Waiting to enter Óbidos

[OOC: Sorry, it crapped out on me just as i was about to post.]

Had it not been so dark Stephen may would have seen Padstowe's grin.

"No fear of that with my niece," he said. "Or my sister. The women of our family are not reknowned for their meekness, so I should think any nephew of mine would be glad of some brotherly support."

The voices humming quietly in conversation nearby roused Calderón from his sleep, if it could be called that. Even here in the company of friends, he only dozed lightly. The slightest whisper of movement close to wherever he was resting would awaken him at once. This instance was no different.

He moved nothing but his eyes, glancing sidelong through the darkness. It was difficult to see anything but mostly-indistinct shapes. He was far enough away from the pair to move about without notice but the British officer had a pistol. It wasn't much of a stretch to believe the man would shoot at something without properly determining it to be a target.

Calderón let his gaze drift skyward. The moon shone a little dimly, close to the middle of the sky. It would be time to move soon. He closed his eyes again, briefly, before slowly sitting up. The other two men might be content with passing the time with idle conversation, but there was a cover to maintain. French patrols had nearly free range over this part of the country. It would not do to be cornered by a cavalry patrol while they were discussing the weather.

A careful scan of the surrounding countryside showed no movement and there was no sound wafting about on the breeze. Somewhat pacified, Calderón abandoned his resting-spot and slipped back toward the other two men.

"We must move soon," he muttered in accented English - it surprised him to hear how much like a true Spaniard he sounded now. His mother would be proud. "They will change the guard at midnight."


OOC - It did that to me, too. I'm off to bed now but I hope to be back in a few hours. The same permissions apply as before, Calderón is free to be moved about however is needed.

[OOC: No worries - it's been buggering up for me as well.]

Stephen smiled, looking up at the sky. He thought of Jack as his brother now, or the closest thing to it, in essence as well as nominally, and ten years ago he would not have understood what a comfort brotherly support could be to a man.

He glanced over at Padstowe, or at the dark shape from which Padstowe's voice came, and felt glad that they had spent the hours talking instead of in a tense silence. He regretted that this small hint of a friendship would probably fade away once they returned to Lisbon, when Captain Padstowe would return to his own friends and Doctor Maturin would return to being the awkward civilian, but tonight it had been a comfort.

Calderón had awoken - Stephen and Padstowe stood up as he walked over, telling them that they should move. The other two men had been ready for hours, and as Calderón began to lead them through the darkness, Stephen touched Padstowe's arm. "I trust to your discretion, of course, but I would appreciate it you did not repeat what I have said tonight, especially concerning..." He showed his hand and smiled awkwardly, embarrassed by the request, by way of elaboration.

Padstowe toched Stephen's arm in turn.

"Take it as understood, Esteban," he said quietly.

Stephen felt oddly moved by the simplicity of Padstowe's answer. "Thank you."

The woods were clearing now, and the path becoming steeper - they could see the walls of Óbidos now.

The town was clearly outlined against the starlight, its stone walls reflecting the moonlight. All seemed quiet and peaceful.

"Where are we to go in?" he whispered, switching to Portuguese.

Calderón pointed to a small shadow at the foot of the Eastern wall. "We approach while they change the guard, and then we enter through that water-gate there. They do not know that it is loose - hopefully we can exit by it also."

The three men began to move forward, Calderón's bare feet silent, and Stephen almost as quiet, his calling as a naturalist having given him much practice at moving through nature without attracting attention.

Padstowe crouched down with the others, squinting to make out the shape of the Water gate. There was quite a bit of dead ground between them and the wall, but it did not look as if there were many guards on the wall, and at the change over there should be enough leeway to make their move.

"If we estimate they will be distracted for one minute or so at the guard-change, that will give us enough time to run up from where the shadows of the trees end to the bottom of the wall." Stephen glared at the moon - it was far brighter around them than he would have liked. "You have your watch ready?"

Padstowe fumbled in his pocket again and took out the watch, careful top shield the metal case so it would not gleam in the moonlight.

Eleven fifty-five.

"We have five minutes."

Calderón, not taking his eyes off the figures on top of the walls, hissed to them, "Once we are inside, we go to the main square. There is a small street going off the north-western corner - go down there - and on the left side there is a large town-house. That is Prideaux's."

Stephen whispered, "Is there a back-entrance?"

"Yes, but one must go all the way around to get to it - three streets' worth. If he tries to make an escape, it will be to the back - he would not want the Portuguese to know he is here, so I will guard there."

"Servants?"

"One clerk, but he is partial to drink, and even more partial to a girl in the southern part of the city. This is his night off - he will not disturb us."

That was a mercy, then. Having to negotiate around servants would have been difficult, but one absent sot of a clerk would prove no obstacle. The captain glanced at his watch again. Three minutes... two...

Suddenly the clock tower of the church town struck the hour, its tuneless knell carrying easily to where the three men sat. Padstowe rolled his eyes and snapped the lid shut.

"Bastards don't even regulate their clock..." he murmured. This was it.

The figures began to move on top of the walls - Calderón darted ahead of them - Stephen grabbed at Padstowe's sleeve to pull him up and they ran up the steep hill.

Stephen was faster than Padstowe, barely - he leaped from rock to rock in a attempt not to disturb the scree, every step the calculated result of a decision, his mind running swifter than his feet - one was loose, a slight sound; he leaped to the next. The amiable chatter in Portuguese stopped as he dived into the shadow of the water-gate - "Did you see something?" He held out his hand to Padstowe, a yard behind him, and pulled him flat against the wall.

