30 May, later in morning: The lost run.

Pye comes from here.


Pye stumbled. He had not taken his shirt with him, left his coat behind as well. He was tired and did not want to go on, but pressed further still. He had to get away. But first, he had to sit down, rest and see to his hand and his fingers. He felt the blood which had been seeping from his wound under his eye, dry up. It left his skin somewhat stiff, like there was a thin layer of something painted over it.

His rolling in dirt made him rather filthy. Covered in bits of dry mud, at least that served to have the bruises, which were making themselves known, less. He lifted his hand up and studied it. The fingers looked terrible, mangled. He sighed.

His greatcoat buttoned up close under his chin, Matthew followed along after Lavinia while the spaniel darted back and forth over the ground, investigating every bush and hole as if it might hold something of supreme interest, and leaving periodic markings. He had considered putting her on a leash for these morning walks, considering the state she was in, but there were not too many other dogs following around the army. The soldiers would eat anything.

Lavinia's head came up suddenly as she was trotting along, and then the spaniel's stride lengthened out until he was running low over the ground, away from Matthew. Matthew took off after her, running as quickly as he could - if she'd seen another dog and intended to form a liaison, he meant to interrupt that right away quick. He did not want to deal with puppies on the march.

As he caught sight of what Lavvie had found, though, that worry disappeared to be replaced by another. She had found a man - or more properly a boy, shirtless, covered in mud, and altogether a sorry sight. Matthew did not actually recognize him at first. Not until the boy rose to his feet and took off running, and he caught a better look at the face.

"Rifleman Pye!" he called out, in consternation. Good god, what had happened to the boy? "Lavinia, off! Off, girl!"

A dog. It may have been little Lavinia, but dogs were evil, small or big. He did not want to have them killed, but he did not want to have anything with them. They bit, they just bit so much and where there was one, there was bound to be more. That, and there was bound to be an owner of them as well.

He broke into a run before he could hear Broderick yell after him. And when he heard him, his stride quickened.

He meant to be lost. Gone. He could not see this man, or any other. No, the dog was still catching up with him and his body felt ready to break. He was breathing heavily, and the pain increased. His wounded hand was held close to his chest. Dizyness became worse, so that he stumbled. His line of escape rather uneven, and not because he thought it would shake off the dog that way. Then suddenly everything was dark. He became aware the next moment, and found himself collapsed on the ground. He began to push up, he had to go. Be lost. He had to!

The boy didn't even look back over his shoulder when Matthew called out to him, but only ran faster. Not fast enough to out-do Lavinia, however, who was gaining on him, her face laughing with excitement. The boy was stumbling now, seeming unable to run straight; abruptly he pitched forward onto the ground, and did not move for a moment. Lavinia pounced on him a second later, licking at his ears and the back of his neck.

Matthew arrived second, and caught at Lavinia's collar and shoved her away from the lad as he began to stir and push himself up again. He wrapped his other hand firmly around Pye's arm to keep him where he was. It was painfully obvious the boy was terrified - of the dog, and even it seemed of Matthew. "Lad," he said, speaking to the lad as if he were talking to a frightened horse, "lad. It's alright. She's not going to hurt you, and nor am I. Lad, easy there."

The dog was on his back. It would bite him. It would tear at his neck and it would all be over. It was strange he struggled against that, and against the second dog that grabbed at his arm. Even more strange was the fact that the hold did not hurt as much as a bite should and that the dog spoke out.

Pye knew it had to be Broderick then. He caught up with him because he lost it, blacked out for only a moment. The same thought repeated itself in his mind. Run, need to run. Must run now or else it would be too late. Can't stay. Failed. Can't stay.

He stared at Matthew when he spoke to him. His voice so gentle, calm. The dog was still there and the lad expected her to bite him any moment then. His heart was beating at an alarming rate. At least, he began to look more torn, bemused. "Let me go, sir. " First voice of recognition. "Let me go... I need to go.."

Lavinia finally sat down where Matthew had planted her, now that she had given Pye her enthusiastic greeting, though she still wagged her tail frantically. Matthew held her still for a moment longer, before he let go of her collar. He set that hand between Pye's shoulder blades, now, resting it there lightly. The boy still seemed to want to get up, pushing himself up on his hands and twisting to look over his shoulder at Matthew with wide eyes still full of panic and confusion, though it was easing a little. Matthew kept his hand closed around his arm to restrain him, but eased up on the pressure a little so the boy wouldn't feel trapped.

"Easy there, lad; you mustn't go anywhere," he said gently. "Come and sit up and let's have a look at you." He had already scanned the lad, and despite the dirt covering his body, he could see the bruises where it was flaking off. Two of the fingers on Pye's right hand were at awkward angles, clearly broken. Blood crusted a wound underneath his eye, and his injured hand, too, was bloody.

It was as plain as day that the boy had been beaten. The extent of his injuries wasn't fully visible underneath the mud and filth, but he was badly hurt. He'd lost consciousness, as well; he might well have a concussion or a worse head injury. "We're going to get you to a surgeon."

