18th May - Camp at Avelãs.

"No, I have not. Thornton I think has deserted," Wellesley said with a dark humour. "Every man for himself at the moment. Hunter is seeing to his own in the kitchen, but if you tell the Mess cook to set up in there he will have ample space. The front parlour can be the designated dining room, though for comforts sake they shall have to take it in sittings."

Brandon frowned at the General's dark mood and wondered what had brought it on. Surely Thornton's absence and Hunter's presence might have their share in it.
"I'll see what I can do, sir, and get you something shortly." He started to continue his descend but stopped again. "Though I think we might as well eat upstairs tonight." He truly wondered where Thornton had gone to. And what was Hunter doing in that kitchen?

"If any of the staff do not mind in their rooms then that shall be a more practical solution. Very well; tell the Mess cook to get on with it and inform the others that it is not preferable but limited space is availabel in the front parlour for dining."

"Yes, sir, I'll see to it and be with you as soon as things allow." With that he eventually took the final steps and made his way to where he thought the kitchen might be in this house.

He opened a door at the end of the corridor and entered. The kitchen was deserted though there was a pot with some stew on the stove and shards of something broken on the floor. After a final look around he went to the back door and opened it. Now, where was everybody and why did no one seem to care about dinner?

There was no one to be seen in the back yard either so he went back in and left the kitchen through the front door again. There were some people moving around in the ground floor rooms, obviously trying to make the best out of this place but Brandon could not find any one who belonged either to the Mess cook's or Sir Arthur's staff. So he exited the building and made his way across the square.

Firebird was still tethered in the square. Hunter strode quickly up to her, his jacket unbuttoned, and the sash tied around his waist in somewhat peculiar manner. Only his sabre was where it was supposed to be. He untied the horse with jerky movements, obviously struglling to keep calm but failing, as he kept muttering something in russian.

Jumping into the saddle, he wheeled Firebird around and kicked his heels against her sides.

Brandon saw an officer rush across the square and realised that it was Captain Hunter who was now mounting his horse hastily. Though something in the man's demeanour seemed to be tense, Brandon was glad to have finally found one of his fellow officers. He quickened his pace towards him. "Captain Hunter" he cried "where is everybody and what are you doing?"

Hunter noticed Brandon barely in time to twist Firebird to the side and avoid a collision. She reared, snorted and flicked her tail, objecting to the treatment.
'How the hell should I know where everyone is?! I am not a damn seer! And I suggest that when you go looking for them you avoid getting killed by horse's hooves!' Snapped Hunter.'As to what I am doing, sir, I would have thought it was obvious.'

Brandon halted abruptly as the horse advanced towards him. He blinked in surprise, both at the almost collision and Hunter's harsh tone. But he stood his ground and addressed the Captain. "Well, I can see that you are on your horse and about to ride somewhere. Though I demand to know why! And as you belong to Sir Arthur's staff too, Captain, it damn well is your business where the other officers are and why things are not being seen to!" He was surprised that his voice carried quite some anger. Though finding that no one seemed to care about obvious duties always infuriated him. And on top, Hunter's impertinent behaviour still managed to get him edgy.

'Maybe, if I knew what Sir Arthur's cook looked like, I would have found him. And I am not a damn keeper to the others, sir, though I've no doubt they are as yourself looking high and low for the mess cook. ' Hunter kicked Firebird's flanks and she strained forward threateningly. 'Now, sir, I would like to pass without causing you any injury.'

He scowled at Hunter and took a deep breath, trying to calm his anger. But when he spoke again his voice was still firm, making it clear that he was not willing to step aside just yet. “Only if you assure me that you are free of duty to leave for the night!” He held Hunter's gaze for a moment longer, than shook his head and sighed in exasperation. “Never mind. I'll have to find some dinner now.”
He was about to let Hunter pass when a thought came to his mind. He looked back up at him. “You don't happen to need the rest of that stew any more, do you, Captain?”

