Calling Doctor Yorvlad
Mission: Chapter 5: Into the Fire
No one was paying him any attention. He'd left the infirmary and moved out of the way of the fighting as much as he could. When wounded crew started pouring in, Yorvlad made a quick descision: leave. With regret he had picked up a scalpel and his favourite pair of forceps. Regret, because with the screaming, bleeding and broken men and women around him, he would have been able to do so much ... good. Sawing of legs, breaking bones to set them, digging out bullets lodged deep deep within the warm flesh. He imagined the blood flowing freely over his hands, closing his eyes for a moment, a serene smile on his face.
The ship rocked with an explosion, which sent him flying into a wall. More screaming, the sound of boots running down the stairs behind the wall. Waiting for relative quiet, Doctor Yorvlad hugged the wall, his cheek flat to its wooden surface, a splinter digging its way into his temple. He couldn't be sure that there were no pirates, friendly or enemy, waiting for him behind the wall, on the stairs or even up on deck. But he had to take a chance. It was his good fortune that he was no longer locked up, or shackled. The good Captain had seen the need of his particular expertise and given him somewhat free reign. Of course, there had always been someone watching him. That person now lay bleeding in the corridor in front of the infirmary. Nasty cuts, those scalpel cuts. Especially around the throat area.
"Doctor! Doctor!" Two men came running down the stairs, one of them trying to hold his guts inside with his hands. Yorvlad froze. But it was Elliot Travers who responded, rushing the men to the infirmary. Foolish man, Yorvlad thought. Though on some level he liked Travers, he could not imagine anyone wanting to stay on board a ship under attack. His way out was on deck. He pushed himself away from the wall and crept up the stairs. Speed was of the essence, he thought, as he rushed past fighting pirates left and right. No one stopped him. They were all distracted. Even the Captain.
There, at the front of the ship, was his destination, his way out. Under the greyish tarpaulin, hidden from view, his means of escape once again. He'd not seen the clockwork biplane that took him here, since he landed. He tore off the tarpaulin, and gasped. The engine hatch was open, the engine itself gutted, stripped of its moving parts. The wind-up key tossed on the pilot's seat would be of no use. Yorvlad fell to his knees, his fists squeezing the tarpaulin in frustration. No escape.