They stayed perfectly still, willing the craning heads to move on...

"No, nothing. Not even a bird out there."

Stephen allowed himself to breathe out, and rubbed the stitch in his side.

Padstowe closed his eyes and let out a breath. Maturin may have been small but he was fast. He'd seen the doctor dart out of the shadow, skipping from stone to stone with the nimbleness of a person half his age, and endeavoured to keep up. He'd just about made it when the sentries thought they'd noticed something, then the doctor seized his sleeve and pulled him in, winding him against the wall.

The captain listened to the voices above, but they semed to think it was nothing and went away. He nearly sighed in relief. God, but he'd nearly ruined it then!

Calderon was beckoning towards the water gate. He tugged Maturin's sleeve, and followed on to the small opening.

Calderón led them through the water-tunnel, and Stephen worried for his contact's bare feet - he could feel some sharp rocks beneath the thin soles of his shoes. He couldn't see them, however; in some places, the water was at waist height. Padstowe may have had to stoop, but at least he had less of this filthy water to deal with, Stephen thought bitterly as they edged along in the dark. There was probably more disease in this single tunnel than on a prison ship bound for the Antipodes.

He kept one hand for the wall and one for his pistol, held up at the level of his face to prevent the powder from getting wet. "Not long now, Esteban," said Calderón in front of him - his first truly friendly words since they had met. He hadn't realised just how annoyed his contact would be by Padstowe's presence. He patted José's shoulder and nearly slipped - he grabbed at the wall again and passed the encouraging message back.

Padstowe reached out to catch the doctor as he slipped. He somehow wondered whether he out to be more botheed about the amount of filth, but it seemed that height did have its advantages - in that the water never came higher than the tops of his thighs. Ahead there was a patch of comparative light which must be end of the passage.

They allowed themselves a moment when they finally reached the end of the water tunnel to breathe in the fresh air. Stephen wrung as much water as he could from his shirt, which was a pale beige above his waist and a dank, greenish brown below it. He checked the powder in his pistol, and noticed Padstowe do the same. Calderón, the hem of his shirt wet but the same colour as the rest of the material, watched them patiently. "All ready?"

Stephen nodded, exhaling slowly.

Padstowe nodded, replacing his pistols.

Calderón smiled darkly. "Then we go."

They went undisturbed until the main square, where three drunks were shouting raucously at each other, bringing a pair of sentries down on them. They maneuvered themselves into the shadows at the side of the square, hoping to pass unnoticed. Considering two groups of three men each, one of the guards began walking over towards them. Stephen moved himself between Calderón and Padstowe, and hung off their arms, softly crooning about Josefina, who ran off with a soldier, his words jumbled, but a slur and a maudlin tone apparent.

"Come on, Esteban," Padstowe said gently. He shot an apologetic smile at the guard. "Come on, she was not worth it. Let's get you home, now, you need your bed."

The sentry nodded and went back to the other guard, who was now in a heated argument with the most vocal of the three drunks. Padstowe and Calderón insistently dragged Stephen as far as the north-western alleyway, and once they were certain they were out of sight of the the fight apparently breaking out in the main square, they walked upright again down the gloomy street, as quickly and quietly as possible, glancing back over their shoulders.

"Is that it?" They looked up at the house on the left - it was bigger than Stephen had expected.

[OOC: I was so tempted to have the sentry go "What? Josefina ran off with a soldier? But she said she loved me!" and run off crying, leaving our three standing there looking appalled. ¬¬]

[OOC: Aww... Why didn't you? ;D]

"Looks like it."

It was quite a big house by the standards of such a town, and Padstowe wondered why the man did not have any more servants. Perhaps he was so paranoid about his security, which might mean it would be more difficult to get in than previously thought. He nodded to Calderon.

"After you, senhor."

[OOC: I could always edit it in? Poor sentry... XD]

Stephen put out his hand. "Wait a moment - if it's barred, then José will have to let us in. Watch the street." He went up to the door - there were lights on in the house, he noticed - none at the front, but a glow under the doors through the front windows told him there was at least one lamp burning. He had his lock-pick tied around his wrist - he slipped it off now and gently inserted it into the lock. It was a heavy one, and the pick almost wasn't strong enough, but one after another the tumblers clicked into place.

He stepped back. "João, you're the strongest - could you lift the door slightly on its hinges as I open it? It will be less likely to make a noise then."

Checking the coast, Padstowe moved forward and placed his hands on the door. He felt along the wood, finding the handle, then moving across to locate the hinges. Quietly he spat on both of the hinges, hoping that the saliva might help lubricate the movement a little, and then lifted carefully, turning the handle slowly. There was the slightest of clicks, the door opened inwards and he pushed it open partway. He peered around through the gap to see what was beyond. He could see a hallway, dimly lit, and apparently empty. he held his breath, listened. Nothing.

He motioned to Stephen to follow, and stepped over the threshold, his lean body passing easily through the gap.

"Buena suerte, Esteban." Stephen nodded at the whisper, and Calderón moved silently out to the end of the street, to move around to the back and guard that entrance.

Stretching his fingers out one last time, he gripped the pistol in his right hand, aiming it under Padstowe's arm, and slipped through the gap. Both men moved into the hallway, seemingly completely empty. Stephen gripped Padstowe's elbow momentarily, smiled up at him briefly, and then edged along the wall to the stairs.