Crow had a gladstone bag with him; he had not even put it down. He turned and went up the stairs two at a time. Monk followed him five minutes later with scalding hot tea.

Crow was standing beside the bed. Hester was still sitting on the chair, Scuffs white hand in hers. Crow turned. "She did a good job," he said simply. "There's nothing more that I can do. It's a bad wound, but the bullet's out and it's clean. It's not bleeding much anymore. I've got bandages here and spirit to clean with, and a drop of port wine to lift him when he wakes." He did not say if, but they all knew he meant it.

"Just . . . wait?" Monk wanted to do more than that. There must be something.

"Tea," Crow said with a bleak smile.

Monk poured it, and they sat down to endure the long night.

Scuff tossed and turned. By midnight he was feverish. Monk fetched a bowl of cool water from the kitchen, and Hester kept sponging him down. By half past one Scuff was more settled, breathing shallowly but not thrashing around, and no longer covered with sweat.

Crow took off the bandage and repacked the wound. It looked clean, but it was still bleeding slowly. He tried to give Scuff a teaspoonful of wine, but the boy would not take it.

Monk dozed a little in the chair, then changed places with Hester by the bed, watching and waiting.

Outside the rain turned to sleet, then to snow.

At five o'clock Scuff opened his eyes, but he was only half awake. He did not speak, and it seemed as if he had little idea where he was. Hester lifted him very slightly and gave him a teaspoonful of wine. He choked on it, but she gave him some more, and the second time he smiled very faintly. Almost immediately he slipped back into unconsciousness, but his breathing was a little steadier.

Monk went down to build the stove up again and boil more water for tea.

A little after seven Scuff spoke.

"Mr. Crow? That you?"

"Yes, it's me," Crow said quickly.

"Yer came...."

"Of course I did. Did you think I wouldn't?"

"Nah ... I knowed. I done it." He smiled weakly. "Told yer."

"What did you do?" Crow asked him.

"I found the feller fer Mr. Monk. I 'elped 'im."

"Yes, I know," Crow agreed. "He told me."

"Did 'e?" Scuff frowned. He gave a deep sigh and fell back to sleep again, smiling.

"Is he going to be all right?" Monk demanded, his voice hoarse.

"Looks better" was all Crow would say.

At eight o'clock Crow left, needing to see his other patients. There was no more he could do for Scuff now, and his manner more than his words said that he trusted Hester's ability as much as his own. He promised to return in the evening.