Chapter Text
"Explain to me what in the Pit you thought you were doing?"
O'Toregaurde blinked blearily at the trim, black-haired woman hovering over her.
"Not now, Lieutenant Doyle," growled a big orc, crouched next to O'Toregaurde. "I've given her a tincture of hops, valerian and camomile for the pain. She ain't gonna be too alert for a while."
"I don't care, Komens," the Lieutenant said. "I need to know what happened, what she was thinking!" She turned and paced away and back again, the long dark hair flicking out in its tail. "She and her partner and that elf from Seventh have scuppered this whole thing. I can almost hear Jabinzky and Withnail yelling at each other from here." She tipped her head to the side, as though she might actually be listening in to a distant conversation, then brought her attention back to where O'Toregaurde was being ministered by the orc. "Start talking, squirt!"
"You don't have to," Komens said, pausing to turn O'Toreguarde's face away when she tried to look at where he was stitching up the arrow wound in her shoulder.
"No. It's okay," O'Toreguarde said.
"Fine," rumbled the orc, "but try not to move. Little bones require littler stitches."
O'Toregarde murmured assent and looked at Doyle. "My partner was in danger. I did what I could to end the threat. I'll admit it wasn't the greatest plan-"
"That was not a plan!" the older woman spat. "What you had was a barely strung together set of bad ideas." The tail of her hair flicked out again, as Doyle turned away, running a hand down her face.
"At least I found out he has Watchmen on his payroll," O'Toregaude said, smiling dreamily. Lieutenant Doyle turned back sharply.
"What did you say?"
"Watchmen. On his books."
"And he told you this?" Doyle asked, putting hands on her hips, and staring down at that younger woman.
"Not with his words."
Doyle gave a frustrated huff and growled.
"I did warn you," Komens muttered, not looking up from his needle and thread.
"Explain yourself," Doyle said, ignoring Komens.
"He said he had loads of coppers on his books. He looked away and at the floor, but also flicked his pipe to the other side of his mouth. So: a half-truth. We have dirty Watchmen somewhere in the city, but not many." O'Toregaurde smiled again. "He was considering my offer, which means whoever he does have isn't a specialist. Seems he likes the small and silent type." She giggled. Doyle rolled her eyes, glancing at Komens.
"You think she's right?" she asked the orc.
Komens finished tying off his stitches and sat back on his heels. "She does have an uncanny knack of reading folk," he said, reaching for a bottle of rubbing alcohol. "I'd trust what she says."
"Maybe we can salvage this after all," Doyle said. She rubbed her face again, giving a tired sigh. "That's some good work, Constable," she added grudgingly.
"Atta girl," Komens said glancing back at Doyle, the alcohol in his hand. "Now come hold her down, because this is gonna sting, and I know for a fact she has a kick like a mule."
~ Fin ~