He and the other man managed the job eventually. It took heaving, and shoving, and the victim screamed a lot and then passed out, which was a mercy all round. His arm was bent in bad ways. The other man cut off his coat sleeve, muttering about swelling, and they all saw the bloody, jagged bone sticking out of the skin.
That was it. Daizell sprinted for the ditch and cast up hisaccounts, on his hands and knees on the dusty verge, puking with tears in his eyes.
‘Charnage!’ It was Cassian, crouching beside him. ‘Are you all right?’
‘No,’ Daizell said comprehensively. ‘Christ. Did you see—’
‘I didn’t look.’
‘He’ll lose the arm if he even lives. He screamed, I hurt him – and theblood. . .’ The smell of it, and the look of terror in a man’s eyes as he felt his death approach, and his own utter failure to do any good. ‘Christ. Useless. I’m useless!’
‘Shh.’ Cassian reached out. Daizell grabbed his hand, all need and instinct, clutching it hard. Dusty, sweaty, warm, alive. Cassian held on tight, giving him a moment of silence he badly needed, then asked again, ‘Are you all right?’
‘No. Yes. Of course I am.’
‘You’ve done everything you could. More than anyone else did. Come on.’ Cassian spoke in the calm voice, the one he’d used on the horse. ‘Come on now, Charnage, I’ve got you. Good man. Up you get, now.’
Daizell held on to his hand for a second longer, for both the physical comfort and that soothing voice, then let go and hauled himself to his feet. Cassian put a hand on his arm. He didn’t say anything stupid about it being all right, or a nasty shock. He just stood by Daizell, and touched him so he wasn’t alone.
He got about a minute of that peace, and then people started shouting.
The outside passengers who’d been thrown off had now gathered themselves, those capable of it. Several were demanding what was to be done. It seemed the driver was unconscious; the man on the ground in a pool of blood wouldn’t be getting up soon either, they were all strandedon a coach-road to Stratford, and the woman with the baby had assured them all that the very kind, capable gentleman – bafflingly, she meant Daizell – would know what to do.
‘I want to know how we get to Stratford!’ a thin man said. ‘I have urgent business!’
‘I want compensation,’ someone else added. ‘That driver handing over the reins like that—’
‘Do I look like the coach company?’ Daizell retorted. ‘I’ve no idea what we do except wait for another stage and get help. Or walk to find a house where they can send a cart, I suppose.’
‘We need a doctor,’ someone said. ‘There’s three men in a bad way.’
‘Someone has already gone back to the last house for help,’ said the thin man angrily. ‘We could have driven on if you hadn’t cut the traces!’
Daizell stared at him. Cassian stepped in, quite literally, moving in front of him. ‘You must not realise, sir, the horses were like to bolt with people still inside the coach – one with a dreadfully broken arm, and one a lady. It was a necessary action in a difficult situation. I’m sure you understand.’
He sounded like someone who spent a lot of time pouring oil on troubled waters. The thin man didn’t appear mollified. ‘So you say, but the urgency of my business—’
‘Iwas in that coach,’ the mother announced, looking daggers at him. ‘I would have been dragged along and killed if it wasn’t for this gentleman who saved my baby, and if you think your nasty business should come before my little girl’s very life, you miserable old stockfish—’
Cassian and Daizell eased back out of the way in silent synchrony to let her pulverise the fellow unimpeded, and everything might have simmered down if the fashionableyoung man hadn’t spoken up, in a voice that sounded decidedly slurred. ‘’F we’re in a hurry, let’s get the tits back on the road, what? Coach back on its wheels, it’ll take two minutes, and off we go!’
‘The traces have been cut, the axle broke, and we lost a wheel,’ Cassian said. ‘It will not be a swift repair.’
‘Oh, hush, Mother Shipton,’ the young man said with a dismissive flap of the hand. ‘We’ve strong fellows enough. We’ll be back on our way in no time. Yoicks!’
Cassian stiffened. ‘There are three seriously injured men here. What do you propose to do, leave them on the side of the road?’
The young man shrugged. Daizell held up a finger. ‘Sir, you were on the box when we set off. Am I correct in thinking you took the reins?’
‘That’s right!’ The young man beamed. ‘What a ride, eh?’
‘And you didn’t feel the axle go? Or think of slowing down?’
‘You do realise you overturned us, and people are seriously hurt?’ Cassian did not sound soothing any more. His voice rose. ‘People might die because you crashed us!’
‘Oh, rubbish. Everyone spills now and again, what? Accidents happen. Part of the fun! Lot of fuss.’
Daizell considered that. He nodded slowly. Then he punched the young man with everything he had, and was delighted to feel his nose break.
