30 May, later in morning: The lost run.

"I'm trying to understand what's going on here, Pye. Trying to work out why you're afraid of going to the surgeon, and why you were trying to desert." Matthew sighed. He really did not know how to handle this, but it had fallen into his hands; he had to do the best that he could.

"Sir. You shouldn't talk of desertion.. It's a bad thing. You get hanged if you desert. " The boy reasoned gazing at Broderick. "N' so....I would not try to. "

He shook his head again and frowned. "If you wish me to be seen by ... someone, can it be you then? You've took care of Peggie. She near died on me, but you helped her. So I know that you can fix m' fingers too. Is like if a horse...." Well, that was a bad example. A horse was shot if their leg was broken. "... Is like, ... well you know. If ye fix it.. then captain Vickery won't be upset. Couse he won't know. And he won't send me to the 33rd. "

Matthew was trying to follow what threads he could pick up of the lad's convoluted logic, but he hadn't really been able to form a complete picture yet. It was beginning to come together, however. Pye was afraid the surgeon would report his injuries; he did not want Captain Vickery to be angry. Someone had attacked him, for what reason Matthew did not know; he had no idea what enemies Pye might have, or why. Then the lad had attempted to desert, perhaps to avoid facing Vickery over it? Or perhaps to keep his attacker from catching him again?

"Pye, someone beat the living daylights out of you. That's a crime. I can't just cover that up for you; you have to report it. Your Captain Vickery, he won't...I'm certain he'll not send you to the 33rd; why would he do that? Easy there, don't try to stand up yet."

"..NO! I don't want it reported, and he will. I've been too much trouble to t' captain sir. He would think it better he is rid of me, than that he faces another such trial, another bad mark to the name of his riflemen. Another bad mark to his own work." He sat up, but did not try to get any further. Perhaps Broderick was right. He did not trust his own legs to carry him far. Not if he was to stand abruptly, and Broderick hardly wold let him to stand up slow and walk off.

"Please. ..you'd do me a favour, sir. Ter not tell anyone you saw me." He bit at his lip. He was still tempted to leave, but his resolve was breaking and he did not even know why. Maybe, if he would sneak back, find another shirt, pretend his coat was mauled by a dog. Maybe he would get away with a reprimind, but safe.

"I have a responsibility as an officer, Pye." Matthew was afraid to push this too hard; he'd had some success...he thought...in talking to the lad so far. But he couldn't lie to the boy, or agree to do what he wanted, either. "I've got to see the right thing done here. I've got to see you patched up safe, and whoever's done this to you, I mean to see that they get what they deserve."

He remembered now what Cotton had told him, before this, about the company court-martial. Vickery had held it because he felt the lad had brought disrepute on the company...that was how Cotton had put it. Oh...damnation, that was what was behind this, wasn't it? That was why Pye was sure this would be the last straw for Vickery.

Matthew did not know what to tell him.

"I fell sir. If you think I fell, then you've got no obligation ter tell.. .couse nobody reports a clumsy soldier. They don't." He shook his head sharply. He knew he was desperate as much as his head seemed to ache. "Jus'... jus' if you want, if you must.. patch m' fingers. Fix'em... that I'll let, but I am not going to t' surgeons. I am NOT. I'll pay you fer this.. twice than what you ask for an animal. I promise. Jus'.. please sir." He gazed at Broderick and knew that his money was in the coat that he did not have with him. It was stolen goods, but it would have served him well. He could curse himself now for not thinking straight. If he wanted to pay, he would have to return, find his coat.

"Please. That's t' right thing. 's best for.. for me." At least he was honest in that.

"I don't believe that you fell, Pye," Matthew said gently; the lad didn't need to be spoken to sharply. All it would do would be to destroy whatever progress Matthew had already made. "I don't believe it for a moment; someone's gone and deliberately - for God's sake, Pye, they broke your fingers." It was possible they might never be the same again. The break was bad; it needed to be set, but even set it might not heal perfectly. He didn't even try to address the offer of money.

