Meeting at Headquarters

Stephen looked away. "I always have reservations about my expeditions, and I will not lie: this is more dangerous than some I have undertaken. It will be the first-"

He stopped, looked at Padstowe and looked away again. "I trust my contact - he is an able man, and one I have know for a long time. The possible gains so far outweigh the possible risks that it would be criminal not to attempt it - I expect to find a great amount of information, military and secret, and that is why all must be as small and secret as possible - if Prideaux were to have any warning, he could destroy his papers, and all would be for naught." He sighed. "If it cannot be accomplished by one or two men, it may not be accomplished. Smaller numbers also bring greater flexibility - if it seems too dangerous or impossible when we arrive, we may abandon the plan, without having risked any more lives than necessary."

Padstowe listened to the doctor, watched the subtle changes in expression, guessed the meaning behind the words. He cleared his throat.

"Nevertheless, sir, it would be foolish to sacrifice caution altogether for fear of detection. You say one or two men - could that not be put up to three?"

Stephen looked at Padstowe sharply. "Working with even one other person on a operation like this makes me uneasy - I feel responsible for his involvement, and as I said, it is dangerous. Who would the third man be?"

Padstowe shot a quick glance to Hogan before answering.

"Me, sir."

Stephen stared at Padstowe, his eyes wide. Everything in him riled against working with yet another person: another life risked, another source of information for the French should they be captured, but objectively he knew that Padstowe would be a useful ally. Calderon was a small man, and Stephen was smaller - not, if he looked at himself objectively, entirely recovered from the past two years' experiences - Padstowe's height and weight would be an advantage if they did manage to capture Prideaux. Another set of eyes, ones that knew the surrounding area well.

"My contact may not want to meet with another man, and it is he that will be getting me - or us - within the walls." He brought one of his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on it thoughtfully. He looked at the Exploring officer again, who sat as though carved from ivory, not displaying any doubts at all, still and sure of himself. Stephen felt shabby next to him, and not only in dress. "It will not be a pleasant mission, sir. Not only dangerous, as I have said, for I ask you to trust me when I say that capture would, in many ways, be worse than death, and both are eminently possible outcomes. But apart from that, if we are successful, we will be entering a city dressed as peasants, go to a man's house, steal his papers, and kidnap him. A killer, yes, and the enemy, but it is still ugly work to my mind - utter dissimulation - no glory, no room for human compassion, little in the way of honour, and that wholly alien to one outside of our field." He was surprised at just how bitter his voice had grown. "You would still be willing to take part?"

Padstowe glanced at Major Hogan again, who shrugged, before addressing Stephen.

"I am, sir, if you feel my presence could be to any advantage."

Besides, he was not completely unfamiliar to the concept that Dr. Maturin presented; but on that he would not elaborate unless absolutely necessary.

"It could be..." He stared at a hole in his stocking for a moment. Padstowe and Hogan were watching him, waiting for his decision. He felt sick with nerves, more so than whenever he had gone on a mission by himself. So much risk, and not just to himself, but as he had said, the possible gains might turn the tide, and it would be easier with one more - one more would not make the operation particularly more likely to fail, save only in how it affected himself... When he realised this, he felt his resolve harden. He nodded.

Hogan smiled and clapped his hands together.

"Excellent! I'm glad that we have that settled. So you'll be borrowing Jonathan for a few days, Maturin - I'm sure we won't miss him too much - which leaves only the return 'escort' for M. Prideaux to arrange." There was a twinkle in Hogan's eye. "And I believe I have just the lads."

Padstowe raised his eyebrows at the Engineer.

"Sharpe?" he asked, his tone sarcastic.

Stephen had unconsciously wrapped his arms around his knees. "Sharpe? The Lieutenant?" He looked at Padstowe. "Would he be suitable? Is he discreet?"

"Sharpe has accompanied me on several of my expeditions mapping the surrounding countryside," said Hogan. "Quite often behind enemy lines. Whilst he is not trained in the finer points of espionage he is the soul of discretion when required to be, and is a quick-thinker when things don't go to plan. Very useful fellow to have in a tight spot - as long as you are nice to him. Not necessarily polite, but nice to him."

