13 June; Visitors at Dawn

Pye pinched himself. Yep, he was awake. For a moment he thought this was all a very odd dream. But no, the bizzare event was rather real. He glanced over towards Burke and wondered what the man thought of all this. It was not normal for the 60th, and he hoped that the other knew that.

"Since when d'we have a lantern?" Mayden wanted to know.

"No lantern I've seen," Burke replied. It certainly was a relief to see Mayden here - added a bit of familiarity to a bloody bizarre situation.

He frowned at the talking lump. "Who're ye, then?"

No lantern, so what in the devil made this talking lump enquire after one?

"Who else'd I be?" Demanded the lump, sounding irritable. There was a pause and a tremble of movement in the dark, then, "This ain't the wagon..."

Mayden reached forward, this time with an empty hand, and was surprised when his fingers brushed against the coarse wool of a blanket. He took a slight grip and pulled it away.

Pye moved closer. "This's t' 60th camp. Got a campfire 'ere.. or what's left o' it." He though the irritable voice was familiar. Wait, was he? "...what on earth are you doing here?"

"Gabe? What's goin' on?" Maggie asked. She had awakened when he had moved away and grabbed his rifle, and now she was sitting up with her knees pulled to her chest, the blanket still wrapped around her. She could see only enough to know that men were moving about, some with familiar voices, and she could hear the dog growling. "Flint. Flint dog, c'mere." If her husband was off investigating strange things in the dark, at least she could have the protective presence of the dog.

Over the buzz of conversation, the dog heard a new voice - a much more welcome one. The Human from the Stream. Why was she here? He backed away from the others, keeping his eyes on the shadow that he knew to be the Angry Human.

Once safely away, he turned about and crept through the slowly-easing dark toward where he'd heard the Human from the Stream speak. For some reason she intrigued him.

What Newbury really didn't understand, aside from everything else going on, was why he was no longer in his wagon. He did not remember moving except to roll carefully over so he could sleep, yet here he was, slumped near the faintly-glowing embers of the fire in the 60th's camp. The incident of the day before, at least what he could remember of it, had been enough to keep him inside the wagon for the rest of the day and all through the night. He hadn't troubled himself to leave it even to relieve himself.

So how was he here now? It had been hours since his last dose of laudanum and his whole body felt like nothing more than a great gnawing ache. His head hurt worst of all, actually. He was thankful for the darkness, for it concealed the fact that he was shivering even under the blankets draped about him. Captain Vickery was going to roast him alive for daring to leave the surgeon's wagon. It wouldn't matter that this wasn't Newbury's doing.

"If it's a fire, somebody best tend it," Newbury muttered, hunching his shoulders under the blankets and wondering why the faint shimmer of embers in the fire-pit looked like a dark shade of brown.

Edward still couldn't sleep well in his new surroundings. There were always voices and footsteps, and the nights were surprisingly cold. The bed wasn't too comfortable either.

After having drifted in and out of sleep for most of the night, his first reaction now was to curse whatever had woken him, and turn onto his other side. When he heard the curse echoed outside, though, he reconsidered. Dragging himself from his bed, he felt around for his boots.

By the time he had manged to make himself reasonably presentable, a small crowd had already assembled around one of the fires. Still trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes, Edward came towards it.

Hiding a yawn, he inquired: "Has something happened?"

Fire. That would be good. Cotton yawned and reached for some twigs to re-light the fire. Cold ashes wouldn't help anyone right now, and it was definitely cold. Besides, with a fire going, they'd be warmer and able to put the kettle on for coffee.

And then there was a voice from behind him - an officer's voice. He straightened. "Um, nothin', sir. Sorry if we woke you, sir."

There was an officer about. Over the throbbing in his head, Newbury was not sure he could identify the voice but knew it had to be Captain Vickery. What little he remembered of the previous day left him feeling low and stupid, and he shivered despite himself. Then, having no interest in making his presence willingly known, he huddled down under the blankets and wished heartily he was still asleep in his wagon.

Emboldened by the dog at her side, Maggie got up to investigate, wrapping the blanket around her like a cape. "Is that... Joe?" She knelt down next to the lumpish figure and laid a gentle hand on what she guessed was his shoulder. "Joe, what you doin' here? Leave him alone, dog; lie down. I woulda guessed you been sleepwalking, except I know you'd never walk this far. Gabe'll make you a cuppa tea. Then you can go back to sleep for a while." They all could, hopefully. It was too early - or late - to be up and about.

Now here was a woman's voice. Newbury was instantly cheered, thinking sure it was Jenny, until the memory came to him that she was far away, still a prisoner of the French. He squeezed his eyes shut and fought back a tremor.

"I dunno, Missus," he replied in a strained voice. He wished he did know, though.

