Sharpe`s Fortress

CHAPTER 5

The first part of the road was easy enough to build, for the existing track wound up the gender slopes of the foothills, but even on the first day Major Elliott was filled with gloom.

"Can't do it in a week! " the engineer grumbled.

"Man's mad! Expects miracles. Jacob's ladder, that's what he wants." He cast a morbid eye over Sharpe's bullocks, all of them prime Mysore beasts with brightly painted horns from which tassels and small bells hung.

"Never did like working with oxen, " Elliott complained.

"Bring any elephants?"

"I can ask for them, sir."

"Nothing like an elephant. Right, Sharpe, load the beasts with small stones and keep following the track till you catch up with me. Got that?"

Elliott hauled himself onto his horse and settled his feet in the stirrups.

"Bloody miracles, that's what he wants, " the Major growled, then spurred onto the track.

«Elliott!» Major Simons, who commanded the half-battalion of sepoys who guarded the pioneers building the road, called in alarm.

"I haven't reconnoitred beyond the small hillock! The one with the two trees."

"Can't wait for your fellows to wake up, Simons. Got a road to build in a week. Can't be done, of course, but we must look willing. Pinckney! I need a havildar and some stout fellows to carry pegs. Tell 'em to follow me."

Captain Pinckney, the officer in charge of the East India Company pioneers, spat onto the verge.

"Waste of bloody time."

"What is?" Sharpe asked.

"Pegging out the route! We follow the footpath, of course. Bloody natives have been scurrying up and down these hills for centuries." He turned and shouted at a havildar to organize a party to follow Elliott up the hill, then set the rest of his men to loading the oxen's panniers with small stones.

The road made good progress, despite Elliott's misgivings, and three days after they had begun the pioneers cleared a space among the trees to establish a makeshift artillery park where the siege guns could wait while the rest of the road was forged. Sharpe was busy and, because of that, happy. He liked Simons and Pinckney, and even Elliott proved affable. The Major had taken Wellesley's demands that the road be made in a week as a challenge, and he pressed the pioneers hard.

The enemy seemed to be asleep. Elliott would ride far ahead to reconnoitre the route and never once saw a Mahratta.

"Stupid fools, " Elliott said one night beside the fire, 'they could hold us here for months!»

"You still shouldn't ride so far ahead of my picquets, " Simons reproved the Major.

"Stop fussing, man, " Elliott said, and next morning, as usual, he rode out in front to survey the day's work.

Sharpe was again bringing stones up the road that morning. He was walking at the head of his ox train on the wooded stretch above the newly made artillery park. The day's heat was growing and there was little wind in the thick woods of teak and cork trees that covered the low hills. Groups of pioneers felled trees where they might obstruct a gun carriage's progress, and here and there Sharpe saw a whitewashed peg showing where Elliott had marked the track. Shots sounded ahead, but Sharpe took no notice. The upland valleys had become a favourite hunting ground for the shikarees who used nets, snares and ancient matchlocks to kill hares, wild pigs, deer, quail and partridge that they sold to the officers, and Sharpe assumed a party of the hunters was close to the track, but after a few seconds the firing intensified. The musketry was muffled by the thick leaves, but for a moment the sound was constant, almost at battle pitch, before, as suddenly as it had erupted, it stopped.

His bullock drivers had halted, made nervous by the firing.

"Come on! " Sharpe encouraged them. None of them spoke English, and Sharpe had no idea which language they did speak, but they were good-natured men, eager to please, and they prodded their heavily laden bullocks onwards. Ahmed had unslung his musket and was peering ahead. He suddenly raised the gun to his shoulder, and Sharpe pushed it down before the boy could pull the trigger.

"They're ours, " he told the lad.

"Sepoys."

A dozen sepoys hurried back through the trees. Major Simons was with them and, as they came closer, Sharpe saw the men were carrying a makeshift stretcher made from tree branches and jackets.

"It's Elliott."

Simons paused by Sharpe as his men hurried ahead.

"Bloody fool got a chest wound. He won't live. Stupid man was too far forward. I told him not to get ahead of the picquets." Simons took a ragged red handkerchief from his sleeve and wiped the sweat from his face.

"One less engineer."

Sharpe peered at Elliott who was blessedly unconscious. His face had gone pale, and pinkish blood was bubbling at his lips with every laboured breath.

"He won't last the day, " Simons said brutally, 'but I suppose we should get him back to the surgeons."

"Where are the enemy?" Sharpe asked.

"They ran, " Simons said.

"Half a dozen of the bastards were waiting in ambush. They shot Elliott, took his weapons, but ran off when they saw us."

Three shikarees died that afternoon, ambushed in the high woods, and that night, when the road-builders camped in one of the grassy upland valleys, some shots were fired from a neighbouring wood. The bullets hissed overhead, but none found a target. The picquets blazed back until a havildar shouted at them to hold their fire. Captain Pinck-they shook his head.

"I thought it was too good to last, " he said gloomily.

"It'll be slow work now." He poked the fire around which a half-dozen officers were sitting.

Major Simons grinned.

"If I was the enemy, " he said, "I'd attack Mister Sharpe's oxen instead of attacking engineers. If they cut our supply line they'd do some real damage."

"There's no point in shooting engineers, " Pinckney agreed.

"We don't need Royal Engineers anyway. We've been making roads for years. The fellows in the blue coats just get in the way. Mind you, they'll still send us another."

"If there are any left, " Sharpe said. The campaign had been fatal for the engineers. Two had died blowing up the enemy guns at Assaye, another three were fevered and now Elliott was either dying or already dead.

"They'll find one, " Pinckney grumbled.

"If there's something the

King's army doesn't need then you can be sure they've got a healthy supply of it."

"The Company army's better?" Sharpe asked.

"It is, " Major Simons said.

"We work for a sterner master than you, Sharpe. It's called book-keeping. You fight for victories, we fight for profits. Leadenhall Street won't pay for fancy engineers in blue coats, not when they can hire plain men like us at half the cost."

"They could afford me, " Sharpe said.

"Cheap as they come, I am."

