The young surgeon grinned down at Watters. “There you are, Sergeant, all sorted. A few bruises and some superficial burns. Nothing that won’t heal. You’re a lucky man, you know.”
Watters sat up impatiently without mentioning his dizziness. Catching Urquhart was more important than his health.
“Don’t rush to get back to duty,” the doctor said.
“Thank you, doctor,” Watters put his clothes on again, wincing as the movement pulled at his injuries. He left the surgery at speed, staggered again outside the door, coughed out more smoke from his lungs and continued.
“Hey, bluebottle!” Henderson watched him from a distance. “When you’ve finished coughing up your ring, we’re all aft.”
Captain Fairweather surveyed the crew from his position at the stern.
“We have a scuttler on board,” he said.