Padstowe valiantly tried to hide his grin but failed miserably.

Stephen frowned - was Hogan implying that he would not be 'nice' to Sharpe? Padstowe was grinning - he had guessed the two of them were good friends from their actions in the corridor - this confirmed it. He suddenly missed Jack Aubrey keenly. "Very well - though I hope that things will go according to plan." The Dear help them if they didn't...

"I'm sure they will, doctor," Hogan said happily. "Now then Jonathan, my lad, should you not go and find where Sharpe has strayed to? It's not a good idea for him to be wandering around Headquarters on his own. If wemeet later this evening to discuss particulars..."

Padstowe could imagine why. Leave Richard alone long enough with this many 'born' officers about the place and he'll have arranged three duels by tea time.

"I shall do so, sir. If you would excuse me, doctor...?"

"Of course, Captain." He stood up, brushing away some of the sheets that clung to his legs. He had his own errands; he wouldn't be bringing a sword, but pistols would be needed, powder and shot, a horse, ampullae - would Padstowe take one? He decided to prepare one for each of them.

There was a basket half-full of rolls on the sideboard, and the servant was about to clear them away when Sharpe rescued it. "Just the thing. Don't suppose you've got any butter, though?"

The servant looked blank, shrugged, said something in Portuguese which Sharpe assumed to be a denial of the capability to speak English.

"Be nicer with butter, but beggars can't be choosers," Sharpe said. He needed another cup of tea, as though he hadn't been plied with several while waiting for Padstowe to regain some sense of sobriety. "Have a roll, my lord?" he asked Pumphrey. pushing the basket towards the other man.

Sir Arthur was, as Hogan had rightly stated, on the prowl. He had temporarily lost Brandon and was on his way to find him when he passed by the open dining room door. He stopped dead. Was he imagining things, or did that high-pitched laugh sound horribly familiar. He poked his head around the door and there, sitting at the table was Lord Pumphrey and a rather embarrassed-looking Richard Sharpe clutching a bread roll.

The General did not even try to conceal his horrified surprise. Pumphrey? Here? Now? Why the devil had his man stationed on the quay not told him of this? And what on earth did Sharpe think he was doing?

Fortunately neither seemed to have noticed him and it might still be possible to make a quick withdrawal, as there was nothing more he wanted to do less than to face Pumphrey with Richard Sharpe as spectator.

Hogan and Stephen were talking in low voice about a possible rendez-vous to meet with Sharpe as they left their room; both stopped suddenly, faced with the totally unexpected sight of Sir Arthur Wellesley at the far end of the corridor, staring in shock through a door.

Stephen stepped forward, peering through the gloom, but Hogan put a hand on his arm at the sound of a twittering, high-pitched laugh. "Pumphrey."

Stephen looked at the other Irishman in horror. "You're sure?"

"Sure as. Go out the back door, lad. Follow the corridor, to the left, and left again."

Stephen nodded - he wished to avoid Pumphrey for as long as possible; completely, if he could. "Thank you, Major." He held out his hand.

Hogan took it, grasping it firmly. "Ádh mór ort."

"And to you. I will see you later." With a nod and a backwards glance to where the laugh had come from, Stephen ran along the corridor and disappeared into its shadows, Prideaux and Pumphrey mingling in his mind, chilling him.

Sharpe was grateful when the servant returned bearing a plate, a knife and a butter dish, which he put on the table before retiring, shaking his head.

It was probably too late to get anything else, but he was used to making do, and the butter was fresh, at least. He wondered how he could make an escape, but then he was sure to be intercepted by Sir Arthur.

It was at that moment that he glanced up and saw Sir Arthur himself, reflected in the mirror hanging opposite. It looked at though he'd just poked his head and was about to make a quick retreat.

*Pumphrey had happily let Sharpe usher him into the dining room where he could smell fresh baked bread*

He sat down at the table with the Lieutenant and accepted the basket of rolls.

"Why thank you, Richard." He picked up a roll, almost sighing at the thought of the soft roll instead of hard ship's biscuit.

"No butter?" He looked around, sounding greatly disappointed.

