A Dangerous Climate Read Online Free PDF

She tossed the boot to Kyril. "Bring a blanket. I don't want him getting cold. You know what that can do."
     
Kyril nodded and left the room, bearing all Saint-Germain's clothes and one boot away, holding them as if they were noxious.
     
Saint-Germain studied Ludmilla as best he could, but the puffiness of his eyelids limited his range of vision. He coughed once, wincing at the hurt in his throat, a realization he found almost amusing.
     
"How many men were set on you?" She was trying to gain a better assessment of his injuries.
     
"Can't remember," he said in the same croaking wheeze as before.
     
She nodded slowly. "Blows to the head will do that, sometimes. It may come back to you in time." With a sigh, she got up from the edge of his bed and took up the basin. "I'll be back in a moment, with bindings for your ribs and a splint for your hand. I am so sorry that you've been so badly hurt."
     
He nodded to show he understood, then let his eyes close. For a brief period he slept, then wakened abruptly when he heard her voice again, cutting through the gnawing ache in his head. He attempted to get an elbow into position to lever himself up, but was stopped by a jolt of pain.
     
"I'll help you to sit up, Hercegek. You'll need to move the sheet down to your waist, and I'll wrap your chest." She held out her handto assist him; he took it, and was relieved to be able to move without moaning. She helped him adjust the sheet around his waist. "I know I've seen you almost naked, but it's fitting to preserve modesty." Raising her voice, she called out, "Kyril Yureivich. The splint."
     
"I'll bring it," he called out.
     
The man on the fourth bed shivered and thrashed in his blankets; his face was ruddy with fever as he struggled with some unseen foe.
     
"Kyril, Yvgeny Sergeievich needs to be taken to the latrine. Hurry, or he'll dirty his sheets. The splint can wait." She gave her attention back to Saint-Germain. "He has an injury to the bowels, and it makes his body--"
     
Again Saint-Germain nodded. He wanted to tell her he knew how to deal with such injuries, and what preparation could calm the intestines, but his throat was too swollen and sore for a long explanation. He watched while Kyril came in, roused the thrashing man, and half-carried him out of the room.
     
"He has been worse than you see him now. It's the marsh-water that makes him recover so slowly. They say it is unhealthy and that it brings infections to wounds." Trying for a smile, she leaned toward him and looped a broad band of heavy cotton around his waist and began to wind it upward, her head brushing his chest each time she passed the cotton band around his chest. While she did this, she said nothing, all her concentration on making sure the bindings were tight enough. When she at last passed the cotton over his left shoulder and tied the end, she said, "Don't take this off unless you have help and can have your ribs rebound. For a month or two, you'll have to be careful."
     
Again he nodded to show his understanding.
     
"Now I'll splint your hand." She brought the narrower bands of linen and the Y-shaped wooden splint, which she wrapped in a layer of cotton-shavings before pressing against his palm and wrist. She worked quickly to secure his hand to it, immobilizing all but the ends of his fingers. "This will need to be changed in a day or two."
     
"Yes," he squawked.
     
She gave him a long, sympathetic look, then said, "It will be lightsoon. We keep our shutters closed so that the men here can sleep, but the streets will be noisy within the hour." She stood back from him. "You'd better rest. Kyril won't be able to fetch your manservant for a while, and you look exhausted. Lie back slowly."
     
"My manservant ... will know," Saint-Germain muttered. "He knows."
     
"I will hope so," she said with an encouraging smile. "Rest now."
     
Saint-Germain did as he was told, wishing he was lying on his mattress filled with his native earth. That would be