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weren’t trouble.’
    ‘We’re not.’
    ‘Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, I reckon you need more help than I thought.’ He licked his lips. ‘You want to be straight with me. Pretty quick. This boy’s as good as dead.’
    She sobbed. ‘Don’t say that.’
    ‘Doesn’t mean he is dead.’ Sebastien rounded the sofa and knelt down at Nate’s side, knees cracking. He lifted back the blanket and surveyed the dressings. ‘You want my help?’
    ‘Yes.’
    He raised his head and his eyes pierced her. ‘You’re willing to do as I say and tell me exactly what I ask?’
    ‘Anything.’
    ‘What happened?’
    ‘He was stabbed. Twice.’ Tears streamed down her face. ‘I don’t know if his lung is punctured. I can’t tell.’
    ‘When did it happen?’
    ‘Five hours ago.’
    ‘And you didn’t take him to a hospital? You’re a bloody fool.’
    ‘I know. I know .’
    ‘As good as killing him.’
    ‘Don’t. Please.’
    ‘Who stabbed him?’
    ‘I . . .’ She hesitated. How could she explain that?
    ‘I said be straight with me,’ he snapped. ‘Never mind. You can tell me later. For now, stay here. Moses? Légy résen. ’
    The dog moved around the sofa and sat down on its haunches, close to Nate.
    ‘Where are you going?’
    ‘Outside. I have a medical kit in the car.’
    ‘There’s one here.’ She indicated the plastic briefcase.
    ‘No good. I’ll use my own.’
    He was gone for less than a minute. When he returned he was carrying a bulky canvas roll and a black holdall. The canvas looked ancient, military, but when he unrolled it she saw it contained medical supplies that were modern and clean.
    ‘Let’s have a look at you, boy.’ Sebastien rolled back Nate’s blanket, selected a pair of scissors from his roll and snipped away the bandages. He nodded at the regulator. ‘What’s that?’
    ‘Oxygen.’
    ‘Wake him up. We need him conscious. And get that back into his mouth. It’s no good if he’s not breathing it.’
    Hannah complied, sliding past Sebastien to rouse her husband. She pressed the regulator back into place. Nate moaned.
    The old man peeled away the dressings, swearing at what he saw beneath. Gaping wounds, pooling with blood. ‘Did you clean these?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Not properly, you didn’t.’ Shaking his head, muttering more curses, Sebastien withdrew a pair of surgical gloves from a canvas fold and snapped them on. He spent a long time swabbing Nate’s wounds with alcohol. Probing the edges of the first, he scowled as fresh blood welled. ‘Deep. Very deep. But the lung isn’t punctured. It’s too low for that, and you’d probably see air bubbling up.’
    He moved on to the second wound, air whistling in his nose as he concentrated. ‘It’s this one that concerns me. It’s in the right place to have sliced through his intestine. I can’t tell yet.’ He selected a shiny metal instrument and teased apart the sides. Dark blood overflowed and ran down Nate’s torso. ‘I need to stitch this. And quickly. We’re going to have to do it a layer at a time.’
    ‘What do you want me to do?’
    ‘You know how to rig up an IV?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Get a catheter into him. You’ll find one in there.’ He nodded towards the canvas roll. ‘Saline bags in the holdall. And a line.’
    They worked together for nearly an hour, their only words his instruction and her compliance. Hannah inserted a cannula into a vein on the underside of Nate’s arm. She taped it in place and set up a gravity-fed drip, wondering how an ancient hermit could have access to medical saline bags. She guessed that he couldn’t. Realised that her family weren’t out of danger; worried that they might be in even more danger.
    Hannah watched as Sebastien sutured Nate’s wounds layer by layer, hands working with delicate haste. His green eyes glittered as he concentrated on his task, and his breathing grew more nasal. Without looking up, he asked her to pass him a swab and when she placed it into his