15 June, In Search of Friends

Davy scampered ahead of Lucy, who was walking more sedately along their way to the Riflemen's encampment. After the French had taken the baggage train, obviously neither of them had heard anything about Pye's situation. All that Davy knew was that Zack had been badly hurt, but gotten away from Sykes. Of course the rifleman would be alright, there was simply no way that he could not be, and that was that. But Davy couldn't shift the worry that had hung over him, now that they were finally going to find him. Pye had been a towering, invincible figure in his head. Seeing the older boy lying unconscious and looking more than half dead by the riverbank had shaken his world right down to the core.

"What if he's deed?" the towheaded boy asked Lucy suddenly, dropping back to come to her side again.

Lucy scoffed, shaking her head, "Whisht, haad yer jaain, numbskull. He'll nivvor be deed, wor Zack. That ane'll elwis turn up, aye, an' leik to cause us aa' more grief. There's no' owt'll stop him."

She hefted the heavily-patched green and red Rifleman's coat that hung over her arm. She hadn't had anything green to patch it up with, so the torn strips were replaced with wool of variegated colors; the bulk of the coat was still somewhat green though. "Aa'd no' be surprised if he looks as ill-fard as this jacket of his noo, but."

Pye had just been cleaning his plate when he heard a rather familiar sound. He froze. While at any other time in the past he would have been delighted to see Lucy and Davy, the memory of his beating was still too fresh. He was ashamed and then, even more recent events only made things worse.

He startled Braun, a rifleman that tended to his weapon quietly , by getting up so abruptly. He arched a brow, as he saw the youth pale and then abruptly leave, his chick uttering a few chirps before she settled comfortably in his bread bad. Braun shook hiss head and lifted his rifle for a closer inspection.

Lucy, as warily alert as ever to her surroundings, did not miss the sudden motion to one side. She caught a split-second glimpse of Pye's scarred face as he was turning to flee. Lucy's eyebrows drew down into an angry expression - running away from them was he! She knew he'd seen them!

"Howay, Davy, ower theor!" she yipped, and set off in hot pursuit of the rifleman, skirts hiked up above her knee to free her movement.

"Zack! Zack!" Davy called out excitedly, "Zack, weor ye gannin!"

They saw him! He had hoped to slip away without either of them noticing, he harboured hopes that perhaps they would think him dead, like he should have been, and while they would be said for a short while, they would accept it. Of course, such a plan was quite daft. Even if they had thought him dead, one day , when they least expected it, they would meet again.

He hesitated. He could run, or he could stop and face the music. Perhaps Davy would get distracted by one of the riflemen. Really, was he that daft to think it was even a possibility? He heard the boy call!

He forced himself into a halt and turned. He had just enough time to see the 'furious' advance of Lucy, and somehow it reminded him of a hawk that flew down at its prey. He gulped.

Lucy unslung the patched jacket from over her shoulder and swung it at Pye as she caught up to him, biffing him in the face with the wool. "Ye!" she snapped at him, "ye gowk, ye! What dyer think ye're deein'! Runnin' awa' leik tha' soon as ye deeked us! An us worrited fer ye!"

She biffed him again with the jacket in the opposite direction. "Tek shyem upon ye!"

Pye stood as if nailed to the ground. He did not back off, though he squeezed his eyes shut each time he was smacked with his patched up coat. He flinched, of course, the fabric was heavy enough, and snapped at him, it carried itself well.

He bowed his head a little."M' sorry." He said rather quietly. He did not even dare to look at Davy. The boy had every reason to think bad of him. Every reason to tell him that too. "Didn'ae mean it..." It was a white lie. had he had a chance, that youth would have turned invisible.

"...you'm...a'righ?..Fine'n'..all?" He asked quietly, hopefully that his question might distract the fury.

Lucy threw the coat in Pye's face after the final whack, then stood back, folding her arms. He was obviously ashamed of himself, as he ought to have been. He hadn't even tried to raise a hand to defend himself, which took the edge off her anger in spite of herself. There was no drubbing someone who just stood there and took it. She scowled, "Aye, us is well enow."

"Zack, why ye runnin' awa' leik?" Davy was frowning at the rifleman too. "Weh is yer marras ye knaas!"

Lucy was still giving Pye a piercing stare. "He's gan an' landed hisself i' th' pot agyen, Ah'll warrant. Scairt o' weh findin' oot aboot it. Be damned if Ah'll worrit aboot ye agyen syne!" It wasn't the rifleman's fault that they'd not had sight of him in two weeks, but it was his fault that he'd gotten himself into a foolish fight in the first place - aye, and dragged Davy into it too. And to have run away at sight of them!

"Ye looks leik hell," she informed him in no uncertain terms.

From the other side, somebody else came running now - still covered by tents, but the sounds (hops, bouncing, curses and cheerful apologies) came steadily closer - together with a call of "Zach? Zach? Bist Du da? We have Eintopf for dinner!"

Pye opened his mouth to speak when he took a better look at the patched up coat. It was clearly not parade material, but it had been fixed, worked on until it could get no better. As He began the second time, he heard his german friend's call.

"Lucy, miss, yer gotta meet my friend." He said, and then called for his friend to come, that he way over here.The latter of course was as helpful as ever the people answer with: 'We are here!'.

"..I didn'... wan' ter run.. jus'....wot' did Davy tell yer?" He rubbed his cheek.

Lucy's scowl grew deeper; she knew an evasive tactic when she saw one. He'd not escape explaining himself properly for very long. "Whey aye, an' whee's yer marra then?" Her eyes tracked to the Rifleman charging towards them, who was shouting in what sounded like foreign, and she swiveled to include him in her vision. Lucy's arms stayed folded. "He a furriner?"

"Wotcheor," Davy waved at the newcomer cheerily, having accepted Pye's answer much more easily than Lucy did. "Zack, hap yesel' up wi' yon jacket! Ah seved it fer ye, Ah did, an' wor Luce fixed it up reet canny! It'll sit ye tiv a tee it will!" The jacket had been several sizes too big for Pye before, but Lucy had made it over as well as patching it up.

Freddie, having spotted them, came to a rather abrupt stop, converting his forward momentum into a kind of excited bow. Trying very hard for his best English, he said cheerfully:

"Hallo! A ple-sure to meet you!"

"He'm .. Frieedrik Rootlander." He paused and smiled. "I'm callin' him Freddie, which is much easier." He was at loss of words for more and accepted the coat quietly, trying it on. It was patched up, though quite well done in that to hide how horrible it would have otherwise looked, and it fit much better now.

He looked at his friend. "Them are Lucy an' Davy.." he hesitated. "have I said that 'fore?"