The Daughter of Doctor Moreau(91)

“It’s fine,” her father said. “Don’t worry, child.”

The voices were now coming from the hallway and getting louder. Eduardo walked in, his hair wild and his shirt stained with blood. Isidro and another man followed him.

“Doctor, you must get up,” he said. “My father was shot and requires medical care.”

“Hernando?”

“Yes, who else? Come, doctor. Where is your cane?” Eduardo asked, looking around the room.

“Are you mad? He cannot get up,” Carlota said, rising instead.

“My father needs to have someone look at his wounds, what else—”

“We’ll take your father to the laboratory and I’ll see to him.”

“But you!” Eduardo exclaimed in surprise.

“I can take care of this.”

“Carlota is correct,” her father said. “She knows enough.”

The men looked at her dubiously, but Eduardo muttered something to Isidro and then he nodded at her. Carlota moved briskly. When they reached the laboratory, the doors were still open, as she’d left them before the men’s arrival, and her father’s papers were strewn around the anteroom. She asked Eduardo and the man accompanying him to light the lamps.

Carlota looked among the shelves and grabbed her father’s medical bag. She had no experience dealing with bullet wounds. But she’d read about injuries sustained in the battlefield from one of the doctor’s volumes. She pulled that book and paged through it. After a few minutes, Isidro walked in with his uncle. The older man grimaced as he clutched his arm.

“Where is Moreau?” he asked.

“It’s only me. My father is still abed.”

“That won’t do. Get that man up.”

“He is in no condition to assist you. Please sit down.”

“And you are supposed to be a physician now? You’d put me in her hands?” Hernando asked, turning to his son.

“I’ve learned from my father, and I’ll do you no harm. I have no desire to assist you, but I am compelled to do so. Where are you wounded?”

“My shoulder.”

The man looked weary, but he sat, apparently concluding he was fighting a losing battle. Or perhaps it was simply the pain that softened him. She asked him to remove his jacket and his shirt while she boiled water. When she was ready, she wiped his shoulder clean. Now she was able to see the ugly puncture of the bullet. It had entered near the shoulder and exited neatly. Neither the bone nor joint had been injured. Hernando had been lucky, torn, ugly flesh and all.

Carlota’s main concern must be ensuring her instruments were clean and making sure no foreign substance was introduced, infection being the greatest risk. She dusted iodoform liberally on the skin. Then she applied a dressing and bandaged the injured arm, taking care to also place a good amount of gauze under the armpit.

The man complained loudly and grunted as she worked, as though he’d been blasted by a cannonball, sucking in a deep breath, then clenching his teeth.

When she was done she brushed her hand across her forehead and took a step back.

“Where are the others?”

Hernando Lizalde winced and looked at the bandage. “Those damn animals of yours attacked us.”

“The hybrids?” she asked in surprise.

“Yes, your hybrids. And someone else. There were three Indians with them! But we are going to fetch the army, we are going to fetch soldiers right away—”

“It’s dark,” Isidro said warily. “They could be hiding in ambush outside, in the dark. We ought to wait until daybreak.”

“What if they should come here?” the older man asked.

“The doors are thick,” Eduardo mused. “It’s not as if they could knock them down. Isidro is right, we’d be exposed out there in the dark. There’re seven of us, but outside that might not be enough, and to make things worse the lot of our rifles are now lost, left in the middle of the jungle.”

“But the men here have bullets and pistols. And there must be other weapons around the house.”

“I haven’t done an inventory, but it might well be that Laughton has rifles stashed around,” Isidro said. “He hunts, after all.”

“That still leaves us with the problem of moving around in the dark,” Eduardo said. “And, father, I frankly feel exhausted. I am guessing you feel the same.”

“I admit this has been a long, difficult day,” the older man said, flexing his fingers. “We should proceed at first light. I need a strong drink and I need to lie down. Come on, show me to a room.”

“There’s a room that would be perfect for you, uncle.”

“And my drink?”

“You can fetch it from the kitchen,” Carlota said dryly.

“This way,” Isidro said as they went out into the hallway.

Carlota began following them, but Eduardo stopped her, grabbing her by the arm. “I have cuts and bruises that need looking after,” he said, as he took off his jacket, as if to allow her an easy inspection of said lesions.

“I must to return to my father’s side. You can have his medical bag and tend to those yourself.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“But someone has to watch over him.”