'I expected to see you in our small establishment tonight, Captain, ' Jama said. Where his brother had been plump, noisy and a braggart, Jama was lean, silent and watchful.
Torrance shrugged.
'Maybe tomorrow night?'
'You will be welcome, Captain, as always. 'Jama took a small sheaf of papers from his pocket and fanned his face with them.
'Ten thousand welcomes, Captain.'
Ten thousand rupees. That was the value of the papers in Jama's hand, all of them notes signed by Torrance. He had signed far more, but the others he had paid off with supplies filched from the convoys. Jama was here to remind Torrance that his greatest debts remained unpaid.
'About today.. ' Torrance said awkwardly.
'Ah, yes! ' Jama said, as though he had momentarily forgotten the reason for his visit.
'About today, Captain. Do tell me about today.' The jetti said nothing, just leaned against the wall with folded arms, his oiled muscles shining in the candlelight and his dark eyes fixed immovably on Torrance.
'I've already told you. It wasn't of my doing, ' Torrance said with as much dignity as a naked man could muster.
'You were the one who demanded my brother's death, ' Jama said.
'What choice did I have? Once the supplies were found?'
'But perhaps you arranged for them to be found?'
«No!» Torrance protested.
'Why the hell would I do that?'
Jama was silent a moment, then indicated the huge man at his side.
'His name is Prithviraj. I once saw him castrate a man with his bare hands.' Jama mimed a pulling action, smiling.
'You'd be astonished at how far a little skin can stretch before it breaks.'
'For God's sake! ' Torrance had gone pale.
'It was not my doing!»
'Then whose doing was it?'
'His name is Sharpe. Ensign Sharpe.'
Jama walked to Torrance's table where he turned the pages of Some Reflections on Paul's Epistle to the Ephesians.
'This Sharpe, ' he asked, 'he was not obeying your orders?'
'Of course not!»
Jama shrugged.
'My brother was careless, ' he admitted, 'over confident. He believed that with your friendship he could survive any enquiry.'
'We were doing business, ' Torrance said.
'It was not friendship. And I told your brother he should have hidden the supplies.'
'Yes, 'Jama said, 'he should. And so I told him also. But even so, Captain, I come from a proud family. You expect me to watch my brother killed and do nothing about it?' He fanned out the notes of Torrance's debts.
'I shall return these to you, Captain, when you deliver Ensign Sharpe to me. Alive! I want Prithviraj to take my revenge. You understand?'
Torrance understood well enough.
'Sharpe's a British officer, ' he said.
'If he's murdered there'll be an enquiry. A real enquiry. Heads will be broken.'
'That is your problem, Captain Torrance, ' Jama said.
'How you explain his disappearance is your affair. As are your debts.' He smiled and pushed the notes back into the pouch at his belt.
'Give me Sharpe, Captain Torrance, or I shall send Prithviraj to visit you in the night. In the meantime, you will please continue to patronize our establishment.'
«Bastard,» Torrance said, but Jama and his huge companion had already gone. Torrance picked up Some Reflections on Paul's Epistle to the Ephesians and slammed the heavy book down on a moth.
«Bastard,» he said again. But on the other hand it was Sharpe who would suffer, not him, so it did not really matter. And what was Sharpe anyway? Nothing but an upstart from the ranks, so who would care if he died? Torrance killed another moth, then opened the kitchen door.
'Come here, Brick.'
'No, sir, please?'
'Shut up. And come here. You can kill these damn moths while I get drunk.'
Filthy drunk, he reckoned, for he had been scared today. He knew he had very nearly got caught when Sharpe had stripped the tent away from the purloined supplies, but by killing Naig quickly Torrance had protected himself, and now the price of his continued survival was Sharpe's death. Arrange that, he thought, and all his troubles would be past. He forced Brick to drink some arrack, knowing how she hated it.
Then he drank some himself. Damn Sharpe to hell, he thought, damn the interfering bastard to hell, which was where Sharpe was going anyway so Torrance drank to that happy prospect. Farewell, Mister Sharpe.
CHAPTER 4
Sharpe was not sure how far away Deogaum was, but guessed it was close to twenty miles and that was at least a seven-hour journey on foot, and so it was long before dawn when he stirred Ahmed from his sleep beside the smouldering remains of a bullock-dung fire, then set off under the stars. He tried to teach Ahmed some English.
«Stars,» Sharpe said, pointing.
«Stars,» Ahmed repeated dutifully.
«Moon,» Sharpe said.
«Moon,» Ahmed echoed.
'Sky.'
'Moon?' Ahmed asked, curious that Sharpe was still pointing to the sky.
'Sky, you bugger.'
'Skyoobugger?'
'Never mind, ' Sharpe said. He was hungry, and he had forgotten to ask Captain Torrance where he was supposed to draw rations, but their northward route took them through the village of Argaum where the fighting battalions of the army were bivouacked. Unburied bodies still littered the battlefield, and scavenging wild dogs growled from the dark stench as Sharpe and Ahmed walked past. A picquet challenged them at the village, and Sharpe asked the man where he would find the cavalry lines. He could not imagine taking Ahmed to the 74th's mess for breakfast, but Sergeant Eli Lockhart might be more welcoming.
The reveille had sounded by the time Sharpe came to the gully where the horses were picketed and the troopers' campfires were being restored to life. Lockhart scowled at the unexpected visitor through the smoky dawn gloom, then grinned when he recognized Sharpe.
'Must be some fighting to do, lads, ' he announced, 'the bleeding infantry's here. Good morning, sir. Need our help again?'
'I need some breakfast, ' Sharpe admitted.
'Tea, that'll start you off. Smithers! Pork chops! Davies! Some of that bread you're hiding from me. Look lively now! ' Lockhart turned back to Sharpe.
'Don't ask me where the chops come from, sir. I might have to lie.' He spat in a tin mug, scoured its interior with the end of his blanket, then filled it with tea.
'There you are, sir. Does your boy want some?
Here you are, lad.' Lockhart, a mug of tea in his own hand, then insisted on taking Sharpe to the picketed
