An Officer's Room in Belem

"I am somewhat glad to hear it," Padstowe said, although he was not very keen on the idea of taking his 'physic' now or next year.

"If you are to recover, you need to rest." Stephen gestured towards the desk. "Would you mind if I worked here? It would save me the trouble of finding an empty room. Will the candlelight bother you?"

"No, not at all."

The doctor settled down to his business, and Padstowe, now fully awake, craned his neck from the pillow to try and see what it was he was doing.

"What is it you are working on?"

"The intelligence papers," said Stephen, fiddling with his tinder box. "Prideaux has spies and informers in the city, and their details be somewhere in here. Now that I am in a position to act upon that intelligence, I find myself in a hurry to find them. Of course, I cannot find out what each paper says until I have decoded it."

"I see." Padstowe wished he could help, but his offer would be of little use - at the moment he could not bear sitting up for lone, and lying down was not an easy position to read or write in.

"I never did ask - did the General receive the Military papers well enough?"

"He did, for all the gratitude he showed. I gave him a detailed enough commentary - what he chooses to do with the intelligence is up to him now. I have my own copies." And, he thought, he would send whichever of those he deemed appropriate to Sir Joseph, considering the fact that Sir Arthur was too busy riding off in a huff because Stephen would not bow and scrape to a manipulative Dublin jackeen to actually discuss the papers with him. If the general's pride came ahead of the papers, he deemed himself free to do as he pleased with them.

"Ah."

It seemed that the General had fallen foul of the doctor's temperament as well. He wondered what Sir Arthur must have done.

"He will appreciate your efforts, especially riding out to take them to him."

Stephen had finally managed to light the candle. "If he did, he did not show it," he said, opening the sheath of papers. "It does not particularly matter either way."

He turned around in his chair as he sharpened a pencil. "How was your day? It must have been very tedious."

Padstowe decided to let the subject drop, as it seemed the doctor was eager to.

"Oh no, not really," he said casually. "The orderlies have been in and out, some well-wisher for another gentleman having got the wrong room; and there was a spider wandering across the ceiling at one point."

"Really? Could you see what kind?" said Stephen, looking up at the ceiling as though his eyes might penetrate the dense darkness to see the specimen, but his mouth had run ahead of his brain, and Padstowe's tone of voice finally registered. "My offer of books was genuine, you know. How is your Latin?"

"Poor, I am afraid," Padstowe admittedly wryly. "I never had much interest in it at school, though I find I regret my laxity now."

"Ah; I am afraid none of mine would be of any use to you then." He tapped his chin. "The man Capitaine des Sablières is lodging with is English, however, and he appeared to have a collection of books. I intend to visit him again tomorrow; I will ask if I might take a loan of one or two for you. I know that you do not like poetry - is there anything else you might prefer?"

"Anything beside philosphy or romance," he said. "Those I cannot abide. How was M. des Sablières?"

Stephen smirked at Padstowe's self-conscious practicality, and then sighed. "He took the news well. I was not entirely truthful when it came to informing him of the manner of his men's deaths, but that is not something I regret. It is possible that the Foreign Office has decided to be troublesome - I will investigate that further - and there was an incident..." He shook his head. "He is a kind man; I believe I almost have a fondness for him."

Padstowe could see why the doctor might. Although he himself could not proclaim a fondness for the captain, des Sablières was in truth little more than a boy - albeit a boy who held a commission in the French cavalry - who was in over his head, and had his control slip from his grasp. In a way he pitied the captain more than liked him.

"What is this about the Foreign Office?" he asked.

"A man turned up at his lodgings, asking questions. He claimed to have been to see des Sablières' men here in Belem, which I am not sure if I believe. The Captain said he threatened him - he is worried that he might be handed over to the Portuguese. I assured him that will not happen. The man knew three names: Ickx, Saint-Laurent, and Prideaux, but has yet to put the pieces in anything resembling their correct order."

Stephen searched his memory. "The man asked whether Saint-Laurent had brought Prideaux's papers from Obidos. Des Sablières refused to answer any more questions, and I am certain that he knows nothing of you or me, at least from the capitaine."

Padstowe had a very bad feeling in his guts about this.

"We must be grateful to the captain, then," he said. "But this man - did he give his name?"

"He did." Stephen raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"What was it?"

"Do you need to know, Jonathan?" Stephen sighed. If the man was indeed visiting Belem, it might be better for Padstowe to know. "His name is Pumphrey."

His bad feeling had been correct.

"Then I fear that we have already met. He knows that I am an Exploring Officer for sure-" he recalled their brief chance meeting at Headquarters before the mission. "-but I doubt he knows anything about my involvemen in the incident."

"I know him only by reputation; and he has a reputation as a ruthless and lethal man. What did you think of him?"

"He is a molly, of course," Padstowe said disapprovingly. "But a dangerous molly. He is like Ickx in a way - seemingly frail and languid, all frills, manners and perfume, but you get the sense that he is ever on the verge of turning nasty. He likes to play with people."

Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose. "I do not have enough information to act; as I said, I will investigate further. He is a danger to des Sablières, but possibly even more so to us, if he finds out about our role."

"I think you are safe for now, doctor," he said. "Very few know of your role, and I hope that I gave the impression of a rather obtuse and somewhat unimaginative individual - I do not know how far he was convinced. Butcan we trust des Sablières?"