michael had given him the dollars for the fares: he noted that after all the purchases they’d had to make, they weren’t so well-off as they had been, but they’d get by.

On the day of the Pinta’s sailing they were up at dawn, and after a hurried breakfast Bill closed up his lodgings and they quickly made their way to the harbour. Sure enough, the ship was berthed there, almost ready to set sail, with a gangway leading up to it from the quayside, where there was quite a crowd of people gathered to see the ship off. On deck they could see one of the crew, the bosun they guessed, standing at the head of the gangplank to help them aboard, and behind him were waiting the captain and first mate.

Rachel was first on the gangway, with Michael following, carrying their two heavy bags, and Bill in the rear. All three of them had just stepped on board, Bill was introducing Michael to the captain, and Rachel had turned around to cast a glance back at Rigo for the last time…

There was a sudden sharp crack. Rachel gave a gasp and crumpled to the deck. A large bloodstain was spreading on her side. She lay there moaning…

Michael was stricken. What could have happened? He spun round, and for a moment he stood there frozen. But only for a second or two, then he took a step and bent over Rachel. But before he could touch her he was violently shoved to one side, and sprawled on the deck himself. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, that it was Bill who had pushed him. At that moment there was a second sharp report, and this time it was Bill who groaned and collapsed on the deck—and there was blood on his chest, too.

When Michael had managed to struggle to his feet, he could see that there was quite a mêlée on the quayside. The crowd had surrounded a young man whom they appeared to have wrestled to the ground. A young man with a straw-coloured pony-tail, clutching a rifle…

To Michael it was all unreal. He could not grasp what had happened. There was Rachel lying on the deck, bleeding. A few feet away Bill was lying on the deck, bleeding. Was everything in his life about to be snatched away? And just as they were on the point of resolving their difficulties, of escaping to a safe haven…?

He bent over Rachel again, and put a hand over her wound, attempting to staunch the flow of blood. The ship’s captain and others of his crew were gathering round them, some of them attending to Bill who appeared to be in a bad way. Three Mounties, on horseback, conspicuous in their red jackets, had arrived at the quay and dismounted: two of them took charge of the gunman, while the third bounded on deck. He gently drew Michael away and took over the first-aid on Rachel; gently cutting away her clothing, fetching out a large bandage from a bag slung over his back, and wrapping it around her. Then he gently lifted her and carried her to the quayside where a wagon was already waiting. Meanwhile the captain and two of the crew were carrying Bill, who was a heavy man, to the same wagon. Both the wounded were carefully loaded onto the wagon and wrapped in blankets. Then the driver whipped up his horses and they set off at a fast canter.

Michael was still rooted to the spot, unbelieving. The Mountie gently took him by the arm, and asked him, “Are you with the young lady?” Michael nodded. “Come with me then.” He led Michael to where his horse was still standing, helped him up, and then mounted in front of Michael, ordering him to hold on tight. As soon as they had threaded their way out of the crowd, he urged the horse to a gallop and in only a few minutes they were at the hospital entrance.

A nurse appeared and the Mountie explained the situation. She then took charge of Michael and led him along several corridors until they reached a door. She told him to wait, and went through the door. A minute or two later, she came out again.

“Your friend—what is her name?”

“Rachel—and she’s my wife.”

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“You can’t go in and see her right now. They’re just about to operate. The doctor says she’s lost some blood, but hopefully she’ll pull through.”

“And what about Bill? Bill Morgan? The old man who was brought in with her?”

“I don’t know about him. He must be in another ward. I’ll try and find out. Best you can do is sit here”—she motioned to a chair in the corridor—“and wait.”

Michael sank into the chair, numb with shock. He buried his face in his hands and tears started trickling through his fingers. He could not think clearly—he sensed that he was sending out muddled thought-shapes, but there was no-one to hear them.

He must have been sat like that for an hour, or maybe two hours, when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. Startled, he shuddered and glanced up. It was Luke. There was a big bruise on his face. Instinctively Michael shrank back from him.

“Michael, I don’t know what to say. I really don’t. If you’d rather I went away, I’ll go. But please let me stay and explain. Please!”

Michael said nothing. After a long pause, he nodded.

