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.
