“Run and get Céline,” he told Quinn. “Hurry.”
Quinn ran.
Keegan’s distress was increasing, and his eyes rolled back in his head. “It hurts,” he managed to say.
“What did you eat?” Jaromir asked.
Looking around, he saw dirty bowls and the remnants of supper on the table, but it looked to be the same stew and bread and wine that Jaromir and Rurik had eaten. By way of answer, Keegan groaned louder and doubled over in Jaromir’s arms. There was nothing to be done but wait.
Thankfully, Quinn was quick, and only moments later, he ushered both Céline and Amelie through the tent entrance. Jaromir couldn’t bring himself to look at Amelie, but right now, Céline was the one he needed.
Céline rushed over and looked down. “Can you carry him to the bed?”
Quinn came to help, and between the two of them, they got Keegan to the back of the tent and onto his bed. Céline wasted no time.
Sitting on the bed beside him, she looked into his eyes, pulling down the lower lids, and she felt his skin. When he gagged again, some of his dinner began to come up.
“Amelie, get a basin for him,” Céline called. Then she looked at Quinn. “He’s been poisoned.”
“Poisoned?”
As Jaromir had, Céline looked over at the table. Quinn followed her gaze.
“How long ago did you eat?” Céline asked.
“I don’t know.” Quinn sounded rattled. “Within the hour.”
“But you ate in here, and you both ate and drank the exact same things? Were you served wine from the same pitcher?”
Both Céline’s onslaught of questions and the idea that his captain had been intentionally poisoned was breaking through Quinn’s normal shielded demeanor.
“Of course we were served from the same pitcher and we ate the same . . .” He stopped. “No . . . the cook sent in a plate of mushrooms, fried in butter. They are a favorite of Keegan’s, but I don’t care for them.”
Céline jumped up. “Mushrooms? You’re certain? That was the only thing he ate that you did not?”
Quinn’s eyes shifted back and forth as if he was trying to think and failing.
“Quinn!” Céline nearly shouted. “You have to be sure. Various poisonings are treated quite differently. If it was mushrooms, we have no time to waste.”
“Yes.” He nodded, sounding more professional. “That plate of mushrooms is the only thing he ate that I did not.”
Céline started for the tent flap. She’d come with Quinn so quickly that apparently she’d not thought to bring her box. “I have to run back to our tent, but I’ll need boiling water, a lot of it, and as fast as you can.”
Then she was gone.
Jaromir glanced at Amelie, but to their credit, they moved into action. There was a campfire burning outside, and he called for an iron hook, while Amelie fetched a cast-iron pot of water, and they set it to boiling.
Céline wasn’t gone long and came running back with her box. Dropping to the ground by the campfire, she opened the box and took out a jar.
“I need a large mug,” she said.
By now, several of the off-duty soldiers, Rurik among them, had gathered and were asking questions, and one of them handed Céline a mug, which she filled with hot water. Then she opened the jar and measured several spoonfuls of a powered substance into the hot water and stirred it, blowing on it at the same time to cool the worst of the heat. She was moving so quickly, Jaromir had trouble following her actions.
Jumping up—without spilling a drop—she hurried back into the tent.
He followed.
Quinn was still at his captain’s side.
“Get him up,” Céline ordered. “He needs to drink all of this.”
“What is it?” Quinn asked, lifting Keegan up into a sitting position.
“A strong purgative. It will make him vomit.”
Jaromir felt rather than saw Amelie at his side, and they both watched the unpleasant scene that followed, in which Keegan tried to drink the concoction, then choked harder, and Céline doggedly forced the rest of it down his throat. She spilled some on her dress and his shirt. Watching her, Jaromir marveled at her calm, at her capability in an ugly situation. Her brand of courage might be different from his—and even from Amelie’s—but it was a sight to behold.
“Be ready with that basin,” Céline told Quinn. Looking back at Jaromir and Amelie, she added, “This is going to be a long night. The only way to save him is to get the mushrooms out of his system before they fully digest. That means we’re going to need to make him throw up and then throw up . . . and then throw up again until nothing but juices come from his stomach.”
She turned back to Quinn. “If you cannot face this, no one will think the worse of you. Amelie can assist me.”
He blinked and then shook his head. “No, I’ll help.”
As those words left his mouth, Keegan rolled and began retching in earnest. True to his word, Quinn was ready with the basin.
“Amelie, keep mugs of boiling water coming,” Céline said, holding on to Keegan to help lean him over the basin.
“I will,” Amelie answered. But she didn’t go outside to the fire right away. Instead, she leaned closer to Jaromir and whispered, “I’ll see to the hot water. Maybe you should have a talk with the cook and ask him where those mushrooms came from. We don’t want the trail going cold.”
He glanced down at her. So far, he’d been fully focused on helping to save Keegan, but she was right. Now that Céline had taken charge, and she had assistance . . . it was time he talked to the cook.
Although Amelie had assisted Céline many times, by the second round of Keegan’s purging, even she was growing queasy. It was a messy, nasty business, but she understood that it had to be done.
Worse, after all this, they probably wouldn’t know if he’d live or not until tomorrow. It would all depend on how much of the poison had gone into his system before Céline had gone to work.
As Amelie kept the hot water coming, she expected Jaromir to leave and go hunt down the cook, but he didn’t. She was thrown slightly off-kilter when a soldier dragged a balding, overweight man into the tent, and the poor man began sputtering.
“What is the meaning of this?”
Jaromir stood near the bed and turned to focus on the man’s expression as he saw the scene before him. Then Amelie understood. Jaromir wished to gauge the cook’s reaction.
“Captain?” the man asked, watching Keegan being held over the basin. “What is happening?”
“You’re Volkian, the cook?” Jaromir asked coldly.
“Of course I am. What is happening here?”
“Captain Keegan was poisoned by a plate of mushrooms that you sent over.”
For a second, Volkian’s face was blank, and then horror began to dawn. “That I . . . oh, no, sir.”
“You didn’t send the dish?” Jaromir’s voice seemed to get only harder and colder.
“I . . . ,” Volkian stammered. “Yes, I sent it over, but I have several assistants going back and forth between where the oven is stationed and the front of the supply tent. They often bring me whatever is most available.”
That struck Amelie as an odd arrangement, but she let Jaromir continue with the interrogation.
“So someone brought you the mushrooms?” Jaromir asked.
“Yes, but I didn’t see . . .” The cook drew in a deep breath, perhaps trying to calm himself. “I was busy at the stove, seeing to the final touches of the stew. When I went back to my chopping table to fetch a bit of parsley, someone had left a pile of mushrooms. I assumed one of my assistants had brought them, and I remembered how much the captain liked them fried in butter.”
He sounded plausible, but Amelie could have sworn she saw the slightest twitch of his eye at the words “someone had left.”