Re: 3rd August, Room and Board

[sans nom]

"You gonna wash it?" Charcot asked, hearing the splash of water. He was about to offer his useless eye bandage as a washing cloth, then remembered what he had felt on the bed. "I think there's a foot sheet - No, what's this?" It felt like a uniform coat. "This yours?"

[Paol Kerjean]

Paol looked up. "No, it -- aw, hell. It's one of them grasshoppers' coats."

[Keiju]

"That's the plan," Bright replied through gritted teeth. He was trying to crane his neck around to see how bad the sutured-up wound was. It was long, oozing blood, and ugly-looking, but he supposed that was how it was supposed to look.

Ignoring Charcot and Kerjean, he dunked the shirt-turned-sling-turned-washing-cloth into the basin of water. Wringing it out was basically impossible with only one hand, but he did a passable enough job at it. Then he lifted his left arm with a quiet oath - in English - and slapped the dripping linen against the line of stitches.

[sans nom]

"Maybe one of us could put it on and escape!" Charcot said eagerly. But almost immediately, he realized it was an impossible idea. They would still have to walk past the riflemen themselves downstairs, and possibly the Spanish guards if they were still around.

And if he was honest with himself, all he really wanted to do was lie down on this bed and go to sleep. For several days at least.

[sans nom]

Downstairs, Kaufmann had sat down again at the table and was beginning to resume his eating when he stopped and muttered a curse as if suddenly remembering something. Ignoring Mittelstaedt, he rose and hurried up the stairs.

[Paol Kerjean]

Paol took a bite of meat; he had not realized how hungry he was until he actually began to eat and now it was all he could not not to swallow the whole piece at once. Forcing himself to chew more slowly, he cocked his head to one side, considering Charcot's idea. Bright might manage it; his ability to speak English would possibly be some protection from the Spanish. But no -- Paol shook his head. "They'd miss it and sound the alarm soon enough."

As if in answer, a heavy step sounded on the stair and Paol felt a sickening thrill of fear. No, he thought, levering himself up. Not now. His movements felt slow and clumsy, but he managed to get to his feet and set his shoulder against the door.

[sans nom]

Kaufmann automatically reached for the door handle - it had been his own room, after all - but he could not make the door open. His damn weak hand could barely grip anything. He was about to knock when he realized that might be painful, so instead he kicked at the door with the toe of his boot. "Open up," he called loudly.

[Keiju]

Sweet Christ. Was there ever going to be a respite from any of this?

"Here. Charcot," Bright said abruptly, an idea coming to him. "Pass me that jacket. I've a use for it. And just let the bastard in. He'll have the whole garrison down on our heads, else."

Which was the last thing any of them needed.

[sans nom]

Charcot handed it over. "What're you gonna do with it? He knows you're not one of them!"

[Keiju]

He managed a brief, wry grin as he accepted the jacket. "It's got red cuffs, don't it? Red's the colour of blood an' all." So saying, he laid aside his sodden sling-shirt and fumbled a bit to get a good hold on one of the jacket's cuffs.

[sans nom]

"C'mon, I said open up!" Kaufmann called, kicking again. "Mittelstaedt!"

[Paol Kerjean]

Paol hesitated, but Bright was right. There was no real safety behind the door, and further angering their captors would not help matters. He stepped back, allowing the door room to open, but still effectively blocking the way.

*

"What? What's wrong?" demanded Mittelstaedt, bounding up the stairs after Kaufmann.

[Keiju]

This was not such a grand idea after all, Bright quickly realised. The jacket's wool was rough and filthy. Not at all fit for putting against a wound he wanted to clean. "Bah," he grunted and flung the garment awkwardly away.

[sans nom]

"I can't get this - there." He tried once more and the door opened, bringing Kaufmann face to face with the big Frenchman again. He frowned at him warily, suddenly glad to have Mittelstaedt at his back. The man was blocking his way into the room.

This whole situation - the house, the door, the Spanish control of the city and all its occupants - caused Kaufmann to feel a strange need for politeness, and it did not sit naturally with him. He cleared his throat, but the Frogs were not going to understand him anyway. "I need to come in. Please. For my coat, my jacket."

[Paol Kerjean]

The greenjacket's manner seemed more requesting than demanding and Paol was not sure whether to be reassured or wary of the change. But there was little enough he could do about it, particularly with the younger rifleman just beyond the door, and with a final glance back at Charcot and Bright, he stepped aside.

[sans nom]

After a glance at Mittelstaedt, Kaufmann stepped into the crowded little room. "That's mine," he said, reaching out with his better arm to take the coat off of the bed. But looking warily at the room's three occupants, he hesitated. "Mittelstaedt, look in the pockets for me to see if they've stolen anything."

[Keiju]

Bright's fingers tightened unconsciously around the soaked linen, which he'd picked up again. Might as well finish cleaning his side. There was little reason not to, even with these two grasshoppers sniffing around looking for trouble.

[outis]

With a suspicious glare at three prisoners, Mittelstaedt took the coat. "How the hell should I know? What's supposed to be in 'em?"

[sans nom]

Kaufmann was staring at the wounded fellow bathing his row of stitches. Perhaps the old woman might have some rags.

"What? Just... see if that trinket is still there, little medallion on a chain." He could barely remember himself what had been in his pockets, but probably nothing of consequence. His money was in a little pouch inside Mittelstaedt's pack.

[outis]

"Medallion? What medallion? Where'd you get it?" He dug his hand into one of the pockets. "This?" he asked, fishing out what appeared to be a necklace of sorts.

[sans nom]

Kaufmann took it from Mittelstaedt's hand without answering his questions. He looked at it a moment and then dropped it on the end of the bed. "That's his," he told the big Frenchman, nodding toward the blind boy. If he was going to be a prisoner of the Spanish, he might need to sell it to buy whatever little comfort he could get.

[Keiju]

"You got your jacket now," Bright said abruptly. "So you can go away again."

Not that either of the two Riflemen had any hope of understanding him.

[Paol Kerjean]

Paol regarded the greenjacket for a moment, then with a murmured thanks, nodded. He did not know quite how to interpret the gesture, but after the past several days with the Spanish, he was finding it difficult to interpret anything that wasn't a threat.

*****

"What? Don't give it back to him?" Mittelstaedt protested, "What'd you do that for?"

[sans nom]

Kaufmann nodded back at the big Frenchman. He gave the more wounded one a wary frown, understanding the tone of his speech if not the words themselves, and so he began backing out of the room. Mittelstaedt's question could wait. He hesitated before exiting completely, and then spoke again. "If you need food," gesturing to his mouth "or more water," pointing at the basin on the floor, "just... knock on the door." He demonstrated. "And call for Doña Castillo. Doña Castillo, the old woman." Then, frowning to hide his inexplicable embarrassment, he backed out of the room and pulled the door shut, driving Mittelstaedt out as well.

Out on the little landing by the stairs, he finally answered the younger rifleman. "Those poor bastards. They're prisoners of the Spanish now. Who knows if they'll even live to see a prison." That was a bit more sentiment than Kaufmann was used to expressing, and so he turned and began his descent, back to his interrupted dinner.

[Keiju]

"Thank God," muttered Bright. His relief at the grasshoppers' departure was great, not the least owing to the danger he had not realised existed in till one of the greenjackets had stared closely at him. He must be stupid to have stripped off his coat and waistcoat. If they'd gotten even a fleeting glimpse of his back...

He dropped the red-stained ball of linen back into the basin and scrubbed both hands roughly over his face. Sloppy. He was getting sloppy. Sooner or later, if he didn't tighten up, his luck was going to run out.

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