Free Sharpe's Escape by Bernard Cornwell Page A

verve for skirmishing."
    "He's a good officer," Sharpe said indignantly, and then wished he had not spoken so forcibly for the pain in his ribs seemed to stab right to his heart.
    "Oh, none finer!" Lawford agreed hastily. "And an admirable character, but you skirmishers aren't dull fellows, are you? You're the whippers-in! I need my light company to be audacious! Aggressive! Astute!" Each quality was accompanied by a thump that rattled the glass and silverware on the table, but the Colonel paused after the third, evidently realizing that astuteness lacked the force of audacity and aggression. He thought for a few seconds, trying to find a more impressive word, then carried on without thinking of it. "I believe Cornelius has those qualities and I look to you, Sharpe, to bring him on." Lawford paused again, as if expecting Sharpe to respond, but when the rifleman said nothing the Colonel looked acutely embarrassed. "The nub of the matter is, Sharpe, that Cornelius seems to think you don't like him."
    "Most people think that, sir," Sharpe said woodenly.
    "Do they?" Lawford looked surprised. "I suppose they might. Not everyone knows you as well as I do." He paused to draw on his cigar. "Do you ever miss India, Sharpe?"
    "India," Sharpe responded cautiously. He and Lawford had served there together when Lawford had been a lieutenant and Sharpe a private. "I liked it well enough."
    "There are regiments in India that could use an experienced officer," Lawford said casually and Sharpe felt a stab of betrayal because the words suggested the Colonel did want to be rid of him. He said nothing, and Lawford seemed unaware of having given any offence. "So I can reassure Cornelius that all is well?"
    "Yes, sir," Sharpe said, then stood. "I must go and inspect the picquets, sir."
    "Of course you must," Lawford said, not hiding his frustration with the conversation. "We should talk more often, Sharpe."
    Sharpe took his battered shako and walked out into the fog-shrouded night. He picked his way through the thick darkness, going across the ridge's wide crest and then some short way down the eastern slope until he could just see the mist-blurred string of enemy fires in the valley's deep darkness. Let them come, he thought, let them come. If he could not murder Ferragus then he would take out his anger on the French. He heard footsteps behind him, but did not turn round. "Evening, Pat," he said.
    "What happened to you?" Harper must have seen Sharpe inside the Colonel's tent and had followed him down the slope.
    "That bloody Ferragus and two of his coves."
    "Tried to kill you?"
    Sharpe shook his head. "Bloody nearly succeeded. Would have done, except three provosts came along."
    "Provosts! Never thought they'd be useful. And how is Mister Ferragus?"
    "I hurt him, but not enough. He beat me, Pat. Beat me bloody."
    Harper thought about that. "And what did you tell the Colonel?"
    "That I had a tumble."
    "So that's what I'll tell the lads when they notice you're better-looking than usual. And tomorrow I'll keep an eye open for Mister Ferragus. You think he'll be back for more?"
    "No, he's buggered off."
    "We'll find him, sir, we'll find him."
    "But not tomorrow, Pat. We're going to be busy tomorrow. Major Hogan reckons the Frogs are coming up this hill."
    Which was a comforting thought to end the day, and the two sat, listening to the singing from the dark encampments behind. A dog began barking somewhere in the British lines and immediately dozens of others echoed the sound, prompting angry shouts as the beasts were told to be quiet, and slowly peace descended again, all but for one dog that would not stop. On and on it went, barking frantically, until there was the sudden harsh crack of a musket or pistol.
    "That's the way to do it," Harper said.
    Sharpe said nothing. He just gazed down the hill to where the French fires were a dull, hazed glow in the mist. "But what will we do about Mister Ferragus?" Harper asked. "He can't be allowed to get away