"Oh well, we make do with what we have. The war is on after all." He laughed and looked around for a fingerbowl. Finding none, sighed and flicked out a large, scented, lace edged handkerchief and fastidiously wiped the cutlery.

The servant had returned bearing a plate, a knife and a butter dish and Pumphrey beamed.

"Why, you are a miracle worker, Richard."

Catching Sharpe's look as he bit into his roll, he smiled. "What else have you managed to arrange?"

He turned.

(OOC - Sorry. Holiday weekend, catching up with late game reviews, dead board, work... catching up now.)

Well, Pumphrey sounded cheerful enough. He split his roll and buttered it, hoping that Pumphrey wouldn't notice Sir Arthur's reflection. He grinned as Pumphrey used an enormous lace handkerchief to wipe off a knife. The thing smelt of scent as well and he vaguely hoped he woldn't end up poisoning himself with it.

"I ain't a miracle worker, it don't take much for a servant to work out what's needed when a fellow starts eyeing up the breadbasket you're just about to take out."

And the roll was every bit as good as it looked. Who needed anything else, with bread this fresh?

Lieutenant-Colonel Brandon exited the room and closed the door with a sigh. That servant-lad was in big trouble and there wasn't much he could do for him, poor boy...
But right now he had to get back to the General as Sir Arthur was certainly wondering why a mere trifle took him so long. He straightened and started to make his way back to the General's office. Walking along the corridor he tried to concentrate on the duties of the day but couldn't delete the desperate look on the poor boy's face completely.
Being thus occupied with his thoughts he didn't hear the laughter coming from the dining room until he almost ran into someone. Looking up he found that someone being none other than Sir Arthur Wellesley himself, taking a step back from the open dining room door he surely had poked his head around mere seconds ago. Not knowing exactly what to make of the situation Brandon halted. It looked like Sir Arthur was trying to escape the people in the dining room, hoping they hadn't noticed him so far.
Brandon wondered whom Sir Arthur was so desperate to escape and a small smile crossed his lips as he recognised their voices.

He coughed to make his presence known to the General, hoping he wouldn't take him too much by surprise.

Sir Arthur had managed to make a swift withdrawal before Pumphrey saw him. Sharpe had noticed, but that did not matter - and saw Brandon waiting for him, a small smile on his lips. He motioned to the man to follow him, and set off down the corridor at a rapid pace not waiting to see if the colonel was with him. Lord, but that had been close!

Sharpe carried on buttering the second piece of his roll, glancing up again at the mirror. Sir Arthur had managed to withdraw without Pumphrey seeing him, which was something. Though Sharpe wondered why the General tried to avoid the other man. He was genial enough, even if there was a ruthless streak there.

Of course, the man's outrageous dress sense and... interesting... taste in waistcoats didn't help matters much; the General was famous for his austerity and usually appeared on the battlefield in a blue coat. Or at least, he had done at both Roliça and Vimeiro, and Sharpe saw no reason why he'd decide to go back to wearing a General's heavily-laced red coat after discarding it.

The smile on Brandon's lips lingered as he saw the look of utter relief on the General's face. He instantly turned to follow Sir Arthur as the man walked passed him in what seemed to be almost a haste.
'He really must be in no mood for Pumphrey's pompous airs' he thought as he had to increase his pace to keep up with the General.

The General did not stop until he reached his office, waiting for Brandon to come in and then closing the door himself - glad to put the wood between him and Pumphrey. He very nearly sighed in relief, but refrained and turned on the colonel.

"And where did you get to, Brandon?" he asked. "Any longer and I would have sent a search party."

He followed the General into his office and waited for him to close the door. He saw the look of relief being replaced by Sir Arthur's usual austere expression.

"The matter of the servant-lad who was accused to have stolen some of the cutlery. It took longer than expected." he stated but couldn't suppress a sad sigh. "The evidence is clear and I had to see to the lad being send home immediately which was only made harder by the boy's father working here as well and of course trying to argue. But everything is sorted now."

He knew this shouldn't affect him so much but he always hated it when his actions would make an already poor family's living worse still. He hoped that Sir Arthur wouldn't see too much of his concern but at the same time knew that he would fail miserably in concealing it. Well, after all the General knew him quite well by now.