Sharpe's Fortress Part 42

Torrance was scared of another meeting with Wellesley, which meant the Captain would now follow the rules to the letter.

"It won't take long," Stokes said, 'not if you take my horse. But keep her to a steady walk, Richard, because she's tired. And have her rubbed down and watered while you're sorting out the s.h.i.+ts."

Sharpe was touched by Stokes's generosity.

"Are you sure?"

"What are friends for? Go on, Richard! On horseback you'll be home for supper. I'll have my cook brew up one of those mussallas you like so much."

Sharpe left his pack with Stokes's baggage. The big ruby and a score of other stones were in the pack, and Sharpe was half tempted to carry it to Deogaum and back, but if he could not trust Stokes, who could he trust? He tried to persuade Ahmed to stay behind and keep an eye on the baggage, but the boy refused to be parted from Sharpe and insisted on trotting along behind the horse.

"Stokes won't hurt you," Sharpe told Ahmed.

"I'm your havildar," Ahmed insisted, hefting his musket and peering about the deserted landscape for enemies. There was none in sight, but Ahmed's gesture reminded Sharpe of Elliott's death and he wondered if he should have waited for the ox convoy to return to Deogaum, for the convoys all had escorts of sepoys or mercenary hors.e.m.e.n. He was tempted to kick the horse into a trot, but he resisted the impulse.

The danger was more acutC once he reached the lower hills, for Mahratta hors.e.m.e.n were forever probing the perimeter of the British camp and being chased away by cavalry patrols. Twice he saw hors.e.m.e.n in the distance, but neither group took any notice of Sharpe who was ready to haul Ahmed up onto the horse and then ride for his life if he was threatened. He did not relax until he met a patrol of Madra.s.si cavalry under the command of a Company lieutenant who escorted him safely to the encampment.

Deogaum was now surrounded by a great spread of tents and make s.h.i.+ft booths, homes to soldiers and camp followers. A dancing bear was performing for a crowd of infantrymen and the animal reminded Sharpe of Major Stokes's words about America. Simone! It was his own d.a.m.n fault. He should never have trusted the woman. The thought of his own foolishness plunged Sharpe into a black mood that was not helped by the sight of two redcoat privates lounging on a bench outside Torrance's quarters. Neither man moved as Sharpe slid from the horse.

He gave the reins to Ahmed and mimed that the boy should rub the grey mare down with straw and then water her.

The two redcoats s.h.i.+fted slightly as if acknowledging Sharpe's presence, but neither man stood. He knew both of them; indeed, not so very long ago he had marched in the same ranks as these two men whose coats had the red facings of the 33rd. Kendrick and Lowry, they were called, and two worse characters it would have been hard to find in any light company. Both were cronies of Hakeswill's, and both had been among the small party Hakeswill had brought north in his failed attempt to arrest Sharpe.

"On your feet," Sharpe said.

Kendrick glanced at Lowry, who looked back at Kendrick, and the two made faces at each other as though they were surprised by Sharpe's demands. They hesitated just long enough to make their insolence plain, but not quite long enough to make it punishable, then stood to attention.

"Is that your 'orse, Mister Sharpe?" Kendrick asked, stressing the 'mister'.

Sharpe ignored the question and pushed into the house to find a new clerk sitting behind the table. He was a young, good-looking Indian with oiled hair and a very white robe. He wore an ap.r.o.n to protect the robe from ink spots.

"You have business, sahib?" he asked brusquely.

"With Captain Torrance."

"The Captain is ill." The Indian, whose English was very good, smiled.

"He's always b.l.o.o.d.y ill," Sharpe said and walked past the protesting clerk to push open the inner door.

Torrance was in his hammock, smoking his hookah, and dressed in an Indian gown embroidered with dragons while Sergeant Hakeswill was sitting at a small table counting a pile of coins.

"Sharpe!" Torrance sounded surprised. Hakeswill, looking equally surprised, sullenly stood to attention.

"Wasn't expecting you till this evening," Torrance said.

"I'm here," Sharpe said unnecessarily.

"So it is apparent. Unless you're a spectre?"

Sharpe had no time for small talk.

"You've got a problem with chitties he asked abruptly.

"Tiresome, isn't it?" Torrance seemed uncomfortable.

"Very tiresome. Sergeant, you have business elsewhere?"

"I've got duties, sir!" Hakeswill snapped.

"Attend to them, dear fellow."

"Sir!" Hakeswill stiffened, turned to the right, then marched from the room.

"So how are you, Sharpe? Keeping busy?" Torrance had swung himself off the hammock and now scooped the coins into a leather bag.

"I hear poor Elliott died?"

"Shot, sir."

Torrance shuddered as if the news was personal.

"So very sad," he sighed, then retied the belt of his elaborate gown.

"I never did thank you, Sharpe, for being so supportive with Sir Arthur."

Sharpe had not thought he had been supportive at all.

"I just told the truth, sir."

"My father would be proud of you, and I'm deeply grateful to you. It seems Dilip was in league with Naig."

"He was?"

Torrance heard the disbelief in Sharpe's voice.

"No other explanation, is there?" he said curtly.

"Someone must have been telling Naig which convoys carried the vital supplies, and it had to be Dilip. I must say I thought Wellesley was d.a.m.ned obtuse! There really is no point in having scruples about hanging natives. There isn't exactly a shortage of them, is there?" He smiled.

"There's something wrong with the chitties Sharpe demanded rudely.

"So there is, Sharpe, so there is. Our new clerk discovered the discrepancies. He's a smart young fellow. Sajit!"

The young clerk came into the room, clasped his hands and offered Torrance a slight bow.

"Sahib?"

"This is Ensign Sharpe, Sajit. He's by way of being my deputy and thus as much your sahib as I am."