Next morning Simons threw a strong picquet line ahead of the work parties, but no Mahrattas opposed the pioneers who were now widening the track where it twisted up a bare and steep slope that was littered with rocks. The track was ancient, worn into the hills by generations of travellers, but it had never been used by wagons, let alone by heavy guns. Merchants who wanted to carry their goods up the escarpment had used the road leading directly to the fortress's Southern Gate, while this track, which looped miles to the east of Gawilghur, was little more than a series of paths connecting the upland valleys where small farms had been hacked from the jungle. It was supposed to be tiger country, but Sharpe saw none of the beasts. At dawn he had returned to Deogaum to collect rice for the sepoys, and then spent the next four hours climbing back to where the pioneers were working. He was nervous at first, both of tigers and of an enemy ambush, but the worst he suffered was a series of drenching rainstorms that swept up the mountains.

The rain stopped when he reached the working parties who were driving the road through a small ridge. Pinckney was setting a charge of gunpowder that would loosen the rock and let him cut out a mile of looping track. His servant brought a mug of tea that Sharpe drank sitting on a rock. He stared southwards, watching the veils of grey rain sweep across the plain.

"Did Wellesley say anything about sending a new engineer?" Major Simons asked him.

"I just collected the rice, sir, " Sharpe said.

"I didn't see the General."

"I thought you were supposed to be a friend of his?" Simons observed sourly.

"Everyone thinks that, " Sharpe said, 'except him and me."

"But you saved his life?"

Sharpe shrugged.

"I reckon so. Either that or stopped him getting captured."

"And killed a few men doing it, I hear?"

Sharpe looked at the tall Simons with some surprise, for he had not realized that his exploit had become common knowledge.

"Don't remember much about it."

"I suppose not. Still, " Simons said, 'a feather in your cap?"

"I don't think Wellesley thinks that, " Sharpe said.

"You're a King's officer now, Sharpe, " Simons said enviously. As an East India Company officer he was trapped in the Company's cumbersome system of promotion.

"If Wellesley thrives, he'll remember you."

Sharpe laughed.

"I doubt it, sir. He ain't the sort." He turned southwards again because Ahmed had called a warning in Arabic. The boy was pointing downhill and Sharpe stood to see over the crown of the slope. Far beneath him, where the road passed through one of the lush valleys, a small party of horsemen was approaching and one of the riders was in a blue coat.

"Friends, Ahmed! " he called.

"Looks like the new engineer, " Sharpe said to Simons.

"Pinckney will be delighted, " Simons said sarcastically.

Pinckney came back to inspect the approaching party through a telescope, and spat when he saw the blue coat of the Royal Engineers.

"Another interfering bastard to teach me how to suck eggs, " he said.

"So let's blow the charge before he gets here, otherwise he'll tell us we're doing it all wrong."

A crowd of grinning sepoys waited expectantly about the end of the fuse. Pinckney struck a light, put it to the quick match then watched the sparks smoke their way towards the distant charge. The smoke trail vanished in grass and it seemed to Sharpe that it must have extinguished itself, but then there was a violent coughing sound and the small ridge heaved upwards. Soil and stone flew outwards in a cloud of filthy smoke. The sepoys cheered. The explosion had seemed small to Sharpe, but when the smoke and dust cleared he could see that the ridge now had a deep notch through which the road could climb to the next high valley.

The pioneers went to shovel the loosened earth away and Sharpe sat again. Ahmed squatted beside him.

"What am I going to do with you?"

Sharpe asked.

"I go to England, " Ahmed said carefully.

"You won't like it there. Cold as buggery."

"Cold?"

"Freezing." Sharpe mimicked a shiver, but plainly it meant nothing to the Arab boy.

"I go to England, " Ahmed insisted.

A half-hour later the new engineer appeared just beneath Sharpe.

He wore a wide-brimmed straw hat, rode a grey horse and was trailed by three servants who led pack mules laden with luggage amongst which Sharpe could see a tripod, a surveyor's level and a vast leather tube that he guessed held a telescope. The engineer took off his hat and fanned his face as he rounded the last bend. "Pon my soul, " he said cheerfully, 'but thank God the horse does the climbing and not me."

Pinckney had come back to greet the engineer and held out his hand as the blue-coated Major slid from his saddle.

"Captain Pinckney, sir, " he introduced himself.

"Pinckney, eh?" the white-haired engineer said cheerfully.

"I knew a Pinckney in Hertfordshire. He made plough shares and damn fine ones too."

"My uncle Joshua, sir."

"Then you must be Hugh's boy, yes? An honour! " He shook Pinckney's hand vigorously.

"Major John Stokes, at your service, though I don't suppose you need me, do you? You must have built more roads than I ever did." Major Stokes looked towards Sharpe who had stood and was now smiling.

"Good God in His blessed heaven, " Stokes said, 'it can't be! But it is! My dear Sharpe! My dear Mister Sharpe. I heard all about your commission! Couldn't be more pleased, my dear Sharpe. An officer, eh?"

Sharpe smiled broadly.

"OnJ} an ensign, sir."

"Every ladder has a first rung, Sharpe, " Stokes said in gentle reproof of Sharpe's modesty, then held out his hand.

"We shall be mess mates, as they say in the Navy. Well, I never! Mess mates, indeed! And with a Pinckney too! Hugh Pinckney forges mill gears, Sharpe. Never seen a man make better-toothed wheels in all my life." He clasped Sharpe's hand in both of his.

"They grubbed me out of Seringapatam, Sharpe.

Can you believe that? Told me all the other engineers had the pox, and summoned me here just in time to discover that poor Elliott's dead.

'34

I suppose I shouldn't complain. It's awfully good for my promotion prospects." He let go of Sharpe's hand.

"Oh, and by the way, I travelled north with some of your old comrades! Captain Charles Morris and his company. Not the most charming creature, is he?"

"Not one of my favourites, sir, " Sharpe admitted. Good God! Bloody Morris was here? First Hakeswill, then Morris!

"He didn't want to come, " Stokes said, 'but higher powers deemed that I had to be protected from the ungodly, so they insisted on an infantry escort." He turned as a rattle of gunfire sounded higher up the escarpment.

"Bless my soul! Is that musketry?"

Ticquet line, sir, " Pinckney explained.

"The enemy harasses us, but they're not thrusting home."

"They should, they should. A battalion of skirmishers in these hills could keep us at bay for a month! Well, I never, Sharpe! An ensign!»

The Major turned back to Pinckney.

"Sharpe and I ran the armoury at Seringapatam for four years."

"You ran it, sir, " Sharpe said.

"I was just your sergeant."

"Best sergeant I ever had, " Stokes told Pinckney enthusiastically.

"And it's not "sir" he turned to Sharpe 'but John." He grinned at Sharpe.

"They were four good years, eh? Best we'll ever have, I daresay. And here you are now, an officer! My dear fellow, I couldn't be more overjoyed." He sniffed the air.