"No!" Not the surgeon. He could not go to a surgeon, or go back. That Broderick stopped him, was something he had not expected. And he still panicked at the sight of the dog, no matter how friendly and loving Lavinia looked. She would jump, he was sure of it. Broderick's trick that he might have more often used on a horse, seemed to work on the boy as well. He was not struggling to get up any more, though he was still tense and resolute that he would not go to a surgeon,even if it would have cost him, his life.

"s' nothing wrong with me, sir. Why's I'd need to go to one?" He said vaguely. He felt the hold on his arm relax. It was not dominating over him any longer, just holding him down. Not as restraining as before. "Please. It'd be better." Why was he so openly saying this to a man who could report him in a moment. Call for the cursed provosts, who would hang him. He knew they would, because they had just reason to. "...Please sir. I'm just.... on a.. walk."

The lad wasn't struggling against him, but Matthew could clearly feel the tension in his body, communicated through the hand on his shoulder blades. When the boy refused the surgeon, he had twitched almost convulsively with the force of the emotion. Matthew gently rubbed the hand behind his shoulders around in a circle. Best not to bring up the surgeon yet, after that violent reaction. He wanted to calm Pye down a little more, first. "Whisht, there; don't worry. Lavvie is going to stay over there, and shan't come near you again. Easy now, it's going to be alright."

He just kept speaking to the lad like that, quietly, for a few moments, waiting until the tight knot of fear in his shoulders might ease a little.

Lavie the dog would stay put. He forced himself to trust Broderick's words, as the dog looked hardly trustworthy. Slowly, with the gentle rubbing did the rifleman succumb, relaxing, but in doing so, his aches started becoming rather well felt.

"....You... should not have been here." He murmured. He did not know how Broderick knew just what was to be done. He just felt slowly relaxing more, though his mind still wanted to remind him of the dangers and of his decision, albeit rash.

"I should have been, and I'm very glad I was," Matthew answered, his fingers still keeping up that soothing circular motion. "You've been hurt badly, Pye; you need help." He did not want to spook him again. Why was he so virulently opposed to the surgeon? Perhaps he was simply afraid of surgeons, for some reason - some men were deathly afraid of hospitals. "Those fingers need to be set, for one. I'll take you to see the surgeon myself - I'll go with you, lad; you won't have to go on your own."

"No. No. I can't go to t' surgeon." Even if he had meant to stay, he would not have wanted to go. The surgeon would report, questions would have been asked. "Please sir, if you need.. you're an animal doctor." He looked at Broderick pleadingly, the soothing motion doing wonders on the boy. "...animals have bones.. jus' like we do.......if you must..."There was no point lying that his fingers were not broken, when Matthew must have seen them. He looked at his hand and frowned. He did not want them cut. A surgeon would cut them, just like they cut broken legs and arms!

The tension had returned to his shoulders at the mention of the surgeon; not as badly as the first time, but Matthew could feel it all the same. "Easy, lad; the surgeon will help you, he won't hurt you." He paused, for a moment, taken completely aback by the boy's request; he was unable to come up with a response at first, so he said, to fill the space, "Whisht. It's alright," again, while he tried to think of what to say.

He'd never been asked to look at a human being's injuries - not before the Frenchwoman and her baby, at least, which he had taken to the surgeon regardless of the request. Matthew knew that technically the boy was right. It was not as if the boy had some sort of illness that he did not understand, that did not translate between animals and humans. He could set the fingers as easily as a surgeon, he could suture the wounds, he could give him something for his bruises. But it was not right for him to do that. Besides that, it was the lad's fingers they were dealing with here. If he did not set them well, and he lost full or partial use of the hand as a result, Matthew would be responsible for that. A dog's digits were not exactly the same as a man's fingers.

"I'm an animal surgeon, Pye," he said finally. "You're not an animal; you're a human being. You need to see the surgeon; he will be much better at it than I."

"I won't!" Pye pulled his injured hand closer to his chest. "It don't matter. I.. I have ter go before they break camp completely." He made it sound as if he was in a hurry not to be late when the men began with the march. He began to get up, using only his hand that was not injured, while his other he nursed still close to his chest.

"Sir, if Lucy or Davy or any of t' riflemen come t' you with Peggie... you'll take care o' her... right?.. so she grows.. an'.. an has a good life."

Matthew kept his hand on the boy's back, and reached his other hand around to place a light pressure on top of the lad's shoulder to keep him from standing up. He was about to answer with insistence that the boy should see the surgeon - perhaps even to phrase it as an order - when the second part of what the boy said really hit him. He had no idea who Lucy and Davy were, but he knew Peggie, of course. The lad was saying he'd not be by with the chick again - as if he wasn't going to be around to see to it himself. He was trying to take his leave. He was not trying to return to his regiment before they broke camp.

He was trying to desert.