"What's best for you is to be seen by the surgeon." He had an uneasy feeling, though, about it. The lad had tried to desert rather than see the surgeon, and have the crime found out. Could he force the boy to see the surgeon? He did not know how he could do that; he could try to drag or force-march him, but Matthew wasn't sure it would be that easy to do. "If I don't help you, Pye, what are you going to do?" He asked the question, rather than letting it continue to stay unspoken.

"....I .." The first thing that did come to mind he could not speak openly to an officer, even if that man was Broderick. So he chose, slowly, to say a different thing which however could have meant the very same thing. "... I won't see anyone then.." There was no hesitation or doubt in his voice. The boy meant it.

He flinched and glanced at his fingers. They were mangled, broken. He knew they were, and they were starting to hurt badly too, especially as he was beginning to relax. "Please sir. Let me be." He did not want it reported. Captain Vickery was best ignorant of it. If he deserted it would not really matter, yet if he had to go to the surgeons, he could not exactly desert either. Not as easily as when he had but Broderick there.

"...You're putting me in an impossible position, Pye," Matthew said, finally, a little heavily. "I can't just leave you be." That was the truth. He might not know the lad very well, but he could not bring himself to leave him to his own devices. He could not turn him over to the provosts either, though he was perfectly sure that Pye had been trying to desert. How old could the boy be - sixteen, maybe?

If he did patch the lad up, perhaps Pye would listen to him, and take the right way out of this. "Come with me, and we'll put those fingers to rights, and see what I can do for the rest of you."

".. You will not take me to t' surgeons. Promise." The lad insisted, unwilling to stand up, unless he was certain that Broderick would not try to trick him into doing something he had initially refused. "...No surgeon.. jus' you." The lad was muddy, head to toe, and should have had a good bath along with his broken fingers, which were meant to be tended to.

He trusted Broderick to be able to fix his fingers, and trusted him too much for a man who he barely knew. Perhaps the chick contributed to that, as she had been healed by him, and saved from death.

"My word on it, lad. I'll not force you to the surgeon." Matthew had been considering the idea of tricking Pye, but now he'd given his promise, he could not really do that. He sighed. Perhaps he could still get Pye to make the report he needed to. And yet, could the boy possibly be justified in his fear of doing so? No; because whoever had done this was still out there, and he would go after Pye again. Obviously this was personal; the boy wouldn't be safe until he'd reported the crime and identified his attacker.

"Let's get you cleaned up first," he added. The boy was absolutely filthy, so dirty that it was hard to even see the extent of the contusions.

The lad slowly got up to his feet and dusted his trousers. Even with that, they were in a deplorable, muddy state. He caught a glance of his chest, bare and also covered in thick layer of dirt, which came of in places to reveal a bruise here, and conceal another there. He watched Broderick, looked at his dog which he was rather uncertain about, took a step back and then with a heavy sigh he nodded.

"...Lets.. get cleaned up, then." He looked around rather slowly, so as not to get dizzy and then nodded again. "..T' river's closest there sir." He deliberately chose to avoid the direction from which he had come, but then he was right in expecting the river to be closest to his right, anyway. "..Yer can take care o' things...fetch t'.. ..wot' you need, an' I'll go wash."

Matthew shook his head firmly at the boy, when he suggested that Matthew should go and get his things and leave him to wash on his own. He wasn't sure enough yet that he had secured the lad, and still thought Pye might go dashing off the moment his back was turned. The boy was still disoriented, too. If anything went wrong, he wanted to be on hand. "No, lad; we'll go back to my tent after. I don't want to have to carry everything here. I'll give you a hand with the washing."

He had meant to have the boy wash up in a bucket, but the water would be just about as cold as anything in the stream in any case. He might just as well do his washing-up in the river; he'd get cleaner anyway. "I daresay you know how to wash yourself," he added, to spare the lad's feelings, "but those fingers are going to give you a little trouble."