"Been blowing things up, Pinckney?"

"Cutting through that ridge, sir. I trust you don't mind that we didn't wait for you?"

"Mind? Why should I mind? You go ahead, dear fellow. I'm sure you know your business better than I do. God knows why they need an engineer here at all! Probably to be decorative, eh? Still, I'll make myself useful. I thought I might map the escarpment. Hasn't been done, you see. Of course, Pinckney, if you need advice, just ask away, but I'll probably be at sixes and sevens groping for an answer." He beamed at the delighted Pinckney, then looked at the rough country through which the road led.

"This is fine landscape, isn't it? Such a relief after the plains. It reminds me of Scotland."

"There are tigers here, Major, " Sharpe said.

"And there's all kinds of fierce things in Scotland too, Sharpe. I was once posted to Fort William and might as well have been in darkest China! It was worse than Newfoundland. And speaking of America, Sharpe, that young lady you sent me has travelled there. Extraordinary thing to do, I thought, and I advised her to abandon the whole wretched idea. There are bears, I told her, fierce bears, but she wouldn't be persuaded."

"Simone, sir?" Sharpe asked, at first not believing his ears, then feeling a dreadful premonition.

"A charming creature, I thought. And to be widowed so young!»

Stokes tutted and shook his head.

"She went to a fortune teller, one of those naked fellows who make funny faces in the alley by the Hindu temple, and says she was advised to go to a new world. Whatever next, eh?"

"I thought she was waiting for me, sir, " Sharpe said.

"Waiting for you? Good Lord, no. Gone to Louisiana, she says. She stayed in my house for a week I moved out, of course, to stop any scandal and then she travelled to Madras with Mrs. Pennington.

Remember Charlotte Pennington? The clergyman's widow? I can't think the two of them will get along, but your friend said the fortune teller was adamant and so she chose to go." The Major was eager to give Sharpe the rest of the news from Seringapatam. The armoury was closing down, he said, now that the frontier of the British-held territory was so much farther north, but Stokes had kept himself busy dismantling the town's inner fortifications.

"Very ill made, Sharpe, disgraceful work, quite disgraceful. Walls crumbled to the touch."

But Sharpe was not listening. He was thinking of Simone. She had gone! By now she was probably in Madras, and maybe already on board a ship. And she had taken his jewels. Only a few of them, true, but enough. He touched the seam of his jacket where a good many of the Tippoo's other jewels were hidden.

"Did Madame Joubert leave any message?" he asked Stokes when the Major paused to draw breath. What did he hope, Sharpe wondered, that Simone would want him to join her in America?

"A message? None, Sharpe. Too busy to write, I daresay. She's a remarkably wealthy woman, did you know? She bought half the raw silk in town, hired a score of bearers and off she went. Every officer in town was leaving a card for her, but she didn't have the time of day for any of them. Off to Louisiana! " Stokes suddenly frowned.

"What is the matter, Sharpe? You look as if you've seen a ghost. You're not sickening, are you?"

"No, no. It's just I thought she might have written."

"Oh! I see! You were sweet on her! " Stokes shook his head.

"I feel for you, Sharpe, 'pon my soul, I do, but what hope could you have? A woman with her sort of fortune doesn't look at fellows like us! "Pon my soul, no. She's rich! She'll marry high, Sharpe, or as high as a woman can in French America."

Her sort of fortune indeed! Simone had no fortune, she had been penniless when Sharpe met her, but he had trusted her. God damn the Frog bitch! Stolen a small fortune.

"It doesn't matter, " he told Stokes, but somehow it did. Simone's betrayal was like a stab to the belly. It was not so much the jewels, for he had kept the greater part of the plunder, but the broken promises. He felt anger and pity and, above all, a fool. A great fool. He turned away from Stokes and stared down the track to where a dozen oxen escorted by two companies of sepoys were trudging towards him.

"I've got work coming, " he said, not wanting to discuss Simone any further.

"I passed those fellows on my way, " Stokes said, 'carrying powder, I think. I do like blowing things up. So just what do you do here, Sharpe?"

"I keep the pioneers supplied with material, sir, and sign in all the convoys."

"Hope it leaves you time to help me, Sharpe. You and me together again, eh? It'll be like the old days."

"That'd be good, sir, " Sharpe said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, then he walked down the track and pointed to where the ox-drivers should drop their barrels of gunpowder. The men crowded about him with their chitties and he pulled out a pencil and scrawled his initials in the corner of each one, thus confirming that they had completed and were owed for one journey.

The last man also handed Sharpe a sealed paper with his name written in a fine copperplate hand.

"From the clerk, sahib, " the man said, the phrase plainly much practised for he spoke no other English.

Sharpe tore the seal off as he walked back up the hill. The letter was not from the clerk at all, but from Torrance.

"Bloody hell! " he cursed.

"What is it?" Stokes asked.

"A man called Torrance, " Sharpe complained.

"He's in charge of the bullocks. He wants me back at Deogaum because he reckons there are forged chitties in the camp."

"In the far south of India, " Stokes said, 'they call them shits."

Sharpe blinked at the Major.

"Sorry, sir?"

"You mustn't call me «sir», Sharpe. "Pon my soul, yes. I had a Tamil servant who was forever asking me to sign his shits. Had me all in a dither at first, I can tell you."

Sharpe crumpled Torrance's note into a ball.

"Why the hell can't Torrance sort out his own shits?" he asked angrily. But he knew why.

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 shits."

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 horsemen. 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 horsemen were forever probing the perimeter of the British camp and being chased away by cavalry patrols. Twice he saw horsemen 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 Madrassi 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 shift 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 damn 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 shifted 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 apron 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 bloody 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 damned 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."

Sajit offered Sharpe a bow.

"I am honoured, sahib."

"Perhaps you could show Mister Sharpe the problematical chitties Sajit?" Torrance suggested.

Sajit went back to the outer room and returned a moment later with a pile of the grubby paper slips. He placed them on the table, then invited Sharpe to inspect them. All the chitties had Sharpe's initials in the bottom right-hand corner, most of them in pencil, but some had been initialled in ink and Sharpe set those aside.

"I didn't sign any of those, " he said confidently.

"I don't have a pen and ink."

"You were right, Sajit! " Torrance said.

"You honour me, sahib, " Sajit said.

"And every chitty is a stolen anna, " Torrance said, 'so we have to discover which bullock men gave us the false ones. That's the problem, Sharpe."

