Muster in the Morning, 6th July

"If I may," Mister Todd began, aware that he was running the risk of being impertinent, "but is your fellow about this height, with a rather worrisome tendency toward insolence?"

The Guards major regarded him for a long moment before replying. "That would be a fair description of the rascal, yes. What do you know of him, sir?"

"Only that he was recently in the surgeon's train, sir, seeking treatment for a wounded arm." Todd inclined his head in Vickery's direction. "I do apologise for interrupting, sir," he added.

Cotton had been about to make sure everything was packed up ready for the march when Vickery called. He thrust the mule's rope halter at the nearest Rifleman and ran over to the officer, slowing to a halt at a suitable distance so that it would not look as if he meant to interrupt.

Vickery looked over towards him and he saluted, suddenly very aware that the redcoat was a Guards officer.

"Have you seen any of the Second Guards around here recently? The major says that one of his men has lost a shako and thinks it was mislaid in our camp somewhere."

Cotton blinked. "No sir. Though..." There had been a drummer round here the night Cotton had got his arm sliced open. "I'll keep an eye out for it, sir, an' bring it over meself if anyone finds it."

"Though?" Edmondson asked, his voice flat.

Ah, crap. "There was a lad of your aroun' a couple of nights ago, sir, though I didn't see much of him an' he wasn't here very long." He didn't recall seeing a shako, though, and with the brass shako plate polished to the Guards' high standards, Cotton was sure he would have seen that.

Though, maybe not - that was the evening he'd ended up fighting that idiot Kirridge, and got his arm knifed.

The major's brows knitted sharply together. A lie had first been told, which was only corrected upon being challenged. He might have known.

"So you did, in fact, see a Guardsman here." Edmondson paused, a muscle in his cheek giving a twitch. "I dare say if he encountered ill treatment, he would not have stayed 'very long', would you agree?"

The surgeon's mention of seeing that damned drummer in the surgeons' train, having his arm treated, only supported the theory now forming in Edmondson's mind.

"Only in passin', sir, an' not to talk to or nothin'." If he had received 'ill treatment' as the officer put it, it was not at Cotton's hands. "I dunno who he saw or anythin' like that."

And now he felt defensive as all hell.

Vickery straightened sharply at the implied accusation. "I hope that you are not insinuating that my man had anything to do with any such treatment, sir?" he said, addressing the Guardsman with very slightly narrowed eyes.

If anybody had had anything to do with it, he would lay ten to one that it was the absent Kirridge.

"Not in the least," replied Edmondson crisply. "Seeing my Guardsman and handling him roughly are, naturally, two separate beasts. Though I do wonder who else may have seen him during his brief visit."

A frown was creasing Mister Todd's brow. "How many days ago did this incident occur, sir?" He asked of the Guards major.

"Two days, on the fourth," was the reply.

Two days...? Vickery was immediately on the alert. "Excuse me for one moment, sir," he said, and turned to summon his senior sergeant.

"The two men who were absent at parade. I want to know who they mess with and where and when they were last seen," he said crisply. If this had anything to do with either of them, Vickery was going to throw the book at that man.

"Could your man point out who it was who abused him, sir? Or give a description of the man?" he asked, turning back to the Major once the sergeant had gone to carry out his order.

The grasshopper's abrupt change in demeanour suggested that Edmondson's distaste might very well be justified.

"I dare say he can. Already has, with some pressing." The major glanced dismissively at the round-faced batman. "There were two fo them, at cards. One short and disreputable, the other taller and lean."

"I presume it was the shorter one who did most of the damage?" Vickery asked. From the sparse description, it sounded very much as though his suspicions were justified. "How badly was your fellow hurt?"

He was still going to throw the book at the pair of them, though.

That was a detail about which that little rogue had been obstinately vague, but it hardly mattered.

"He suffered some bruising to the face and a mildly wrenched wrist," was Edmondson's answer. It was delivered in a tone that hinted at a feeling of irritation - though at what, precisely, was impossible to tell.

Well, that news set Vickery's mind somewhat at ease; he had been afraid it was much worse. "When I find the perpetrators, sir, you may rest assured that they will be punished, and your man's property will be returned should it transpire someone in my Company has it unlawfully."

"And how long will that take?" Edmondson wanted to know. "I hardly expect the two rogues responsible for the assault will have kept anything for a trophy."

Though it was all but a certainty that whoever had carried out the attack was long since gone. The grasshopper's own words had revealed as much.

"As little time as it may," Vickery replied, wondering how in the world he was supposed to provide an exact timescale - especially if it was either Mayden or Kirridge, or both, who were to blame for what had happened. He also wondered what use the Major thought his men would have for a Guardsman's shako with its bright polished brass plate, rather than their own with nothing but the bugle horn badge to give them away.

That was hardly any better, really.

"I dare say you had better make a start on it, then."

And that put Vickery's back up right away. What did the Guardsman think he had done, in wanting to know who had last seen the two Riflemen in question and when, after all?

"Certainly, sir," he replied, and turned to Mister Todd, who was still waiting patiently. "I apologise for the delay. What was it you wished to see me about?"

No doubt the grasshopper thought his acknowledgement signalled end to the matter, but Edmondson was not so easily put off. He narrowed his eyes yet said nothing. It would, perhaps, not advance his cause to press the matter at this moment, but he would return this evening, after the march.

~

"Sir," said Todd. "I'm here regarding one of your missing Riflemen, in point of fact."

Ah. That was interesting, especially in light of recent events. "Which of them?" he asked, and privately wished the Guards officer would take himself off so that Vickery wouldn't feel he was airing the Rifles' dirty laundry in public.

"The short darker fellow, of the Ninety-fifth. One of Mister Sharpe's lot."

There was a very quiet hmph from Edmondson upon hearing this.

Of course it was. Of course it was. "What is it I should know about him then?"

"He and a redcoat were brawling, sir," replied Todd. "When I happened on them, your Rifleman was very near to inflicting a likely mortal blow to his opponent. He had already wounded the other fellow across the ribs, with a knife - a wicked little thing, from what I saw of it."

Vickery couldn't help his eyes narrowing. That would mean a flogging at the very least - it was more likely to be a general court martial with a hanging at the end of it.

"Where is he now?" he asked tightly, hoping to hear that he had been taken into custody. This was far beyond simply roughing up a Guardsman.

This was interesting, thought Edmondson. Interesting indeed. Certainly it strengthened his feeling that the Rifles were nothing more than a pack of ruffians in uniform.

~

"I could not say, sir," said Todd. "I sent them both on their way - though the redcoat, I suspect, will have gone to see one of my counterparts from his regiment. He is, may I add, one of those provost fellows with whom there was some difficulty recently."