28 May; Good Business

It was not a good day in the world of Sergeant Donnelly. A check of his stock revealed that he was shorter on flour than his lists indicated. This was not good. He had not done any trading of late, which meant some daring soul had been helping himself to the company's stores. This was simply not allowable. It was one thing for Donnelly to misuse the stores he was entrusted with. For someone else to take the same liberties...

The sergeant scowled at his stores book and slammed it shut bad-temperedly. This meant he had to keep a closer watch on things. Or post a guard - but that would mean admitting his books were not honest. No. He could not do that. A closer watch was the only way. Damn. There were far better ways to spend his time, but not if he wished to catch the light-fingered beggar who was helping himself to the stores.

He folded a plug of tobacco into his cheek and wondered if the culprit was one of those wily little Light Bobs. You couldn't trust a light company man. Not at all...

The culprit Donnelly was looking for, or one of them at least, was not so very far away. In Davy's opinion, Donnelly didn't give him enough for the little jobs that the quartermaster had him doing occasionally around the place, so he helped himself to a small bonus every now and again. Only occasionally, and only a little bit, whenever he was very certain he could get away with it. Davy was careful around Donnelly. The quartermaster could make a lot of trouble for him if he wanted to.

"Hoo are ye the day?" Davy said cheerfully as he trotted up to Donnelly. Not good - the quartermaster looked to be in a specially foul humour.

How was he? Donnelly frowned at the boy. Damn him his good cheer. "Devil take yer day," the sergeant replied. "What're you skulkin' around here for?"

"Well noo, Ah came just te visit ye, marra," Davy said in an injured tone, "an' ye hail us sich a way? Divvent look se dowie." Despite this friendly greeting of Donnelly, he kept a wary distance from the man.

Donnelly made a noise of derision in the back of his throat. "Sure aye. Like's not you're come to carry off stores, like some cheeky little skiver's been doin'." He eyed the lad speculatively. It was possible, of course, that this was the culprit. It was equally possible that he knew who was. "You gets 'round the camp. Don't s'pose you'll know who's been at it?"

"Nivvor us, Ah dorsn't!" Davy said, grinning. "Ye'd hev wor hide." He lounged against the nearest support, and kept a careful lookout on Donnelly for any sign of serious suspicion. Davy's grin might have been nonchalant, but his eyes were sharp - watching for danger, as well as a possible opportunity. "Mevvies Ah can find oot fer ye whee's ben snafflin', if ye wants us te de."

Right.

"For a price, I'd wager," Donnelly said testily. "Scamps like you don't do anythin' f' free."

Not that he was any different himself.

"Whey aye, fer a price," Davy agreed. "Ah divvent hev sich time as te de favours fer free."

Donnelly rolled his eyes. "You got plenny of time for doin' your own favours, though. I reckon I been more'n kind to you past-times, so's it's only fair you does a little kindness by me."

"Ye could always ask the provosts, leik," Davy pointed out, knowing very well that Donnelly would want nothing whatever to do with the provosts. The quartermaster would not want them inspecting either his stores or his records. "Ah divvent wark fer nowt, even fer a canny billy sich as ye. Ah's reasonable, but. Ye give us a fair price fer what Ah brought ye the day an' Ah'll hev a keek aboot."

"I oughta punt you 'long toward the Frogs," Donnelly growled. "You ain't brung me nothin' yet, so what's the use in talkin' of prices?"

"But Ah hev," Davy protested. "Ah've brought ye summat reet bonny." He fished around in his trousers pocket, until he came out with a little clinking sack. "Is aa' in here. Ye want te see or ne?"

Donnelly eyed the sack hungrily. "Lessee it," he directed.

Davy glanced around to make sure nobody was close by, then opened up the drawstring of the bag, so that Donnelly could see inside. A nearly complete set of silver buttons, real silver - and not just a finish. They had probably come off an officer's coat. They did have the likeness of the Imperial eagle embossed on them, but they could be melted down easy enough, Davy was sure. Or even sold as they were, really. Anyway, that was for Donnelly to figure out.

There were a few other things in there - a pewter knife and fork, a steel pen, and some glass marbles that had simply looked pretty to Davy. He didn't give the bag to the quartermaster yet, though - just let him look inside, ready to yank it back if Donnelly looked like he was going to try to snatch it.

That was a good haul, he had to admit. A very good haul.

"Couple farthin' for it," the sergeant said, deftly concealing his interest. "And maybe another if you knows anythin', too."

"Twa fardin'?!" Davy exclaimed indignantly. "These is worth far mair then that!" He didn't dare to glare too ferociously at the quartermaster, but he pulled the bag back to himself, closing up the string. "Ah'm not sellin' for less than a bob an' six the lot."

Donnelly shrugged. "Settin' it a bit high, aintcha? But a'right. Six pence'll do the lot, I think. Ain't goin' no higher."

Davy had set the price a little higher than he expected Donnelly would agree to. He knew the quartermaster would bargain him down, but he wasn't going to take as little as Donnelly had just offered, either. Did Donnelly think he was stupid? "A bob an' six," he repeated, stubbornly. "Ye're gettin' a favour off us te beyut."

A favour. Hah. The boy would receive his due compensation for the 'favour' in addition to the price of this little sack. This was, of course, he honestly knew anything of the missing grain.

"Eight pence, then," Donnelly said. "No more'n that."

Davy's jaw set mulishly, and he dropped the bag back into his pocket, as if he'd decided not to sell it at all. That was not the case, of course. Donnelly had already adjusted his offer upwards twice. That gave Davy an edge in the bartering; he'd not altered his own price at all yet, after all. The quartermaster had been the first to give ground.

Davy was determined to get at least a shilling for the lot.

"A bob an' four," he said at last, with a grudging tone in his voice.

No.

" 'Fraid not, boyo." Donnelly spat tobacco juice onto the ground. "Eight pence or nothin'."

Davy wished he'd had a plug of tobacco; it would have been nice to punctuate his own refusal with such an action of disdain for Donnelly's absurdly low price! "Is't nowt, then," he said firmly. "Ah'm not sellin' fer less than the warth o' these."

"Reckon then you'll not be sellin' 'em to me," Donnelly said and reached casually for his stores book. It was a gamble but one he considered safe. Who else could the lad go to with his treasure, after all?

Davy folded his arms, unwilling to give in to the quartermaster's unfair price. Nasty old cheapskate, Donnelly was! Davy decided he would go and find Pye - and Pye would tell him who he could sell to! Then Donnelly would be sorry. He thought he was the only game in town, but he'd better think again!

"Tha's areet then," he said, in a more agreeable tone than he'd used before. "Ah'll be gannin' elseweor wi' these. Ye hev a bonny day, noo."

"Mind y'have a good'n," Donnelly said, spitting out another stream of brown. He might've figured the lad would be of no real use. This only meant he would have to employ one of his more reliable runners for the task of searching out the grain thief.