"They've got names on them, " Sharpe said, pointing at the slips of paper.

"You hardly needed to drag me down here to tell you who they were issued to!»

"Please don't be tedious, Sharpe, " Torrance said plaintively.

"Ever since the General put a shot across our bows I am forced to be particular.

And the names mean nothing! Nothing! Look' he scooped up the chit ties — 'at least a dozen are assigned to Ram, whoever Ram is.

There are probably a dozen Rams out there. What I want you to do, Sharpe, is go round the encampment with Sajit and point out which men have visited the road. Sajit can then identify which bullock men are submitting false claims."

Sharpe frowned.

"Why doesn't Sajit just identify which men were ordered up the mountain? They must have got their chitties from him?"

"I want to be sure, Sharpe, I want to be sure! " Torrance pleaded.

"My testimony, sahib, would not be believed, " Sajit put in, 'but no one would doubt the word of an English officer."

"Bloody hell, " Sharpe said. The last thing he felt like doing was wandering about the bullock camp identifying drivers. He was not sure he could do it anyway.

"So why not summon the bullock men here?"

he demanded.

"The bad ones would run away, sahib, rather than come, " Sajit said.

"Best to ambush them in their encampment, Sharpe, " Torrance said.

"I'll do my best, " Sharpe grunted.

"I knew you would! " Torrance seemed relieved.

"Do it now, Sharpe, and perhaps you could join me for a late dinner? Say at half past one?"

Sharpe nodded, then went back into the sunlight to wait for Sajit.

Kendrick and Lowry had vanished, presumably with Hakeswill. Ahmed had found a bucket of water and Stokes's mare was drinking greedily.

"You can stay here, Ahmed, " Sharpe said, but the boy shook his head.

"You're my bleeding shadow, " Sharpe grumbled.

"Shadow?"

Sharpe pointed to his own shadow.

"Shadow."

Ahmed grinned, all white teeth in a grubby face. He liked the word.

"Sharpe's shadow! " he said.

Sajit emerged from the house with a pink silk parasol that he offered to Sharpe. Sharpe refused, and the clerk, who had discarded his apron, gratefully shaded himself from the fierce midday sun.

"I am sorry to be troublesome to you, sahib, " he said humbly.

"No trouble, " Sharpe said dourly, following the clerk. Ahmed came behind, leading the Major's mare.

"The boy need not come, " Sajit insisted, glancing behind at the horse which seemed to alarm him.

"You tell him that, " Sharpe said, 'but don't blame me if he shoots you. He's very fond of shooting people."

Sajit hurried on.

"I think I know, sahib, which is the bad man who is cheating us. He is a fellow from Mysore. He gave me many chitties and swore you signed them in front of him. If you would be so kind as to confirm or deny his story, we shall be finished."

"Then let's find the bugger and be done with it."

Sajit led Sharpe through the bullock lines where the wealthier herdsmen had erected vast dark and sagging tents. Women slapped bread dough beside small ox-dung fires, and more piles of the fuel dried in the sun beside each tent entrance. Sharpe looked for Naig's big green tents, but he could not see them and he assumed that whoever had inherited Naig's business had packed up and gone.

"There, sahib, that is the bad man's tent." Sajit nervously led Sharpe towards a brown tent that stood slightly apart from the others. He stopped a few paces from the entrance and lowered his voice.

"He is called Ranjit, sahib."

"So fetch the bugger, " Sharpe said, 'and I'll tell you if he's lying or not."

Sajit seemed nervous of confronting Ranjit for he hesitated, but then plucked up his courage, collapsed the parasol and dropped to the ground to crawl into the tent which sagged so deeply that the doorway was scarce higher than a man's knee. Sharpe heard the murmur of voices, then Sajit backed hurriedly out of the low fringed entrance. He slapped at the dust on his white robes, then looked at Sharpe with a face close to tears.

"He is a bad man, sahib. He will not come out. I told him a sahib was here to see him, but he used rude words!»

"I'll take a look at the bastard, " Sharpe said.

"That's all you need, isn't it? For me to say whether I've seen him or not?"

"Please, sahib, " Sajit said, and gestured at the tent's entrance.

Sharpe took off his hat so it would not tangle with the canvas, hoisted the tent's entrance as high as he could, then ducked low under the heavy brown cloth.

And knew instantly that it was a trap.

And understood, almost in the same instant, that he could do nothing about it.

The first blow struck his forehead, and his vision exploded in streaks of lightning and shuddering stars. He fell backwards, out into the sunlight and someone instantly grabbed one of his ankles and began pulling him into the deep shadow. He tried to kick, tried to push himself against the tent's sides, but another hand seized his second leg, another blow hammered the side of his skull and, mercifully, he knew nothing more.

"He's got a thick skull, our Sharpie, " Hakeswill said with a grin. He prodded Sharpe's prone body and got no reaction.

"Fast asleep, he is."

The Sergeant's face twitched. He had hit Sharpe with the heavy brassbound butt of a musket and he was amazed that Sharpe's skull was not broken. There was plenty of blood in his black hair, and he would have a bruise the size of a mango by nightfall, but his skull seemed to have taken the two blows without splintering.

"He always was a thick-headed bugger, " Hakeswill said.

"Now strip him."

"Strip him?" Kendrick asked.

"When his body is found, " Hakeswill explained patiently, 'if it is found, and you can't rely on bleeding blackamoors to do a proper job and hide it, we don't want no one seeing he's a British officer, do we?

Not that he is an officer. He's just a jumped-up bit of muck. So strip him, then tie his hands and feet and cover his eyeballs."

Kendrick and Lowry jerked and tugged Sharpe's coat free, then handed the garment to Hakeswill who ran his fingers along the hems.

"Got it! " he exulted when he felt the lumps in the cloth. He took out

H3

a knife, slit the coat and the two privates stared in awe as he eased the glittering jewels out of the tightly sewn seam. It was dark in the shadowed tent, but the stones gleamed bright.

"Get on with it! " Hakeswill said.

"The rest of his clothes off!»

"What are you doing?" Sajit had sidled into the tent and now stared at the jewels.

"None of your bleeding business, " Hakeswill said.

"You have jewels?" Sajit asked.

Hakeswill slid out his bayonet and stabbed it at Sajit, checking the lunge a fraction before the blade would have punctured the clerk's neck.

"The jewels ain't your business, Sajit. The jewels are my business. Your business is Sharpie, got it? I agreed to give him to your bleeding uncle, but I gets what he carries."

