The hand fixed onto his shoulder was Bottle’s, and the lad’s face was pale, beaded with sweat. Their eyes locked, then Bottle nodded and slowly withdrew his hand. ‘Can you hear me, Sergeant?’ ‘Faint, as if you were thirty paces away.’ ‘Is the pain gone?’ ‘Aye—what did you do?’ Bottle glanced away. Strings frowned, then said, ‘Everyone else, back to work. Stay here, Bottle.’