"Pye," Matthew said, slowly, still with the same gentle tone, "you'll be there to see to that yourself." Spoken that way, the boy would lie now - of course he would. Matthew had to make it clear to him that he knew.

"You can't desert, Pye; you cannot run away."

Pye flinched as if Matthew had struck him across the face with the back of his hand. He dropped his gaze. He had hoped that the man would not catch on till it was too late, but at the same time that he could be assured that the chick would be safe. He shook his head in protest and gazed at Broderick nervously.

"I ain't... jus' making sure m' chick will always be safe." He tried to reason. "I honest ain't." He pressed on with the lie. He did not mean to desert to escape. He had too little of his clothes on him, to be able to proove he planned it or that he knew what would be later. "If. .. perchance I die."

The boy's reaction to the word gave him away as clearly as if he had admitted it openly, and Matthew knew that he was right. The boy was planning to desert. As to why, it was not hard to guess that it was connected to his injuries somehow. He had no idea what had happened to the boy. Pye had been beaten, that much was obvious, and that had made him choose to run.

The boy had not committed any crime yet. He could be stopped before he did; Matthew knew that desertion was a capital charge. He was not about to see a lad walk into that.

"Lad," he said simply, not accusingly, "I've guessed it, and you can't lie to me now. But you're right; you're not going to desert, because I'm not going to allow you to do it." His hand tightened slightly over the boy's shoulder. "What happened to you, Rifleman Pye?"

"I fell."

Broderick knew and yet he did not sound the alarm. It bemused Pye further, so that he barely noticed the tightening at his arm. Did he make a mistake in choosing to leave? Of course he did. He thought that he might keep his friends, Davy, Lucy, safer that way. They would not be in danger when not associated with a rifleman who others were out for. He still had not protected Davy, when it counted most and this hurt Pye worse than his broken fingers. He failed.

But, as he thought further, he wondered if, in deserting, he would have brought worse light onto the riflemen. "... sir. " He began still torn and certainly less confident with his earlier decision. "I did not think.. of doing it." A lie, but it felt better to say it. Nobody should openly admit to such a want. If others heard of it, if they did, there would be trouble.

The boy gave him two more lies. Matthew's face creased in a frown, though the lad still wasn't meeting his eyes, and probably couldn't see it. He needed to understand what had happened, first, before he could really try to handle the problem. "You fell," Matthew said, still gentle, but with a tone of disbelief entering his voice. "Lad, I don't believe that for a second. I may be an animal doctor, but I can still recognize someone's been beaten when I see it."

"I fell. " He repeated stubbornly, his lips in a thin line, pressed together as if to say that he would not speak of it, no matter what. "I'm clumsy." He added to support this and slowly sat up. As long as Lavinia was there he did not want to run, knowing that the only thing keeping that dog from attacking was Broderick. The man could well change his mind, if he ran.

"Can you put her ... on a leash?" This would slow the dog considerably, as a leash needed first to be undone, if the dog was meant to be released.

Matthew shook his head. "I've not got one with me," he answered - he'd meant to simply catch her up and carry her if he needed to. She wasn't that heavy. "But lad...Pye. You're not that clumsy. Someone's hurt you, badly; beaten you - broken your fingers, damn it, lad. Why? What happened?" He kept the anger out of his voice. Matthew knew it would only upset the lad more.

"I fell." The lad repeated a third time. "Nothing happened." He knew it sounded as if he was protecting the third party that hit him. But really, what would they think when they learned of this. Captain Vickery would have another problem to deal with, so many since Pye arrived in the rifles. If the lad had stayed, then he certainly would not have remained in the rifles. Not because he would not have wanted to, but because captain Vickery would surely had had enough of it. He could not blame or hold that against the man but to return to the 33rd was not an option he was looking forward to.

He sighed. Lavinia could not be detained. That put a damper in his plans, as unreasonable as they were.

Why was the boy protecting whoever had done this to him? Matthew did not understand - surely he could have no good feeling toward the man or men that had beaten him? Perhaps he was afraid of them coming after him again.

"If you speak openly to me, lad," he finally said, "I will not speak of it to any other, not unless you give me permission, not to your officers, not to your comrades. I will speak to no-one."

"Sir. What good will it do to you, no matter what I say?" He asked. He still felt somewhat dizzy, his fingers that were broken began to ache more, and their mangled state was something to observe in a strange, twisted sort of admiration. It was so... unnatural, how they looked.

"Then I'll understand what's going on," Matthew answered, "and then I can help, lad." He could talk the boy into going to the surgeon, first of all, and then - then he didn't know where to go from there. But the first thing to do was to get him patched up properly.

"But If I fell. What else is there t' understand?" He asked. ".. knowin' how it 'appened won't make yer fix it no easier. A ..finger's broken.. whether it be couse somebody fell on it an' cracked it, or ..whether there was other things." He shook his head. "Is t' same." He winced as he moved. His head was finally feeling somewhat better, and did not make the world shaky, when he stood to look at it. Of course, he had not tried standing yet to confirm that theory.