Meeting at Headquarters

Maturin. Something clicked in the back of his mind as he remembered now what exactly Hogan had said about the man before - and who he was. He inclined his head politely.

"Captain Jonathan Padstowe, of His Majesty's 50th Foot," he said formally. "And this is my good friend Lieutenant Richard Sharpe, 95th Rifle Regiment."

Stephen nodded, light dawning on his face; he bowed again to Padstowe - "Captain, an honour" - and then to the man Sharpe - "Lieutenant, your servant." Both men had been mentioned by Hogan in the course of the afternoon, and both in glowing terms, and of course he had intended to meet Captain Padstowe as soon as possible.

Hogan gave him a significant look, and then turned back to the two soldiers. "Will we move this out of the corridor, hmm? We have commandeered the map room."

"Hadn't I best wait out here, sir?" he asked of Major Hogan. "Only I'm sure that whatever you have to discuss can best be done without me hanging around."

Stephen looked over at Hogan - it was only Padstowe they had discussed meeting, after all, and Stephen felt that the fewer people who knew of his activities, the better - but he had placed himself in the army's hands, and he waited for Hogan's answer, sneaking a look at the lean rifleman.

Hogan caught Maturin's look and sensed that Maturin was not keen with his status being known. Hogan knew he could trust Sharpe, but it would take time for Maturin to come to that conclusion.

"Perhaps that might be best, Richard," Hogan said, patting his arm. "We would only bore you with our talk of advanced cartography, though I don't think we should be all that long. Be on your guard, though," Here the major winked. "You might find yourself running into an old friend. Sir Arthur's on the prowl."

"That's all I bloody need," Sharpe said. He stomach gave a gurgle and he frowned. "Is there anywhere I can get summat to eat? Only I ain't had anythin' since breakfast, and that were rushed."

He really didn't want to bump into Sir Arthur with an empty belly. Their meeting were never a highlight of his day, and dealing with him on an empty stomach was one thing he could very well do without.

So this man Sharpe had a past with Wellesley as well... Stephen could not resist glancing back over his shoulder as he, Padstowe and Hogan went back into their map room, feeling relieved. The solider had a distinct aura of danger about him, and in his stance Stephen caught a glimpse of that elusive quality he had seen so little before, an edgy, jealous confidence in his own competence as a solider - the shine of baraka.

Hogan pulled a pile of papers from one of the chairs, and set it aside for Padstowe - Stephen disdained his seat on the floor and tidied the maps from another chair. Padstowe was very much an unknown element - he was intelligent, obviously, and brave, if he was an Exploring officer, but apart from that, Stephen had gleaned little in the way of concrete information regarding his personality, though Hogan and Sir Arthur had been full of praise for the man and for his exploits.

Padstowe nodded his head in the direction of the Dining Room before he followed on. Knowing Richard he could probably wrangle something out of the stewards or one of the kitchen girls...

Closing the door to the small room behind him Padstowe settled down in the chair Hogan cleared for his, watching the curious little man settle cross-legged on the floor amongst scattered papers. So this was Stephen Maturin - admiralty agent currently on loan from Sir Joseph Blaine. Somehow the captain had imagined a more distinguished-looking man, having heard that he was a prominent physician, but it seemed he had been gravely mistaken.

"Sir?" he asked of Hogan.

"Sit down, Jonathan. Now," - when Padstowe had done this - "first and foremost, Doctor Maturin is planning a little excursion to Obidos in a few days' time."

Stephen nodded - he did not look up, but reached across to pull a map towards himself. "I have... an appointment in the town, and I wish to avoid any clashes with military operatives. Might you tell me the current situation of the area?"

Right. Down the corridor and hope for the best it was, then. He could make tracks back to his billet, of course. It was pretty much only just round the corner, after all. But then he'd have another cup of tea, and another one, and it wasn't tea he needed right now, but summat eatable.

Padstowe shrugged.

"As far as I know there is no situation. It's been largely ignored by both us and the Enemy, and there does not seem to be any activity around there currently."

He frowned, curious. He wondered what the man was planning and if he had missed anything significant about the region. He did not think he had - and Padstowe was usually very thorough.

Stephen finally met Padstowe's eye. "Not as ignored as we might like - I fear a French agent by the name of Prideaux - not, of course, that that is the name he is currently using - has been using the town as a centre from which to launch spies into Lisbon. It will take me two days to reach there on horse or mule, with some days here in preparation beforehand. I then set aside one day to meet my contact and enact my plan, for if it cannot be done in a few hours it cannot be done, and then anything between two and four days to return. The aid I require is in the stowing," a brief gleam of pride, incongruous on the otherwise-expressionless face, "of Prideaux, should I manage to bring him out alive."

He looked at Hogan sharply. "He will not be harmed, but I would need somewhere with no possibility of outside communication."