Luke sat down next to Michael, and began, speaking slowly. “Michael, this is simply awful. I hoped it would never come to this. I did my best. I met up with Simon and the others, like I said I would. I spun a yarn. I told them that I’d found out that a couple resembling you had been seen in Rigo, that you had taken lodgings somewhere to the north of the town. That part was true, I believe! And I knew you wouldn’t have gone back to your lodgings. I wanted to delay their searching the waterfront as long as possible.

“Well, Simon was doubtful at first, but since they hadn’t any other leads, they followed up my suggestion. We checked out a great many lodgings and annoyed equally many landladies with our intrusive questions, but after a couple of days we’d still drawn a blank—as I knew we would.

“Simon suddenly turned on me. ‘You’ve been lying to me, my odious little brother!’ I denied it of course, but he continued: ‘You’ve been bullshitting us all along. OK, we’ll carry on the search without you. Now piss off!’ I told him to calm down, then he went for me. His friends held back. I got in one or two punches, but then he floored me with a good punch to the face—as you can see.”

“I lay in the street, dazed, for a few minutes. There were some people about, but they simply walked round me. I guess fist-fights are not all that uncommon in Rigo! Anyway, when I came to my senses and got to my feet, the others were nowhere to be seen. I thought it best to run back to the waterfront, to Bill’s place, to warn you—but then I thought, no, not a great idea—it might lead Simon on to you if he was following me. So I thought I’d check out the ship­ping—I knew you were thinking along those lines but I wasn’t sure whether you would be pretending to go to sea or really going to sea.

“But I found out about the Pinta sailing on this morning’s tide (she didn’t, by the way: the police put a restraining order on her). Trouble is, Simon and his friends must have thought along the same lines. I lay up for the night in an empty shed, but this morning I got to the harbour too late to stop them. Honestly, Michael, I tried. I just couldn’t get to him before he fired the shots.

“Simon’s been arrested. Attempted murder. And so have Lee and Barney. I don’t know what’s happening to them. I ran after them to the sheriff’s, but the police wouldn’t let me see them. Not even my brother. I’m off to have another try—but I’ll be back, if that’s all right by you.”

After a pause Michael nodded once again. Luke then disappeared down the corridor.

At that moment the nurse reappeared, accompanied by a doctor. Michael wearily raised his eyes, then his heart gave a bound when he recognised Benjamin. He leapt to his feet and embraced him joyfully.

“I’m so glad it’s you! Have you any news?”

“Well, we’ve done our best for Rachel,” said Benjamin, once he had disentangled himself from Michael’s grasp. “She’s very weak, and lost a lot of blood; we’ve given her a transfusion. But the bullet just missed her vital organs and we’ve got it out and stitched her up. She’s got a broken rib, I’m afraid, and it’s going to be painful for her for some weeks, but I think she’ll live.”

Michael couldn’t hold back his tears, once again, but this time they were tears of relief. Then he checked himself. “What about Bill Morgan? The old man?”

“I don’t know: he’s not in my ward,” said Benjamin. But the nurse broke in, “I’ve been to his ward and spoken to the doctor there. I’m afraid he’s still in a bad way. Unconscious and breathing irregularly.”

“He saved my life!” cried out Michael, passionately. “He damn well saved my life! He pushed me aside, and took the bullet that was meant for me. Oh, please let him live!”

“We’ll see, it’s too early yet to say.”

“Can I see Rachel?”

“She’s under sedation and won’t be responsive—but I suppose you can pop in for a moment. Sorry, I’m needed elsewhere.” With that, Benjamin excused himself and left, leaving Michael with the nurse. She ushered him into the ward.

Rachel was lying propped up on pillows, looking very pale and appeared to be asleep. Michael sat quietly by the bedside and clasped one of her hands in both his. He tried sending thought-shapes but there was no response. However Rachel did seem to be breathing normally, and the nurse announced that her pulse was strong and regular. She did not seem to mind his staying there, and after a short pause she left them, telling Michael to call her if there was any change.

So Michael sat by the bed for a long time—it seemed like hours, murmuring very softly to Rachel in the hope that she might hear, and sending very gentle thought-shapes in case she could pick them up. There was no change in Rachel’s condition, but he persuaded himself that she was just sleeping it off. At some point the nurse brought in some bread and cheese and a cup of tea for him. But he could eat little. Later in the afternoon he dozed off for a while, still seated by the bed.