Reporting In

The sentries took one look at Sharpe's face and assumed a wooden look as he stalked past them into the entrance hall of the Headquarters building.

If one of his men had been as careless as Hogan had, Sharpe would've given him punishment drill by now. As it was, he was going to have words with the Major, senior to him or not.

Sent out to escort back to Lisbon two men carrying valuable papers... hadn't he thought there was a possibility of getting chased and attacked by the French? As they had been.

How they had fought off superior numbers of French cavalry, in the dark, Sharpe couldn't say. But they had, and they had prisoners, as well. He was getting sick and tired of being expected to pull off the impossible, and he was determined to let Hogan know it. And then he was expected to go and see Sir Arthur Wellesley, and that was making him feel nervous, which really wasn't helping matters.

Padstowe sensed Sharpe simmering neck to him and prayed that Hogan was in a fairly suitably mood to be able to wether the oncoming storm that was most likely to blow up. He cast his friend sideways glance as they walked along the corriodor to Hogan's office.

"Don't say anything you may later regret in your court martial," he mutterd as he knocked on the door and was told to enter.

"Ha ha."

He straightened his uniform up anyway, feeling dirty, hungry, tired and unshaven.

"He's goin' to wonder what sort of ragamuffin you dragged in," he said as Padstowe opened the door.

"Don't be daft, we both look as bad as each other," he said under his breath as they went in.

Hogan looked up from hsi deak and smiled.

"Jonathan, Richard! Glad to see you both back, we were getting worried."

He then saw Padstowe's makeshift sling, the scruffy state of both of them, patches of dried blood and their grim expressions. Hogan frowned.

"With good reason, it would seem. Were you successful?"

"We were," Padstowe said formally. "Though unfortunately M. Prideaux could not join us - he has since been dealt with. The papers we recovered; I have one half and the doctor has the other."

Successful? By the skin of their teeth.

Sharpe stood, glowering. Hogan's usual genial attitude was not helping at all.

"It's good to see you, Richard. Everything went well?"

"Only to a point, sir. Someone failed to mention to Captain Padstowe's and Doctor Maturin's companion that we were coming, and one of my men had a knife held to his throat." And that was just the first on a long list of grievances.

"Ah."

Hogan could sense that this was dangerous ground and that he should proceed carefully.

"I had left that to yours and Doctor Maturin's discretion," he said to Padstowe. "Seeming as I am unacquainted with the doctor's personal contacts."

"I admit that it slipped our minds," Padstowe said. He indicated his shoulder with is makeshift sling of a grubby shirt.. "We were both wounded."

It sounded a feeble excuse and he knew it.

Trying to shift the blame onto Padstowe wasn't going to wash.

"And just whose bright idea was it to send only six of us to meet up with them, whenthe French were going to realise they had an agent killed and papers missing? Sir?"

That was unforgivable. They could all have been killed, and those papers could be back with the French, leaving Hogan with eight dead bodies for no good reason.

Now that was the underlying problem, and Hogan knew it was his fault. Bowing to Maturin's wishes for the fewer men the better Hogan had foolishly taken him at his word and only sent out a handful of trusted men to meet them. He should have listened to his instinct and taken insisted on more men, but the doctor had been planning to go and return by himself in the first place...

And at the time he had been unaware of M. Ickx's presence. Had he been he would have sent Sharpe's whole company, but by the time the news had reached him it was too late, andcould only hope for the best.

But how to tell Sharpe that?

Hogan didn't look too comfortable at the accusation, but Sharpe didn't particularly care. It must've been the idea of someone who was used to working alone, which meant that it wasn't Hogan's idea. He was the spider in a web of intelligence agents, and knew the dangers involved.

Padstowe was an Exploring Officer, used to being alone, but he was also a soldier and, again, would have known about the French and how they were likely to react. Which left only one real option.

"Maturin. It was that bloody Doctor Maturin's idea, weren't it." And if any of his men had been wounded, it would have been down to the doctor to patch them up.

"If he does anything like that again, I want all of my men to come wi' me. Or I won't be going." And yes, that was called 'mutiny' and severely frowned upon. But right now, Sharpe didn't care.

That was being somewhat unfair on the doctor, Hogan thought, his expression hardening, and said so.

"It is true that Maturin requested asfew men as possible be involved," he admitted. "But that I did not insist on more men was my fault. I should have sent more."

He paused.

"We also believed there to be little rishk of persuit, there being no other French operative that we knew of. We did not know about M. Ickx's presence until it was too late to warn you or send more men."

And this was why Sharpe kept as far away from Intelligence work as he could.

