Hurrying back down, she only then realized that she had left him in the dark, and quickly apologizing—without stopping her flurry of activity—she then flung the linen sheet over the sofa and bade him lie with his left arm on the outer side so she could get to it.
She was sure the sailors were right: the second she removed the wood, whatever blood it had been damming would gush forth. She vaguely remembered her father mentioning tourniquets and her mind started searching through her memories for the methods of how to do them or if they should be used for such a thing. At the worst, she knew she had a medical book that listed things alphabetically. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.
“Do you wish to take off your shirt or shall I rip the sleeve?” she asked.
His face cried ‘How improper!’ but he did not say it, instead saying, “As it is just my arm, please rip the sleeve.”
She nodded, quickly cutting it back with a knife.
The wound itself was repulsive—she noticed the man did not look. It was deep, it was angry, and it was gaping. The shard had created a channel as it shot through, like the mast had wished to be an archer, and the blood seeped around the shard of wood and down through the recentlydug trench.
The man was already wincing.
“Can you read?” she asked. He nodded.
She went to the shelves and plucked out the book and handing it to him, said, “Find tourniquets. I think it’s in alphabetical order. If not, it’s probably with the wound care.”
He nodded, but he looked at her apprehensively as if he was afraid of being abandoned.
Which made her next words unfortunate but she had to do it. “I’ll be right back,” she said, lighting a second candle.
“Where are you—”
She pointed to the book. “Tourniquets.”
He clearly didn’t appreciate her bluntness, but that was fine. She didn’t appreciate him either.
Quickly, she went into the cellar and grabbed a bottle of whiskey.
And when she returned, he glared at her. “Found it. Do youreador do I need to do that too? I thought you said you know first aid.”
“I do,” she said, swiping the book from his hands and ignoring—she thought quite graciously—the comment. “But I’ve never applied a tourniquet before. You’ve already lost a lot of blood. I can’t get this wrong. Here. Drink.”
That softened his expression, as if he were shocked by her thoughtfulness. With how much of an ass he was, she was a bit shocked too.
Still, she took the book and began reading, skipping over the tourniquet’s ancient beginnings and all the variations used by different cultures until she found what she needed. Reading through three times, it certainly sounded easy enough. Her goal was to tie it so when she removed the wood and began stitching, he wouldn’t lose what little blood he had left. But if she didn’t tie it tight enough or in the right place, it would essentially be useless.
Whatever. If she took too long, all her efforts would be useless too. So grabbing her supplies, she handed him a small block of wood from the medical bag. “Bite on this if you wish.”
He looked at her in horror, but she didn’t have the time to pay him any mind. Instead, she pulled out his arm and started applying the tourniquet. “Just know I’m going to be as gentle as I can.”
CHAPTER 59
By the time she was done stitching, the man was out—whether that was from the pain, the blood loss, or the alcohol he had chugged she wasn’t sure. Her lower arms were covered in blood, but seemingly, the job was done. She had managed to not only stitch it up but to stop the bleeding too, at least down to a light ooze. And then thankfully after tying the bandages and gauze tight, even when she removed the tourniquet, there didn’t seem to be too much of a problem.
No, the problem was the fact that there were nine other men and she had easily taken over an hour tending to his wounds. She felt awful for not immediately searching for them, but she had checked the horizon so many times as she had paddled back and even as she had dragged him inside, and even in her tower, she had seen nothing.
If she had to guess, he must have been adrift for several hours, so depending on when—or if—the boat sunk and depending on the currents, they could be on a very different trajectory than he had been.
And it wasn’t like she could have just left the man. He truly couldn’t have afforded any more blood loss.
So while she was sure she had made a good decision, she couldn’t help worrying, and after she quickly washed off her arms with a jug of water and some soap, she returned to the tower, her heart in her throat, and searched. Because she knew if those men were out there and she had missed them, Kallias likely would have gone for them. And whether they were fishers or merchants or heaven forbid, pirates, she imagined all of them would have quite a few ideas about how to make a profit off a mermaid.
CHAPTER 60
She saw no ship and she saw no mermaid. And though it was late in the night and she had a man on her couch, she left the lighthouse once more and went to their normal spot. The waves already looked calmer.
Kallias was already waiting and her head immediately whipped to the lighthouse behind her. What if the man woke up and could see Kallias?
