Free Sharpe 3-Book Collection 3: Sharpe's Trafalgar, Sharpe's Prey, Sharpe's Rifles by Bernard Cornwell Page A

immersed in knowledge, but I was sent to sea for my parents believed I would be beyond earthly temptation if I was far from any shore. But I taught myself, Mister Sharpe. I learned from books’ – he waved at the shelves – ‘and discovered that I am well named. I am peculiar, Mister Sharpe, in my opinions, apprehensions and conclusions.’ He shook his head sadly, rippling his long hair which rested on the shoulders of his heavy blue coat. ‘All around me I espy educated men, rational men, conventional men and, above all, sociable men, but I have discovered that no such creature ever did a great thing. It is among the lonely, Mister Sharpe, that true greatness occurs.’ He scowled, as though that burden was almost too heavy to bear. ‘You too, I think, are a peculiar man,’ Cromwell went on. ‘You have been plucked by destiny from your natural place among the dregs of society and have been translated into an officer. And that’ – he leaned forward and jabbed a finger at Sharpe – ‘must make for loneliness.’
    ‘I have never lacked friends,’ Sharpe said, evading the embarrassing conversation.
    ‘You trust yourself, Mister Sharpe,’ Cromwell boomed, ignoring Sharpe’s words, ‘as I have learned to trust myself in the knowledge that no one else can be trusted. We have been set aside, you and I, as lonely men doomed to watch the traffic of those who are not peculiar. But today, Mister Sharpe, I am going to insist that you put your mistrust aside. I shall demand that you trust me.’
    ‘In what, sir?’
    Cromwell paused as the tiller ropes creaked and groaned beneath him, then glanced up at a telltale compass fixed above the bunk. ‘A ship is a small world, Mister Sharpe,’ he said, ‘and I am appointed the ruler of that world. Upon this vessel I am lord of all, and the power of life and death is granted to me, but I do not crave such power. What I crave, Mister Sharpe, is order. Order!’ He slapped a hand on the charts. ‘And I will not abide thievery on my ship!’
    Sharpe sat up in indignation. ‘Thievery! Are you . . .’
    ‘No!’ Cromwell interrupted him. ‘Of course I am not accusing you. But there will be thievery, Mister Sharpe, if you continue to flaunt your wealth.’
    Sharpe smiled. ‘I’m an ensign, sir, lowest of the low. You said yourself I’d been plucked out of my place, and you know there’s no money down there. I’m not wealthy.’
    ‘Then what, Mister Sharpe, is sewn into the seams of your garment?’ Cromwell asked.
    Sharpe said nothing. A king’s ransom was sewn into the hems of his coat, the tops of his boots and the waistband of his trousers, and the jewels in his coat were showing because of the frailty of the red-dyed cloth.
    ‘Sailors are keen-eyed fellows, Mister Sharpe,’ Cromwell growled. He looked irritated when the gun fired from the main deck, as though the sound had interrupted his thinking. ‘Sailors have to be keen-eyed,’ he continued, ‘and mine are clever enough to know that a soldier hides his plunder on his person, and they’re keen-eyed enough to note that Mister Sharpe does not take off his coat, and one night, Mister Sharpe, when you go forrard to the heads, or when you take the air on the deck, a keen-eyed sailor will come at you from behind. A belaying pin? A strike at your skull? A splash in the night? Who would miss you?’ He smiled, revealing long yellow teeth, then touched the hilt of one of the pistols on the table. ‘If I were to shoot you now, strip your body and then push you through the scuttle, who would dare contradict my story that you had attacked me?’
    Sharpe said nothing.
    Cromwell’s hand stayed on the pistol. ‘You have a chest in your cabin?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘But you don’t trust my sailors. You know they will break through its lock in a matter of seconds.’
    ‘They would too,’ Sharpe said.
    ‘But they will not dare break into my chest!’ Cromwell declared, gesturing beneath the table where a vast