He muttered something about 'assuming leading to things buggering up'.

"Of course they were goin' to send someone after us, it don't take much to work out whether important papers have gone missin', even if you don't know what's in 'em."

But he was going to insist on taking all his men with him next time, no matter what. if there was going to be a next time, and he hoped there wasn't. Once was quite enough for anybody.

Padstowe just kept quiet, watching the exchange between the two.

"You should have been a day a head of them by the time they managed to get some for of proper pursuit together," Hogan said. "It was unfortunate that you were not. You made it back, though - and with prisoners!"

"A day ahead of them, with Captain Padstowe with a bullet in his shoulder, God knows how, and Doctor Maturin like a bear with a sore head 'cause he couldn't see straight!"

If they had managed to get the papers without any injury, they might, just might have been able to get a day's grace.

"If it hadn't been for the Portuguese irregulars, chances are we'd be dead or worse, now. The French sent God-damned cavalry after us. Even if we didn't have two injured men, we wouldn't have had a day's head start on cavalry,"

Had the men really not considered the fact the French had horsemen around that area?

Padstowe remained silent, gazing calmly at the floor. He was embarrassed to be caught up in such a business, embarrassed to be here, embarrassed by the look Hogan gave him when Sharpe mentioned his being shot in the shoulder.

He would call an end to it before it got out of hand, but he would not do so yet, even if hewas itching for a bath and a change of clothes.

"Is that all, Richard?"

No it wasn't, not by a long shot, but there wasn't anything anyone could do about it, and he just wanted get some sleep. After making sure the rest of his men hadn't drunk themselves stupid while he'd been away, of course.

"No, sir."

Padstowe groaned inwardly, but it would only upset Sharpe more if he were to stop him before he'd had his say.

"We were attacked, at night, by French cavalry. If it hadn't been for the fact the terrain was pretty wooded, and Doctor Maurin's Portuguese contact and his friends had followed us, my men would be dead and I'd be a prisoner. And they knew what Captain Padstowe and Doctor Maturin had taken."

And that was all; he'd run out of steam and his head had begun to ache again. He wondered vaguely if it was because he'd been clouted in the night attack; he didn't usually get headaches.

Padstowe did not hear Hogan's reply, as he suddenly felt very dizzy and swayed on the spot, his colour vanishing from his cheeks.

Bloody hell. He turned to grasp his friend's arm. "Jonathan. Jonathan, you all right?" he asked, ignoring the fact he'd just called a superior officer by his first name in front of Major Hogan. He looked up. "You got any brandy to hand, sir?" he asked.

Hogan already had a bottle in his hand and was pouring some into a glass, which he offered Sharpe.

"Here, sit down and drink this," Sharpe said, feeling awkward.

His vision had blurred for a moment along with his hearing, and he was grateful to sit down, accepting the offered brandy that was pressed into his hand.

"My apologies, sir," he said to Hogan. "It is only a passing weakness, I shall be alright in a moment."

Hogan waved it away. "Don't worry, my boy, nothing to apologise for." He smiled at seeing Sharpe hovering over Padstowe like an anxious nursemaid.

Padstowe swallowed down the brandy, closing his eyes to try and stop the world from swimming. He opened them again, glad to see that everything had righted itself again and he felt a little steadier.

"We should be going, sir," he said. "I promised to meet the doctor and... Mister Sharpe has appointnment as well."

He directed a brief smile up at Sharpe.

"Don't you, Richard?"

If Padstowe was referring to his meeting with Sir Arthur, he'd recovered entirely too fast for Sharpe's comfort.

"Yes," he growled, wishing he were anywhere but in Lisbon, a few doors down from the General's office. After this, he was going to go and get drunk. Probably.

Padstowe's smile broadened, putting the empty glass down on the desk and rising from the chair. A bit wobbly but he felt more stable once he was up.

"I'll return later, sir, once have had a chance to talk to the doctor."

Hogan acknowledged him with a nod, and Padstowe put the saddle bags back over his good shoulder and picked up his hat.

"Come on, Sharpe, mustn't be late," he murmured seriously, though deep down he was highly amused. Sharpe obviously did not want to be hurried into this meeting.

"Just shoot me. It'd be less painful," Sharpe muttered, wondering if there was any way at all he could get out of this. He followed Padstowe into the corridor, wondering if he could sneak away before Wellesley knew he was here... and no, he couldn't. There was an aide lying in wait for them.

Did Wellesley have any idea how much he terrified Sharpe? He would never match up to the standards asked of him and he didn't know any other way of gaining the man's respect.