"My uncle will pay well for good stones, " Sajit said.

"Your Uncle Jama's a bleeding monkey who'd cheat me soon as fart at me, so forget the bleeding stones. They're mine." Hakeswill thrust the first handful into a pocket and started searching the rest of Sharpe's clothes. He slit open all the seams, then cut Sharpe's boots apart to discover a score of rubies hidden in the folded boot-tops. They were small rubies, scarce bigger than peas, and Hakeswill was looking for one large ruby.

"I saw it, I did. The bloody Tippoo had it on his hat.

Large as life! Look in his hair."

Kendrick obediently ran his fingers through Sharpe's blood-encrusted hair.

"Nothing there, Sarge."

"Turn the bugger over and have a look you know where."

"Not me!»

"Don't be so bloody squeamish! And tie his hands. Fast now! You don't want the sod waking up, do you?"

The clothes and boots yielded sixty-three stones. There were rubies, emeralds, sapphires and four small diamonds, but no large ruby.

Hakeswill frowned. Surely Sharpe would not have sold the ruby? Still, he consoled himself, there was a fortune here, and he could not resist putting all the stones together on a mat and staring at them.

"I do like a bit of glitter, " he breathed as his fingers greedily touched the jewels. He put ten of the smaller stones in one pile, another ten in a second, and pushed the two piles towards Kendrick and Lowry.

"That's your cut, boys.

Keep you in whores for the rest of your lives, that will."

"Perhaps I will tell my uncle about your stones, " Sajit said, staring at the jewels.

"I expect you will, " Hakeswill said, 'and so bleeding what? I ain't as dozy as Sharpie. You won't catch me."

"Then maybe I shall tell Captain Torrance." Sajit had positioned himself close to the entrance so that he could flee if Hakeswill attacked him.

"Captain Torrance likes wealth."

Likes it too much, Hakeswill thought, and if Torrance knew about the stones he would make Hakeswill's life hell until he yielded a share. The Sergeant's face juddered in a series of uncontrollable twitches.

"You're a bright lad, Sajit, ain't you?" he said.

"You might be nothing but a bleeding heathen blackamoor but you've got more than bullock dung for brains, ain't you? Here." He tossed Sajit three of the stones.

"That keeps your tongue quiet, and if it don't, I'll cut it out and have a feed on it. Partial to a plate of tongue, I am. Nice piece of tongue, knob of butter and some gravy.

Proper food, that." He pushed the rest of the stones into his pocket, then stared broodingly at Sharpe's naked trussed body.

"He had more, " Hakeswill said with a frown, "I know he had more." The Sergeant suddenly clicked his fingers.

"What about his pack?"

"What pack?" Lowry asked.

"The bleeding pack he carries, which he shouldn't, being an officer, which he ain't. Where's his pack?"

The privates shrugged. Sajit frowned.

"He had no pack when he came to the Captain's house."

"You're sure?"

"He came on a horse, " Lowry said helpfully.

"It were a grey horse, and he didn't have no pack."

"So where's the horse?" Hakeswill demanded angrily.

"We should look in its saddlebags!»

Lowry frowned, trying to remember.

"A bleeding kid had it, " he said at last.

"So where's the kid?"

"He ran off, " Sajit said.

"Ran off?" Hakeswill said threateningly.

"Why?"

"He saw you hit him, " Sajit said.

"I saw it. He fell out of the tent.

There was blood on his face."

"You shouldn't have hit him till he was right inside the tent, " Kendrick said chidingly.

"45

"Shut your bloody face, " Hakeswill said, then frowned.

"So where did the kid run?"

«Away,» Sajit said.

"I chased him, but he climbed onto the horse."

"Kid don't speak English, " Kendrick said helpfully.

"How the hell do you know that?"

"Cos I talked to him!»

"And who's going to believe a heathen black kid what don't speak English?" Lowry asked.

Hakeswill's face was racked by a quick series of twitches. He suspected he was safe. Lowry was right. Who would believe the kid?

Even so the Sergeant wished that Jama's men were coming earlier to fetch Sharpe. Jama himself had gone away from the camp, reckoning that if he was going to murder a British officer then it was best done a long way from the British army. Hakeswill had warned Jama not to expect Sharpe until the evening, and now he had to guard him until dusk.

"I told you to put a bandage on his eyes, " Hakeswill snapped.

"Don't want him to see us!»

"It don't matter if he does, " Kendrick said.

"He ain't going to see the dawn, is he?"

"Got more lives than a basketful of bleeding cats, that one, " Hakeswill said.

"If I had any sense I'd slit his throat now."

«No!» Sajit said.

"He was promised to my uncle."

"And your uncle's paying us, yes?"

"That too is agreed, " Sajit said.

Hakeswill stood and walked to Sharpe's unconscious body.

"I put those stripes on his back, " he said proudly.

"Lied through my teeth, I did, and had Sharpie flogged. Now I'll have him killed." He remembered how Sharpe had flung him among the tigers and his face twitched as he recalled the elephant trying to crush him to death, and in his sudden rage he kicked at Sharpe and went on kicking until Kendrick hauled him away.

"If you kill him, Sarge, " Kendrick said, 'then the blackies won't pay us, will they?"

Hakeswill let himself be pulled away.

"So how will your uncle kill him?" he asked Sajit.

"His jet tis will do it."

"I've seen them bastards at work, " Hakeswill said in a tone of admiration.

"Just make it slow. Make it slow and make it bleeding painful."

"It will be slow, " Sajit promised, 'and very painful. My uncle is not a merciful man."

"But I am, " Hakeswill said.

"I am. Because I'm letting another man have the pleasure of killing Sharpie." He spat at Sharpe.

"Dead by dawn, Sharpie. You'll be down with Old Nick, where you ought to be!»

He settled against one of the tent poles and trickled jewels from one palm to the other. Flies crawled among the crusting blood in Sharpe's hair. The Ensign would be dead by dawn, and Hakeswill was a rich man. Revenge, the Sergeant decided, was sweet as honey.

Ahmed saw Sharpe fall back from the tent entrance, saw blood bright on his forehead, then watched as hands seized Sharpe and dragged him into the deep shadows.

Then Sajit, the clerk with the pink umbrella, turned towards him.

«Boy,» he snapped, 'come here!»