I nearly stuck a knife in the Commander-in-Chief, and you are asking about the damn stew?! Nearly shouted George, but instead growled: 'No, I don't need it. And I am sure I shan't be needed again tonight, sir. Enjoy your dinner.' Firebird finally inched past the Colonel and responding to her master trotted away.

Brandon made his way back to the house, shaking his head in disbelief of the conversation - if one could even call it that! - he just had with Hunter. What was it with this man that he seemed to be able to infuriate his whole surrounding in no time? Brandon sighed. He had to get dinner to Sir Arthur now and deal with his foul mood.

He entered the kitchen again and went over to the stove. He looked into the pot with Hunter's stew. Well, it wasn't exactly a meal for a king but it would suffice to keep their stomachs from grumbling.
He lit the stove and waited for the pot to boil again. Then he put the stew on two plates, took some of the almost dry bread and sat everything on a tray. Thus he left the kitchen and climbed the stairs to their quarters.
He knocked on the door lightly before he entered the room.

Seated on an old rug, the military papers Maturin had recovered from Prideux in two neat piles before him on the floor, Wellesley looked up at the knock.

"Who is it?"

"Brandon, sir. With some dinner." He was not sure if he should wait to be allowed in, as he was not able to figure from his tone what the General's mood was like. But the tray was getting heavy, so he opened the door with one hand while balancing the food in his other.
He entered and closed the door behind him by kicking it softly shut with his foot. "It ain't much, sir, but it will warm you."

Wellesley visibly perked up at the sight and mention of food, but he frowned as the - rather familier - smell caught his nostrils, and he peered at the plates.

"Where did you get it?"

Brandon looked at the General amazed. Well, where do you usually get food?
"Kitchen, sir. As Thornton was nowhere to be found, I asked Captain Hunter if he still cared for the rest of his stew, seeing that he was leaving for the night. Though it is beyond my imagination where he is going."

He thought he'd recognised it.

"Then he would be better not to waste it," Wellesley said, taking a plate of offered stew and gesturing to a patch of rug nearby. "I shall reimberse him later for it."

He settled down on the floor where Sir Arthur had indicated. He took his own plate of stew and handed some of the bread to the General.

"I don't think that will be necessary, as Hunter agreed to leave it to us." And it's the least he can do, as he so shamelessly seems to neglect his duties he added in his mind, the anger about Hunter's behaviour still gnawing at him.

"Though I doubt we shall seriously miss the fool if he does not return," Wellesley muttered darkly, as he fished in his bag to find his cutlery canteen. "I do know why he took his commission here in the first place - he obviously does not want to be here!"

"I certainly am at a loss of what to make of his intentions sometimes too.” He started to eat the stew, dipping the bread into it to make it less dry.
“But I would like him to return rather sooner than later and just do his duties as the rest of us.” He shook his head slightly in thought. “I don't know why that seems to be so difficult for him at times when at others he does what is expected of him.”
He spoke more in wonder then in anger now, seriously trying to figure out what made Hunter behave like he did.

Firebird came to a halt. George surveyed the land unseeingly.
'I know it is me. Everyday it is getting harder and harder to control myself.' George ran a hand over his face. 'Wellesley was right. I am a fool. I should leave, before I kill someone I do not want to. But I can't give up, right?' He patted Firebird's neck. 'If I do, all the control I have over myself will be lost and with it so will everything else...' George sighed, and took up the reins again: 'Well, shall we go see, if I can resist killing people?' Firebird turned, and trotted back to the square obediently.

When he returned to the house he met Thornton outside, heavily laden with a massive great pie.

"Would you be so good, sir?" he asked, nodding to the door.

Hunter narrowed his eyes at Thornton. 'Are you sure you want to me to open that door? Sir Arthur was rather displeased at your absence.'

His face was blank. "My absence, sir? I been out in the kitchen." He nodded towards one of the outbuildings. "I expect he'll be glad enough to have a good supper though. If you please, sir?" he asked again, smiling towards the door.

Hunter looked away. 'Well, er, um. it seems no one realised that you were there. It was assumed you'd be using the inside kitchen.' George opened the door. 'It is nice to finally meet you, Thornton. At least now I know what you look like.'