NINE
Spring, 1914
Green arrived in a flurry of hideously chequered pyjamas, closely followed by Chancellor Owen and three Wardens armed with American Springfield rifles. The bell attached to the wire, naturally, had no way of specifying the nature of the emergency.
‘Whoa!’ Hannibal roared, tottering into the line of fire, his arms outstretched. ‘Whoa, lads, put ‘em up!’
The Wardens, narrow-eyed, hesitated a moment before putting ‘em up.
During those instants of hesitation, Green had knocked the Chancellor out of the way and ducked around Hannibal to survey his patient. He tilted his head and reached reflexively for the boy’s wrist, but stopped at the last moment, glancing at Hannibal.
‘Pretty bad,’ he said. ‘How long since apnoea set in?’
‘Bad,’ Hannibal agreed. ‘About three minutes