Ahmed pretended not to understand, though he understood well enough that he was a witness to something deeply wrong. He backed away, tugging Major Stokes's mare with him. He let the musket slip down from his shoulder and Sajit, seeing the threat, suddenly rushed at him, but Ahmed was even faster. He jumped up to sprawl across the saddle and, without bothering to seat himself properly, kicked the horse into motion. The startled mare leaped away as Ahmed hauled himself onto her back. The stirrups were too long for him, but Ahmed had been raised with horses and could have ridden the mare bareback, blindfolded and back to front. He swerved southwards, galloping between tents, fires and grazing bullocks, and leaving Sajit far behind. A woman shouted a protest as he nearly galloped over her children. He slowed the mare as he reached the edge of the encampment and looked back to see that he had left Sajit far behind.

What the hell should he do? He knew no one in the British camp. He looked up at the high summit where Gawilghur just showed. He supposed his old comrades in Manu Bappoo's Lions of Allah were up there, but his uncle, with whom he had travelled from Arabia, was dead and buried in Argaum's black earth. He knew other soldiers in the regiment, but he also feared them. Those other soldiers wanted Ahmed to be their servant, and not just to cook for them and clean their weapons. Sharpe alone had shown him friendliness, and Sharpe now needed help, but Ahmed did not know how to provide it. He thought about the problem as he knotted the stirrup leathers.

The plump, red-faced and white-haired man in the hills had been friendly, but how was Ahmed to talk to him? He decided he ought to try and so he turned the horse, planning to ride her all about the camp perimeter and then back up the road into the hills, but an officer of the camp picquets saw him. The man was riding a horse and he spurred it close to Ahmed and noted the British saddle cloth.

"What are you doing, boy?" he asked. The officer presumed Ahmed was exercising the horse, but Ahmed took fright at the challenge and kicked back.

«Thief!» the officer shouted and gave chase.

"Stop! Thief!»

A sepoy turned with his musket and Ahmed nudged the horse so that she ran the man down. There was a group of houses close by and Ahmed turned towards them, jumped a garden wall, thumped through some beds of vegetables, jumped another wall, ducked under some fruit trees, jumped a hedge and splashed through a muddy pond before kicking the horse up a bank and into some trees. The officer had not dared follow him through the gardens, but Ahmed could hear the hue and cry beyond the houses. He patted the mare's neck as she threaded through the trees, then curbed her at the wood's edge. There was about a half-mile of open country, then more thick woods that promised safety if only the tired mare could make the distance without faltering.

"If Allah wills it, " Ahmed said, then kicked the horse into a gallop.

His pursuers were well behind, but they saw him break cover and now a dozen horsemen were chasing him. Someone fired at him. He heard the musket shot, but the ball went nowhere near him. He leaned over the mane and just let the horse run. He looked back once and saw the pursuers bunching in his path, and then he was in the trees and he twisted northwards, cut back west, then went north again, going ever deeper into the woods until at last he slowed the blowing horse so that the sound of her thumping hooves would not betray him.

He listened. He could hear other horses blundering through the leaves, but they were not coming any closer, and then he began to wonder if it would not be better to let himself be caught after all, for surely someone among the British would speak his language? Maybe if he went all the way to where the men were making the road in the hills he would be too late to help Sharpe. He felt miserable, utterly unsure what he should do, and then he decided he must go back and find help within the encampment and so he turned the horse back towards his pursuers.

And saw a musket pointing straight at his throat.

The man holding the musket was an Indian and had one of the spiralling brass helmets that the Mahrattas wore. He was a cavalryman, but he had picketed his horse a few yards away and had crept up on Ahmed on foot. The man grinned.

Ahmed wondered if he should just kick the tired mare and risk his luck, but then another Mahratta stepped from the leaves, and this one held a curved tulwar. A third man appeared, and then more men came, all mounted, to surround him.

And Ahmed, who knew he had panicked and failed, wept.

It seemed to Dodd that Prince Manu Bappoo's policy of rewarding freebooters with cash for weapons captured from the British was failing miserably. So far they had fetched in three ancient matchlocks that must have belonged to shikarees, a broken musket of local manufacture, and a fine pistol and sword that had been taken from an engineer officer. No scabbard for the sword, of course, but the two trophies, so far as Dodd was concerned, were the only evidence that the Mahrattas had tried to stop the British approach. He pestered Manu Bappoo, pleading to be allowed to take his Cobras down to where the pioneers were driving the road, but the Rajah's brother adamantly refused to let Dodd's men leave the fortress.

Dodd himself was allowed to leave, but only to exercise his horse, which he did each day by riding west along the brink of the plateau. He did not go far. There was a tempting price on his head, and though no enemy cavalry had been seen on the plateau since the engineer had made his reconnaissance, Dodd still feared that he might be captured, and so he only rode until he could see the British works far beneath him. Then, protected by a handful of Bappoo's horsemen, he would stare through a telescope at the ant-like figures labouring so far below.

He watched the road widen, and lengthen, and one morning he saw that two battalions of infantry had camped in one of the high valleys, and next day he saw the beginnings of an artillery park: three guns, a forage cart, a spare wheel wagon and four ammunition limbers.

He cursed Bappoo, knowing that his Cobras could destroy that small park and hurl the British into dazed confusion, yet the Prince was content to let the enemy climb the escarpment unopposed. The road was being remade, yet even so it was still steep enough in places to need a hundred men to haul one gun. Yet day by day Dodd saw the number of guns increase in the artillery park, then inch up the hill and he knew it would not be long before the British reached the plateau and their besieging forces would seal off the narrow isthmus of rock that led from the cliffs to the great fortress.

And still Manu Bappoo made no proper effort to harry the redcoats.

"We shall stop them here, " the Prince told Dodd, 'here, " and he would gesture at Gawilghur's walls, but William Dodd was not so sure that the redcoats would be stopped so easily. Bappoo might be convinced of the fortress's strength, but Bappoo knew nothing of modern siege craft.

Each morning, as he returned from his excursion along the cliff top, Dodd would dismount as he reached the isthmus and give his horse to one of his escort so that he could walk the attackers' route. He tried to see the fortress as the redcoats would see it, tried to anticipate where their attack would come and how it would be made.

It was, he had to admit, a brutal place to attack. Two great walls protected the Outer Fort, and though the British could undoubtedly breach those walls with cannon fire, the two ramparts stood on a steep slope so that the attackers would need to fight their way uphill to where the defenders would be waiting among the ruins of the breaches. And those breaches would be flanked by the massive round bastions that were too big to be collapsed by the twelve- or eighteen-pounder guns Dodd expected the British to deploy. The bastions would spit round shot, musket balls and rockets down into the British who would be struggling towards the nearer breach, their approach route getting ever narrower until it was finally constricted by the vast tank of water that blocked most of the approach. Dodd walked the route obsessively and could almost feel sorry for the men who would have to do it under fire.

