Forty-oneFrançoise drifted in and out of consciousness, barely aware of his surroundings. At one moment, a great clang caused him to snap his eyes open, wide awake, but soon the mist returned and when he felt himself being lifted he half-believed another blow would erupt into his groin. When none came, he relaxed, allowed himself to be carried and drifted off into unconsciousness.
Cold water splashed over his face brought him fully awake at last. He sat bolt upright, spluttering, wiping his eyes, casting an anxious look around.
He was in a bed, inside a small room. Over by the door stood a man he recognised.
“Philippe!” He made to stand up, but a renewed stab of pain in his groin brought the bile to his throat, and he slumped down again, hands pressed between his legs, wheezing in air.