Lord William Pumphrey stepped into the building. As the heavy door closed behind him, he blinked as his eyes adjusted to the relatively dim light of the hallway. Heavens, but the journey by sea had been interminable. At least his quarters in town were not too shabby.

Adjusting his waistcoat, he minced down the hallway with quick, light steps. There seemed to be someone striding towards him...

The main door opened and closed, but Sharpe paid no attention to it; people came and went from Headquarters all the time. He went to dodge around the newcomer, but something in the way he was walking made Sharpe pause and take a closer look.

Pumprey peered at the tall well-made man that stood in the Hallway and stopped, bringing up his right hand in greeting a flutter of fingers.

"Well, I never... Richard!"

He resisted adjusting his embroidered rose waistcoat. If Sir Arthur made his knees go weak, Richard Sharpe fair gave him palpitations. He was glad he had iron control of his emotions.

Jonathan frowned a little. If anything it seemed the doctor was one of action as well as talk... but he had not heard of this Prideaux, or any other French agent in Obidos and that in itself was what worried him.

"He is a relatively new arrival?" he questioned, hoping the answer was 'yes'. "He cannot have been there any more than a month, can he?"

Because it had been a month since he had last been there in person, and any activity beforehand would mean that he had been careless, which he swore to himself that he was not, which meant that this senior agent might think badly of him or Hogan or even sir Arthur.

"I believe not. He came to Vigo with the French, and we know that he was there in March," - flaying Carlowe alive - "we just don't know when he moved down from Oporto to Obidos, though I am working under the assumption that it was the predicted arrival of Sir Arthur that precipitated the move. It all depends on when the information reached Prideaux." Stephen closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose; he hoped he did not have to elucidate what precisely he meant by his last sentence. "He is not the prime mover in Portugal, that much is certain, but his presence so close to Lisbon and yourselves is worrying."

He could say that again...

"There should be no danger of your being 'interrupted' around Obidos," said Padstowe carefully. That much was clear by their lack of a man there. "At least not by us. As to your bringing Prideaux back here... we can arrange for a rendez-vous a few miles outside the city, so that he may be brought in safely for questioning."

"Lord Pumphrey," Sharpe said, surprised to see him. "I didn't know you were in Lisbon. Does Sir Arthur know you're here?"

Stupid question, but what was he supposed to say. Here he was, looking for some snap* - his stomach growled again at the thought of food - and he was accosted by the flamboyant figure of Lord Pumphrey of the Foreign Office.


*snap - Yorkshire dialect: food, lunch.

"That would suit most admirably, thank you - my dragging an unwilling Frenchman through the streets of Lisbon would indeed by shockingly conspicuous." He smiled at Padstowe, hiding his own very serious misgivings about the mission. Prideaux was dangerous, and physically more than a match for Maturin, which was why it was so crucial he met with his contact in the area. The documents he would be carrying made it worth the risk though - certainly pay lists for agents in the area, correspondence, possibly even military information - but if more than one or two men were to go in, confusion and warning would inevitably arise, and he would have time to destroy his papers before being captured. The risk was much higher this way, but so was the possible gain.

He liked this Captain Padstowe though - discreet, asking only intelligent, pertinent questions, and forward-thinking. "Not very many men, though, as few as possible. Enough only to escort a prisoner, and men that you would trust not to take a bribe, or be swayed by propaganda." He paused; the idea of revealing his connection with intelligence work to even a few men weighed heavily on his mind.

Pumphrey smiled at the Rifle Captain.

"Why no. I have just arrived at Headquarters. You say Sir Arthur is here? Splendid. Splendid."

He chuckled as he heard Sharpe's stomach growl.

"It is that time of day isn't it?"

He fluttered his fingers at the length of the hallway behind Sharpe.

"Come, I haven't had my lunch either. I'm sure Sir Arthur will feed us. We have much to discuss after all."

"I was on my way to find something to eat," Sharpe said. "Dining room's this way."

He rather liked Pumphrey, though it was a little disconcerting (he'd finally remembered the word!) to see the man eying him or Sir Arthur up when he wasn't aware Sharpe was looking. Or even when he was aware Sharpe was looking. He wondered what sort of things they had to discuss as he ushered Pumphrey into the dining room.

(OOC: I'm off to bed; it's very late and my brain has switched off for the night... )

Pumphrey smiled beatifically as he allowed Sharpe to usher him towards the dining room.

"Capital! I do hope the kitchen's up to snuff. I am tired of ship's biscuit."

Sharpe grinned at the thought of Lord Pumphrey eating ship's biscuit. "I'm sure we'll be able to scuff up summat, he said, as they entered the room, where a servant was pottering about near the sideboard.

The doctor was worried. Even though he professed everything to be 'admirable' or 'satisfactory' it was clear to Padstowe that it was not.

"You still have some reservations about this expedition, sir?"