Sharpe 3-Book Collection 1: Sharpe’s Tiger, Sharpe’s Triumph, Sharpe’s Fortress. Bernard Cornwell

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СКАЧАТЬ no mystery about using naked powder and ball. Plainly the Tippoo wished to see how proficient the two men were and, while Lawford hesitated, Sharpe stooped to the pot and took out a handful of powder. He straightened up and let the black powder trickle down the gun’s chased barrel. The powder was extraordinarily fine and a fair bit blew away on the small wind, but he had enough to spare and, once the charge was safe inside the barrel, he stooped again, picked up the bullet, shoved it into the muzzle and scraped the ramrod out of its three golden hoops. He twirled the ramrod, let it slide through his hand onto the bullet and then slammed the missile hard down onto the powder charge. The Tippoo had provided no wadding, but Sharpe guessed it did not matter. He pulled the ramrod out, reversed it and let it fall into the precious loops beneath the long barrel. Then he stooped again, took a pinch of powder, primed the gun, closed the frizzen and stood to attention with the gun’s jewelled butt grounded beside him. ‘Sir!’ he said, signifying he was done.

      Lawford was still trying to trickle powder into the muzzle. The Lieutenant was just as proficient at loading a gun as Sharpe, but being an officer he was never required to do it quickly, for that was the one indispensable skill of a private soldier. Lawford only loaded guns while hunting, but in the army he had a servant who loaded his pistols and never in his life had he needed to be quick with a gun and now he demonstrated a lamentable slowness. ‘He was a clerk, sir,’ Sharpe explained to Gudin. He paused to lick the powder residue off his fingers. ‘He never needed to fight, like.’

      The interpreter translated the words for the Tippoo who waited patiently as Lawford finished loading the musket. The Tippoo, like his entourage, was amused at the Englishman’s slowness, but Sharpe’s explanation that Lawford had been a clerk seemed to convince them. Lawford at last finished and, very self-consciously, stood to attention.

      ‘You can evidently load,’ the Tippoo said to Sharpe, ‘but can you shoot?’

      ‘Aye, sir,’ Sharpe answered the interpreter.

      The Tippoo pointed over Sharpe’s shoulder. ‘Then shoot him.’

      Sharpe and Lawford both turned to see an elderly British officer being escorted through the courtyard’s gate. The man was weak and pale, and he stumbled as the bright sunlight struck his eyes. He cuffed with a manacled hand at his face, then looked up and recognized Lawford. For a second an expression of disbelief crossed his face, then he managed to hide whatever emotion he was feeling. The officer was white-haired and dressed in a kilt and red jacket, both garments stained with dust and damp, and Sharpe, horrified to see a British officer so dishevelled and humiliated, presumed this had to be Colonel McCandless.

      ‘You can’t shoot …’ Lawford began.

      ‘Shut up, Bill,’ Sharpe said and brought the musket up to his shoulder and swung its muzzle to face the horrified Scots officer.

      ‘Wait!’ Gudin shouted, then spoke urgently to the Tippoo. The Tippoo laughed away Gudin’s protest. Instead he had his interpreter ask Sharpe what he thought about British officers.

      ‘Scum, sir,’ Sharpe said loudly enough for Colonel McCandless to hear. ‘Goddamn bloody scum, sir. Think they’re better than us because the bastards can read and were born with a bit of money, but there ain’t one I couldn’t beat in a fight.’

      ‘You are willing to shoot that one?’ the interpreter asked.

      ‘I’d pay for the chance,’ Sharpe said vengefully. Lawford hissed at him, but Sharpe ignored the warning. ‘Pay for it,’ he said again.

      ‘His Majesty would like you to do it very close,’ the interpreter said. ‘He wants you to blow the man’s head off.’

      ‘It’ll be a bloody pleasure,’ Sharpe said enthusiastically. He cocked the gun as he walked towards the man he presumed he had been sent to save. He stared at McCandless as he approached and there was nothing but brute pleasure on Sharpe’s hard face. ‘Stuck-up Scotch bastard,’ Sharpe spat at him. He looked at the two guards who still flanked the Colonel. ‘Move out the way, you stupid sods, else you’ll be smothered in the bastard’s blood.’ The two men stared blankly at him, but neither moved and Sharpe guessed that neither man spoke any English. Doctor Venkatesh, who had been trying to hide in the gateway’s shadows, shook his head in horror at what was about to happen.

      Sharpe raised the musket so that its muzzle was no more than six inches from McCandless’s face. ‘Any message for General Harris?’ he asked softly.

      McCandless again hid his reaction, other than sparing one glance at Lawford. Then he looked back to Sharpe and spat at him. ‘Attack anywhere but from the west,’ the Scotsman said quietly, and then, much louder, ‘May God forgive you.’

      ‘Bugger God,’ Sharpe said, then pulled the trigger. The flint fell, it snapped its spark on the frizzen and nothing else happened. McCandless’s face jerked back as the flint sparked, then an expression of pure relief crossed his face. Sharpe hesitated a second, then drove the gun’s muzzle into the Colonel’s belly. The blow looked hard, but he checked it at the last moment. McCandless still doubled over, gasping, and Sharpe raised the jewelled butt to bring it hard down on the officer’s grey head.

      ‘Stop!’ Gudin shouted.

      Sharpe paused and turned. ‘I thought you wanted the bugger dead.’

      The Tippoo laughed. ‘We need him alive for a while. But you passed your test.’ He turned and spoke to Gudin, and Gudin answered vigorously. It seemed to Sharpe that they were discussing his fate, and he prayed he would be spared a painful initiation into one of the Tippoo’s cushoons. Another Indian officer, a tall man in a silk tunic decorated with the Tippoo’s tiger stripes, was talking to Mary while Sharpe still stood above the crouching McCandless.

      ‘Did Harris send you?’ McCandless asked softly.

      ‘Yes,’ Sharpe hissed, not looking at the Colonel. Mary was shaking her head. She glanced at Sharpe, then looked back to the tall Indian.

      ‘Beware the west,’ McCandless whispered. ‘Nothing else.’ The Scotsman groaned, pretending to be in much more pain than he was. He retched dryly, tried to stand and instead toppled over. ‘You’re a traitor,’ he said loudly enough for Gudin to hear him, ‘and you’ll die a traitor’s death.’

      Sharpe spat on McCandless. ‘Come here, Sharpe!’ Gudin, disapproval plain in his voice, ordered him.

      Sharpe marched back to Lawford’s side where one of the Tippoo’s attendants took back the two muskets. The Tippoo gestured at McCandless’s guards, evidently signifying that the Scotsman was to be returned to his cell. The Tippoo then gave Sharpe an approving nod before turning and leading his entourage out of the courtyard. The tall Indian in the silk tiger stripes beckoned to Mary.

      ‘I’m to go with him, love,’ she explained to Sharpe.

      ‘I thought you were staying with me!’ Sharpe protested.

      ‘I’m to earn my keep,’ she said. ‘I’m to teach his little sons English. And sweep and wash, of course,’ she added bitterly.

      Colonel Gudin intervened. ‘She will join you later,’ he told Sharpe. ‘But for now you are both, how do you say it? On test?’

      ‘Probation, sir?’ Lawford offered.

      ‘Exactly,’ Gudin said. ‘And soldiers on probation are not permitted wives. Don’t worry, Sharpe. I’m sure your woman will be safe in General Rao’s house. СКАЧАТЬ