An Officer's Room in Belem

"Am I not an intelligence officer? Have I not concerns?" Padstowe asked angrily. Had he been ten years younger he possibly would have been inclined to sulk.

Stephen glanced at the door, and lowered his voice. "And how long have you been an 'intelligence officer'?"

"Since Vimeiro," Padstowe said, cursing himself of his stupidity and wondering whether something did get damaged in his head. "But I told you before; I am officially an Exploring Officer, but my work has not always... strictly involved uniform."

"Vimeiro? The Battle of Vimeiro?" Stephen frowned a little, and then his face cleared. "Last year? God love you, Jonathan." He gently patted the captain's uninjured shoulder. "This might be unpleasant work. I will not have you involved."

"Doctor, I am not a child," Padstowe said impatiently. "I am paid to do unpleasant work, if that is what my duty involves. And if there is any activity that should be brought to the attention of my superiors it is my duty to find out what I can and then report to them. Would you stop me performing my duty?"

Stephen's smile vanished. "If you are going to reveal my identity to military men not of my choosing, who will at the very least attempt to interfere in my saving the lives of desperate people, then I will most certainly prevent you from performing your duty."

"Your identity would not come into it, if you wish it," Padstowe said earnestly. "And I report to Hogan and Sir Arthur - no one else. I would not seek to put you in danger."

"I told Sir Arthur personally that when I discovered the list, I would deal with it; he was sensible enough to ask no further questions. I will provide my own report of my actions. As for you, Captain Padstowe, you are currently not an Exploring Officer, you are not an 'intelligence officer': you are a recovering patient." He smiled, in an attempt to take the sting from his words. "Trust me, Jonathan, to look after these people and you. You asked that of me, on the road to Lisbon."

Padstowe bit back on his reply, wounded slightly by the emphasis Maturin put on 'intelligence officer'. Did he think he was playing atthis? That he was just somelittle boy seeking adventure?

"Since I cannot even turn my own head," he said flatly. "I do not see that I have any choice. But you will tell of any successes, of any difficulties?"

"I will," said Stephen, opening up the paper and scanning it. "And if I can deduce the actions of the assassin, I will tell you those also. Do you know of any perfumers in Lisbon?"

"No," Padstowe said blankly. "I don't buy perfume. But you are likely to find luxury merchants nearer the upper part of town - near the castle and cathedral."

"Just so..." Stephen bent to rummage through his haversack, and brought out the roll of the Admiralty's heavy gold coins, putting it in his inside pocket. "I will leave now: time is of the essence. Do you need anything before I leave?"

"No, I am fine thank you." He would ask one of the orderlies for... assistance nex time they came around.

"Are you sure? Stephen said as he perched on the end of the bed, loading his pistol. "I am sorry to leave so early, but I must also see des Sablières again, and then if I can get two people out of the city by nightfall..."

"Yes, yes I am certain. Go, you have much to do."

Stephen looked a little embarrassed as he tucked the list into his breast pocket. "I have tied up the papers, and will leave them here, in my haversack, under the bed. I do not think you will be at risk, but should something go wrong they should not find them on my- on me."

"I understand."

Padstowe gave a slight nod, and then his face broke into a smile.

"I shall defend them with my chamber pot."

Stephen smiled, but continued to look worried. "I doubt you will be in need to." He put his wig on his head, and then drew out some blue-tinted spectacles and put them on. "May I beg use of Bethany?"

"By all means. I expect the poor mare could do with the exercise."

There was a twinge of regret in his voice. He missed seeing, and would not be able to for some time.

"Probably chewing at the stable door, poor girl."

"She is here. I am afraid I rode her when I went to meet the column," Stephen looked apologetic, but only out of courtesy.

"Oh."

Mind you, he had been conscious at the time to ask...

"It was only practical."

"Yes; I went straight from Headquarters that dawn. She is a good creature. What else will I need?" Stephen asked himself, glancing around the room.

"your shoes?" Padstowe hazarded, having caught a glimpse of the doctor's stockinged feet.

"Ah. Yes, you are quite right," said Stephen, checking the rest of his clothes. "I forgot my breeches when I went to interview with Wellesley; it was a very good thing that my landlord was in a sycophantic mood at the time. That would not have gone well..." he said absently as he looked under the desk, and then the bed.

Padstowe silently agreed that it would not have, and wondered how any man could forget to put on his breeches...