Padstowe's Lodgings, Oporto

'Yes. Good day, Captain.' George turned a little abruptly and left.

Padstowe stood for a moment afterwards, his eyes on the closed door and a little stunned at the abruptness of Hunter's departure. He would have expected a handshake at least, or some more verbose parting comment from Hunter as the initiator of this encounter - but no, obviously not. This Hunter was a strange one - a very strange one - and Padstowe would definitely ask Hogan for any information; especially as Hunter seemed not to have been expected nor requested for by Sir Arthur.

Sighing, Padstowe took a few paces backwards and forwards along the width of the room, hoping to settle his ribs even more, and sat back at the desk again. He picked up the inkwell - still stuck - and gave an amused snort. With a sigh, he started tapping it against the desk again.

He did, shortly afterwards manage to get the inkwell unstuck. It was, in a way, a small triumph. However, he did not have anything to do with the inkwell once it was unstuck, as Hogan had not yet had time to send him any paperwork and all the ciphered papers had now been finsihed and if not still in the possession of Dr. Maturin then already on their way to England. He could not, in all conscience, make another entry in his diary, as he was decided not to do so until he got a blank journal and they were on the march again; the theory being that it would put an end to the endless melancholy that had so far been committed to paper, though the vast majority of that he had thankfully thrown over the side of Terpsichore as the disembarked.

So with nothing else to do he had again taken up the Morte d'Artur. If he was going to be reading at this rate throughout the coming months he would have to send home for some more books...

Stephen knocked on the door to Padstowe's room.

Padstowe looked up in surprise. Another visitor? It could be that Hunter had come back for something... but that was well over an hour ago, and he doubted the anti-social young man would come back for a second meeting. He rose from the bed and walked over to the door, resting his hand on the latch.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"Stephen, and Lieutenant Sharpe," Stephen said through the door.

Padstowe could not open the door quickly enough.

"Stephen! Richard!" His face, so often miserable and closed over these past few mopnths, was open and alight with happiness. "It is so good to see you both. Please, come in."

"It is good to see you alive, certainly," said Stephen, stepping in. "But you are very pale. When we parted, did I not specifically say you were to do paperwork for Hogan? The next thing I hear, you have gone galloping off finding boats of some kind - how is your clavicle?"

Padstowe's smile was wiped off his face.

"Oh, that. Well, there was no paperwork to be had at that point in time, and the lightest work going was scouting for some boats to cross the river." He said all this with the utmost sincerity; so sincere that it was by default suspect. "They needed every pair of eyes available, and so I thought I might as well strain my eyes looking for boats than looking at paper. The shoulder, though? It twinges a little; no, a lot often, but it is no longer painful as such. It is never long out of my mind, if you get my meaning."

"It's a good thing he did go gallopin' off to find boats, or we'd still be stuck on the wrong side of the Douro," Sharpe said, grinning. He offered Padstowe his hand. "It's good to see you again, sir. I was sorry to hear about... about your unfortunate run-in before we left Lisbon. At least you're feelin' better."

"Glad that I am," Padstowe said, a wry smile curling at his lips at the 'sir' as he clasped Sharpe's hand warmly. "As I am glad to see you still here; though I suppose it takes a lot more than a brigade of Frenchmen to get rid of you. That was good work you did at the Seminary; I did not have the chance to say at the time. The Beau should be proud of your men."

"I don't reckon he even noticed us. He generally don't, not that I can see, anyroad. And don't go wishin' a whole brigade down on my head, please. I'd find mysel' just a little hard-pressed to be able to fight off that many all at once, Jonathan." It still didn't feel right to address him by his first name when there were other people around - even if the 'other people' were also friends.

"Yes, yes, " Stephen said impatiently as he cast his eye over the room. "Mark my words, I will be quite severe with Captain Hogan when I return tonight - off with your jacket, Captain - will you be fit to march tomorrow? 'Lightest work available' - I do not appreciate being lied to."

"I am sure you would manage," Padstowe said with a smile to Sharpe, before stripping off the coat that had been resting around his shoulders. "I will be fit to ride tomorrow I should think, now that my Bethany is a ashore again; but I did not lie, Stephen - it would not have been helpful at all to be doing any sort of paperwork yesterday."

"Taking time to recover would have been more helpful," Stephen said stubbornly, prodding Padstowe's shoulder as soon as it was visible.

Padstowe could not help but flinch as Stephen prodded him through his shirt.

"There was not the opportunity."

"No, Captain, there was the opportunity - during the battle, with the other wounded soldiers," said Stephen, staring critically at Padstowe's collar bone.

"More wounded than I," he grunted.

"It does not matter - you are officially 'wounded' until I say otherwise. Did Hogan tell you to scout for the boats?"

Sharpe sighed. "Stephen, he saved us weeks of waitin' and doing nowt by findin' them boats. Most the army can't swim, and them that can can't swim a river like the Douro, wi'out gettin' their powder wet, and still be able to fight a battle afterwards."

Padstowe looked to Sharpe for support, and finding it gazed back up at Stephen assuredly.

"Precisely. Hogan suggested that an extra pair of eyes may be a great help," he said levely, not wishing to drop Hogan in it totally, as it had been he himself who had offered to help with the search.

"Someone else would have found them," Stephen said. "At least this bone is knitting, but that lump will always be there. And I will be having words with Hogan."

"What lump?" Padstowe craned his neck around to try and see.

"It's likely just your shoulder blade, Jonathan," Sharpe said, unable to see for himself. "Doctors just like scarin' folks."

"No, the shoulder blade was only cracked - this lump here, where the bone snapped," said Stephen, pointing to Padstowe's collar bone. "We do not enjoy scaring people, Lieutenant."