"Well never mind that now," she said soothingly. "We'll see you right."

Pye observed the officer in silence. Since the dog had stopped growling he felt more at ease and was now hoping the officer had not spotted the man that ought not be there. It was not Captain Vickery however, so perhaps he would not know that this man's whereabouts were not correct.

With the corner of his eye he noticed Miss Cotton arriving to help Newbury. They needed to carry him back to the surgeon's wagon before the surgeon noticed his patient missing once again. How Newbury came all the way to their camp was a mystery.

It didn't look as if anything serious had happened. Probably just a nightmare. Edward already regretted that he had with no reasons intruded on the riflemen. Still, since he was awake, it was better to be up and about. His shoulders already felt sore from the constant turning in the narrow cot.

He shook his head: "Never mind, Cotton. It was as good an excuse as any other to get up. Ma'am." He tipped his head to the nice-looking female on her knees besides the huddled figure next to the cold fire. He hadn't seen her before, but she looked rather neat and the riflemen all seemed comfortable with her presence. Probably a favourite companion or even the wife of one of them. If it had indeed been a nightmare, she would be of much more help than he could be.

Walking slowly away from the group, Edward contemplated what to do next. There wasn't much he could do without some light, but the officer of the watch might probably be willing to have a chat. Turning back in that direction, he spotted the small dog. Crouching down at some distance, he offered his hand for the canine to sniff at.

"Hello! And who might you be, Sir?"

Somehow, despite the assurance, Newbury doubted that. He hadn't been much use in the past weeks and was beginning to wonder if there was any point in 'seeing him right'.

He offered nothing in reply and dared not open his eyes again.

~

There was a new human. Who was this, then? The dog moved away from the Human from the Stream and cautiously approached this stranger. The stranger who offered a hand and a cheerful-sounding buzz of words. He seemed friendly enough though in the dark even the dog could not see features clearly. This one had an odd smell about him though. How interesting...

Edward remained unmoving until the dog had had ample opportunity to sniff at him. Then he slowly moved his hand to scratch the dog behind his ears, keeping a sharp eye on the little canine's behaviour. The dog seemed friendly enough, but Edward wasn't foolish enough to take an untrained, probably half-starved dog's reactions for granted.

"You probably would prefer some food, but I don't think I have any with me."

Maggie rose to her feet and bobbed an awkward curtsy with the blanket still wrapped around her. He sounded like an officer, and she preferred to be invisible to officers when she had nothing but a chemise on.

"Sorry we woke you, sir. It's just - this fellow was injured recently..." She trailed off. It was usually better not to go into details with officers, and surely that would be explanation enough for an unusual occurrence. She deftly changed the subject. "That's Flint, sir, the dog. He's been wandering about here lately."

That wasn't Captain Vickery, Newbury realised, but this knowledge did not bring any relief. Neither did Missus Cotton's remark about him having been injured. Anything that drew attention to him right then was bad. Especially with an officer involved.

~

This human was fascinating, the dog thought. He smelled like one of Things with Hard Feet, but not so strongly that it was a nuisance. There was a definite whiff of something like wood about him too. Though not quite wood as the dog knew it. Very strange. He sat back and stared up at the Strange Human, recognising the word around which the dog's existence was centred.

Food.

Maggie's curtsy was answered with a slight bow. "As I said, no need to apologize, ma'am. Is he alright now or will he need to see the surgeon?"

Cotton reached for his tinderbox and struck a spark onto a handful of dry grass. It didn't catch and he had to try a second time before it caught and the grass flared up. He pushed the small ball under the stack of twigs and sat back.

Now, how had Newbury managed to get himself up here, from the baggage train, in his present condition? And, more to the point, what in the world was Captain Vickery going to say? It wasn't as though they could keep the other man's presence hidden, and he was in no fit state to rejoin them.

The pieces were coming together in Mayden's mind. He had heard about Newbury from the assistant surgeon. Daft fellow to be here, certainly.

"Dunno's it's best for him to be up an' about, sir," Mayden said carefully, aware that while his loyalty lay with the 95th, these 60th lads were Riflemen just the same as he. "He's had a hard time of it lately."

"Then he should not be here in the first place."

Edward went to the huddled figure and drew away the blanket. A quick glance more than confirmed Mayden' statement. This man was certainly in no condition to be out of a surgeon's care.

"What are you doing here for heavens sake, man?"

The shock made his tone sharper than he intended.

Blast it. This was not what Maggie had intended! "Oh sir, he ain't talkin' sense right now," she said, intervening recklessly again. "But we'll see him right, and get him back to the surgeon. Won't we, Gabe?"

She knelt and readjusted Joe's blanket. Why couldn't the officer leave the poor man alone? If any of them got in trouble for this, Maggie was going to be very cross with herself for opening her mouth.