Highcliff Pt. 13

“You’ve been out cold all afternoon, since they fished you out of the harbor,” said Hector, unable to stop himself from checking that the bandages were still taut.
“The harbor?” asked Drew. “I remember falling and then nothing.”
“You might have died, lad,” said Bergan, moving to sit in the leather armchair that Gretchen had vacated. “You can thank the Sharklord for thinking fast and diving in to rescue you. Mind, you’d swallowed so much of the White Sea I wasn’t convinced there was much left to save.”
...
“You’ll be out of action for a while, my friend,” said Hector. “That fall fractured or broke just about every bone in your body. You’re lucky you’re blessed with lycanthropy, or you’d be fish food by now.”
Drew looked to the porthole by the side of his bed and could see the night sky beyond, silver stars twinkling high overhead. The Maelstrom was anchored just off the coast of Highcliff and the city was also shining brightly in the darkness. Still the bells rang out in the city. He reached for the brass handle that held it shut, but it was stiff and wouldn’t open.
“May I get some fresh air?” he asked.
“You’ve to stay in bed for a couple of days,” said Hector. “You’ll be back on your feet before you know it.”

B1 P6 C9