A hundred paces from the fort, where the defenders' fire would be most lethal, the attackers would be squeezed between the reservoir and the cliff edge, compressed into a space just twenty paces wide. Dodd stood in that space each day and stared up at the double walls and counted the artillery pieces. Twenty-two cannon were pointing at him and when the redcoats came those barrels would be loaded with canister, and besides those heavy guns there was a mass of smaller weapons, the murderers and spitfires that could be held by one man and which could blast out a fistful of stone scraps or pistol balls. True, the British would have destroyed some of the larger guns, but the barrels could be mounted on new carriages and re sited behind the vast bastions so that the attackers, if they even succeeded in climbing up to the breach, would be enfiladed by cannon fire. And to reach that far they would need to fight uphill against Bappoo's Arabs, and against the massed musketry of the garrison.

It was a prospect so daunting that Prince Manu Bappoo expected most of the attackers would sheer away from the breaches and run to the Delhi Gate, the Outer Fort's northern entrance. That gate would undoubtedly have been shattered by British cannon fire, but once inside its arch the attackers would find themselves in a trap. The road inside the gate curled up beside the wall, with another great wall outside it, so that anyone on the cobbles was dwarfed by the stone ramparts on either side, and those would be lined with men firing down or else throwing the great rocks that Bappoo had ordered piled onto the fire steps Inch by bloody inch the redcoats would fight their way up the narrow road between the walls, only to turn the corner to see an even greater gate standing in front of them, and one, moreover, that could not be reached by the besiegers' cannon fire. Thus, Bappoo reckoned, the British assault would be thwarted.

Dodd was not so sure. The Prince was right in thinking that there was no way in through the Delhi Gate, but Dodd suspected the breaches would be less formidable. He had begun to see weaknesses in the ancient walls, old cracks that were half hidden by weeds and lichen, and he knew the skill of the British gunners. The wall would break easily, and that meant the breaches would be big and wide, and Dodd reckoned the British would fight their way through. It might be a hard fight, but they would win it. And that meant the British would capture the Outer Fort.

But Dodd did not express that opinion to Bappoo, nor did he urge the Prince to build an earthen glacis outside the wall to soak up the fire of the breaching batteries. Such a glacis would delay the British for days, even weeks, but Dodd encouraged the Prince to believe that the Outer Fort was impregnable, for in that misapprehension lay Dodd's opportunity.

Manu Bappoo had once told Dodd that the Outer Fort was a trap.

An enemy, if they captured the Outer Fort, would think their battle won, but then they would come to Gawilghur's central ravine and find a second, even greater fort, waiting on its far side. But for Dodd the Outer Fort was Manu Bappoo's trap. If Manu Bappoo lost the Outer Fort then he, like the enemy, would have to cross the ravine and climb to the Inner Fort, and it was there that Dodd commanded and, try as Dodd might, he could see no weaknesses in the Inner Fort's de fences

Neither Manu Bappoo nor the British could ever cross the ravine, not if Dodd opposed them.

The Inner Fort was quite separate from the Outer. No wall joined them, only a track that dropped steeply to the bed of the ravine and then climbed, even more steeply, to the intricate gateway of the Inner Fort. Dodd used that track each day, and he tried to imagine himself as an attacker. Twenty more guns faced him from the Inner Fort's single wall as he descended the ravine, and none of those guns would have been dismounted by cannon fire. Muskets would be pouring their shot down into the rocky ravine and rockets would be slashing bloodily through the British ranks. The redcoats would die here like rats being pounded in a bucket, and even if some did survive to climb the track towards the gate, they would only reach Gawilghur's last horror.

That horror was the entrance, where four vast gates barred the Inner Fort, four gates set one after another in a steep passage that was flanked by towering walls. There was no other way in. Even if the British breached the Inner Fort's wall it would not help, for the wall was built on top of the precipice which formed the southern side of the ravine, and no man could climb that slope and hope to survive.

The only way in was through the gate, and Wellesley, Dodd had learned, did not like lengthy sieges. He had escaladed Ahmednuggur, surprising its defenders by sending men with ladders against the unbreached walls, and Dodd was certain that Wellesley would similarly try to rush the Inner Fort. He could not approach the wall, perched on its cliff, so he would be forced to send his men into the ghastly entrance that twisted as it climbed, and for every steep step of the way, between each of the four great gates, they would be pounded by muskets, crushed by stones, blasted by cannon and savaged by rockets dropped from the parapets. It could not be done. Dodd's Cobras would be on the fire steps and the redcoats would be beneath them, and the redcoats would die like cat de

Dodd had no great opinion of Indian rockets, but he had stockpiled more than a thousand above the Inner Fort's murderous entrance, for within the close confines of the walled road the weapons would prove lethal. The rockets were made of hammered tin, each one about sixteen inches long and four or five inches in diameter, with a bamboo stick the height of a man attached to each tin cylinder that was crammed with powder. Dodd had experimented with the weapon and found that a lit rocket tossed down into the gate passage would sear and bounce from wall to wall, and even when it finally stopped careering madly about the roadway, it went on belching out a torch of flame that would scorch trapped men terribly. A dozen rockets dropped between two of the gates might kill a score of men and burn another score half to death. Just let them come, Dodd prayed as he climbed each morning towards the Inner Fort. Let them come! Let them come and let them take the Outer Fort, for then Manu Bappoo must die and the British would then come to Dodd and die like the Prince.

And afterwards the fugitives of their beaten army would be pursued south across the Deccan Plain. Their bodies would rot in the heat and their bones whiten in the sun, and the British power in India would be broken and Dodd would be Lord of Gawilghur.

Just let the bastards come.

That evening Sergeant Hakeswill pushed aside the folds of muslin to enter Captain Torrance's quarters. The Captain was lying naked in his hammock where he was being fanned by a bamboo punk ah that had been rigged to a ceiling beam. His native servant kept the punk ah moving by tugging on a string, while Clare Wall trimmed the Captain's fingernails.

"Not too close, Brick, " Torrance said.

"Leave me enough to scratch with, there's a good girl." He raised his eyes to Hakeswill.

"Did you knock, Sergeant?"

