Torrance meekly raised his bottom to take out his leather pouch which held the powder and bullets for his pistols. He gave the bag to Sharpe, thought about fetching the robe himself, then decided that any untoward move might upset his visitor.
'I'm delighted to see you're alive, Sharpe, ' he said.
'Are you, sir?' Sharpe asked.
'Of course.'
'Then why did you sell me to Jama?'
'Sell you? Don't be ridiculous, Sharpe. No! ' The cry came as the pistol barrel whipped towards him, and it turned into a moan as the barrel slashed across his cheek. Torrance touched his face and winced at the blood on his fingers.
'Sharpe' he began.
'Shut it, sir, ' Sharpe said nastily. He perched on the table and poured some powder into the pistol barrel.
'I talked to Jama last night. He tried to have me killed by a couple ofjettis. You know what jet tis are, sir?
Religious strongmen, sir, but they must have been praying to the wrong God, for I cut one's throat and left the other bugger blinded.' He paused to select a bullet from the pouch.
'And I had a chat with
Jama when I'd killed his thugs and he told me lots of interesting things. Like that you traded with him and his brother. You're a traitor, Torrance.'
'Sharpe- 'I said shut it! ' Sharpe snapped. He pushed the bullet into the pistol's muzzle, then drew out the short ramrod and shoved it down the barrel.
'The thing is, Torrance, ' he went on in a calmer tone, 'I know the truth. All of it. About you and Hakeswill and about you and Jama and about you and Naig.' He smiled at Torrance, then slotted the short ramrod back into its hoops.
'I used to think officers were above that sort of crime. I knew the men were crooked, because I was crooked, but you don't have much choice, do you, when you've got nothing?
But you, sir, you had everything you wanted. Rich parents, proper schooling.' Sharpe shook his head.
'You don't understand, Sharpe.'
'But I do, sir. Now look at me. My ma was a whore, and not a very good one by all accounts, and she went and died and left me with nothing.
Bloody nothing! And the thing is, sir, that when I go to General Wellesley and I tells him about you selling muskets to the enemy, who's he going to believe? You, with your proper education, or me with a dead frow as a mother?' Sharpe looked at Torrance as though he expected an answer, but none came.
'He's going to believe you, sir, isn't he? He'd never believe me, on account of me not being a proper gentleman who knows his Latin. And you know what that means, sir?'
'Sharpe?'
'It means justice won't be done, sir. But, on the other hand, you're a gentleman, so you knows your duty, don't you?' Sharpe edged off the table and gave the pistol, butt first, to Torrance.
'Hold it just in front of your ear, ' he advised Torrance, 'or else put it in your mouth. Makes more mess that way, but it's surer.'
«Sharpe!» Torrance said, and found he had nothing to say. The pistol felt heavy in his hand.
'It won't hurt, sir, ' Sharpe said comfortingly.
'You'll be dead in the blink of an eyelid.' He began scooping the coins off the table into Torrance's pouch. He heard the heavy click as the pistol was cocked, then glanced round to see that the muzzle was pointing at his face.
He frowned and shook his head in disappointment.
'And I thought you were a gentleman, sir.'
'I'm not a fool, Sharpe, ' Torrance said vengefully. He stood and took a pace closer to the Ensign.
'And I'm worth ten of you. Up from the ranks? You know what that makes you, Sharpe? It makes you a brute, a lucky brute, but it don't make you a real officer. You're not going to be welcome anywhere, Sharpe. You'll be endured, Sharpe, because officers have manners, but they won't welcome you because you ain't a proper officer. You weren't born to it, Sharpe.' Torrance laughed at the look of horrified outrage on Sharpe's face.
'Christ, I despise you! ' he said savagely.
'You're like a dressed-up monkey, Sharpe, only you can't even wear clothes properly! I could give you lace and braid, and you'd still look like a peasant, because that's what you are, Sharpe. Officers should have style! They should have wit!
And all you can do is grunt. You know what you are, Sharpe? You're an embarrassment, you're.. ' He paused, trying to find the right insult, and shook his head in frustration as the words would not come.
'You're a lump, Sharpe! That's what you are, a lump! And the kindest thing is to finish you off.' Torrance smiled.
'Goodbye, Mister Sharpe.' He pulled the trigger.
The flint smashed down on the steel and the spark flashed into the empty pan.
Sharpe reached out in the silence and took the pistol from Torrance's hand.
'I loaded it, sir, but I didn't prime it. On account of the fact that I might be a lump, but I ain't any kind of fool.' He pushed Torrance back into the chair, and Torrance could only watch as Sharpe dropped a pinch of powder into the pan. He flinched as Sharpe closed the friz zen then shuddered as Sharpe walked towards him.
'No, Sharpe, no!»
Sharpe stood behind Torrance.
'You tried to have me killed, sir, and I don't like that.' He pressed the pistol into the side of the Captain's head.
«Sharpe!» Torrance pleaded. He was shaking, but he seemed powerless to offer any resistance, then the muslin curtain from the kitchen was swept aside and Clare Wall came into the room. She stopped and stared with huge eyes at Sharpe.
«Clare!» Torrance pleaded.
'Fetch help! Quickly now! ' Clare did not move.
'Fetch help, my dear! ' Torrance said.
'She'll be a witness against you, Sharpe.' Torrance had turned to look at Sharpe and was babbling now.
'So the best thing you can do is to put the gun down. I'll say nothing about this, nothing! Just a touch of fever in you, I expect. It's all a misunderstanding and we shall forget it ever happened. Maybe we could share a bottle of arrack? Clare, my dear, maybe you could find a bottle?'
Clare stepped towards Sharpe and held out her hand.
'Fetch help, my dear, ' Torrance said, 'he's not going to give you the gun.'
'He is, ' Sharpe said, and he gave Clare the pistol.
Torrance breathed a great sigh of relief, then Clare clumsily turned the gun and pointed it at Torrance's head. The Captain just stared at her.
'Eyes front, Captain, ' Sharpe said, and turned Torrance's head so that the bullet would enter from the side, just as it might if Torrance had committed suicide.
'Are you sure?' he asked Clare.
'God help me, ' she said, 'but I've dreamed of doing this.' She straightened her arm so that the pistol's muzzle touched Torrance's temple.
«No!» he called.
'No, please! No!»
But she could not pull the trigger. Sharpe could see she wanted to, but her finger would not tighten and so Sharpe took the gun from her, edged her gently aside, then pushed the barrel into Torrance's oiled hair.
'No, please! ' the Captain appealed. He was weeping.
'I beg you, Sharpe. Please!»