"Twice, sir, " Hakeswill lied, 'loud and clear, sir."

"Brick will have to ream out my ears. Say good evening to the Sergeant, Brick. Where are our manners tonight?"

Clare lifted her eyes briefly to acknowledge Hakeswill's presence and mumbled something barely audible. Hakeswill snatched off his hat.

"Pleasure to see you, Mrs. Wall, " he said eagerly, 'a proper pleasure, my jewel." He bobbed his head to her and winked at Torrance, who flinched.

«Brick,» Torrance said, 'the Sergeant and I have military matters to discuss. So take yourself to the garden." He patted her hand and watched her leave.

"And no listening at the window! " he added archly.

He waited until Clare had sidled past the muslin that hung over the kitchen entrance, then leaned precariously from the hammock to pick up a green silk robe that he draped over his crotch.

"I would hate to shock you, Sergeant."

"Beyond shock, sir, me, sir. Ain't nothing living I ain't seen naked, sir, all of 'em naked as needles, and never once was I shocked, sir.

Ever since they strung me up by the neck I've been beyond shock, sir."

And beyond sense, too, Torrance thought, but he suppressed the comment.

"Has Brick left the kitchen?"

Hakeswill peered past the muslin.

"She's gone, sir."

"She's not at the window?"

Hakeswill checked the window.

"On the far side of the yard, sir, like a good girl."

"I trust you've brought me news?"

"Better than news, sir, better than news." The Sergeant crossed to the table and emptied his pocket.

"Your notes to Jama, sir, all of them.

Ten thousand rupees, and all paid off. You're out of debt, sir, out of debt."

Relief seared through Torrance. Debt was a terrible thing, a dreadful thing, yet seemingly inescapable if a man was to live to the full. Twelve hundred guineas! How could he ever have gambled that much away? It had been madness! Yet now it was paid, and paid in full.

"Burn the notes, " he ordered Hakeswill.

Hakeswill held the notes into a candle flame one by one, then let them shrivel and burn on the table. The draught from the punk ah disturbed the smoke and scattered the little scraps of black ash that rose from the small fires.

"And Jama, sir, being a gentleman, despite being an heathen bastard blackamoor, added a thankee, " Hakeswill said, putting some gold coins on the table.

"How much?"

"Seven hundred rupees there, sir."

"He gave us more, I know that. You're cheating me, Sergeant."

«Sir!» Hakeswill straightened indignantly.

"On my life, sir, and I speak as a Christian, I ain't ever cheated a soul in my life, sir, not unless they deserved it, in which case they gets it right and proper, sir, like it says in the scriptures."

Torrance stared at Hakeswill.

"Jama will be back in the camp in a day or two. I can ask him."

"And you will find, sir, that I have treated you foursquare and straight, sir, on the nail, sir, on the drumhead, as one soldier to another."

Hakeswill sniffed.

"I'm hurt, sir."

Torrance yawned.

"You have my sincerest, deepest and most fervent apologies, Sergeant. So tell me about Sharpe."

Hakeswill glanced at the punk ah boy.

"Does that heathen speak English, sir?"

"Of course not."

"Sharpie's no more, sir." Hakeswill's face twitched as he remembered the pleasure of kicking his enemy.

"Stripped the bastard naked, sir, gave him a headache he won't ever forget, not that he's got long to remember anything now on account of him being on his way to meet his executioner, and I kept him trussed up till Jama's men came to fetch him. Which they did, sir, so now he's gone, sir. Gone for bleeding ever, just as he deserves."

"You stripped him?" Torrance asked, puzzled.

"Didn't want the bastards dropping off a body all dressed up in an officer's coat, sir, even though the little bleeder should never have worn one, him being nothing more than a jumped-up dribble of dried toad spittle sir. So we stripped him and burned the uniform, sir."

"And nothing went wrong?"

Hakeswill's face twitched as he shrugged.

"His boy got away, but he didn't make no trouble. Just vanished. Probably went back to his mummy."

Torrance smiled. All was done, all was solved. Even better, he could resume his trade with Jama, though perhaps with a little more circumspection than in the past.

"Did Sajit go with Sharpe?" he asked, knowing he would need an efficient clerk if he was to hide the treacherous transactions in the ledger.

"No, sir. He's with me, sir, outside, sir." Hakeswill jerked his head towards the front room.

"He wanted to go, sir, but I gave him a thumping on account of us needing him here, sir, and after that he was as good as gold, sir, even if he is an heathen bit of scum."

Torrance smiled.

"I am vastly in your debt, Sergeant Hakeswill, " he said.

"Just doing my duty, sir." Hakeswill's face twitched as he grinned and gestured towards the garden window.

"And hoping for a soldier's reward, sir."

"Brick, you mean?" Torrance asked.

"Me heart's desire, sir, " Hakeswill said hoarsely.

"Her and me, sir, made for each other. Says so in the scriptures."

"Then the fruition of the prophecy must wait a while, " Torrance said, 'because I need Brick to look after me, and your duty, Sergeant, is to assume Mister Sharpe's responsibilities. We shall wait till someone notices that he's missing, then claim that he must have been ambushed by Mahrattas while on his way here. Then you'll go up the mountain to help the engineers."

"Me, sir?" Hakeswill sounded alarmed at the prospect of having to do some real work.

"Up the mountain?"

"Someone has to be there. You can't expect me to do it! " Torrance said indignantly.

"Someone must stay here and shoulder the heavier responsibilities. It won't be for long, Sergeant, not for long. And once the campaign is over I can assure you that your heart's desires will be fully met." But not, he decided, before Hakeswill paid him the money Clare owed for her passage out from England. That money could come from the cash that Jama had given Hakeswill this night which, Torrance was sure, was a great deal more than the Sergeant had admitted.

"Make yourself ready, Sergeant, " Torrance ordered.

"Doubtless you will be needed up the road tomorrow."

"Yes, sir, " Hakeswill said sullenly.

"Well done, good and faithful Hakeswill, " Torrance said grandly.

"Don't let any moths in as you leave."

Hakeswill went. He had three thousand three hundred rupees in his pocket and a fortune in precious stones hidden in his cartridge box. He would have liked to have celebrated with Clare Wall, but he did not doubt that his chance would come and so, for the moment, he was a satisfied man. He looked at the first stars pricking the sky above

Gawilghur's plateau and reflected that he had rarely been more content.

He had taken his revenge, he had become wealthy, and thus all was well in Obadiah Hakeswill's world.