Re: 3rd August, Room and Board

[sans nom]

The Spanish soldier was surprised to see a rifleman answering the door, but Doña Castillo pushed past both Kaufmann and Mittelstaedt to speak with the man in an exchange that seemed to take on the form of an argument. Amidst her animated gestures, she appeared to be talking about the riflemen as if their presence proved her point. The younger girl hid behind Mittelstaedt and only peeked around his shoulder to look out the door.



"Those Frogs," Kaufmann replied, nodding toward the unhappy group of men in the street. "They must be prisoners."

[outis]

Prisoners? Mittelstaedt gave Kaufmann a look that suggested he thought the older rifleman must have known this all along, but he was keenly aware that the young Spanish girl was now using him as a shield of sorts. He straightened up, trying to pretend that he hadn't been remotely worried about a whole squad of Frenchmen charging through the door.

Meanwhile the Spanish soldier seemed to have won the argument with the old woman, or else had simply decided to end it and, pushing past her, he shouted to the others out in the street. The next moment a handful of Frenchmen were herded roughly inside and Mittelstaedt let out a curse, recognizing two of them, the tall one and the younger one with the bandage around his eyes. "Aw Christ, not again."

[sans nom]

"What? No! This is our house!" Kaufmann protested. "What's going on here?"

[Paol Kerjean]

Paol blinked, struggling to see in the dim interior; it seemed impossibly dark after the sunlit street. His gaze darted around, hardly taking in the old woman and girl, fixing on the bayonet, the man holding it, a rifleman – rifleman? What were the English doing here? – then the other man, shouting, his stance aggressive. The Spanish—Paol twisted suddenly, but most of the soldiers had remained in the street.

What was happening? He turned back to the two fair haired men, his body bracing as though for a fight. That he was afraid was plain in his face, but it was a panicky, volatile sort of fear that could shift to aggression in a heartbeat.

*

Costa, the Spaniard who seemed to be the leader of the group gave the big, blonde fellow an appraising look, then seemed to dismiss him. He was English, or one of their lot and injured, using the house just as the Spanish planned to use it. He had no rights in the matter. "Keep them moving," he snapped, thrusting through into what appeared to be a kitchen.

[sans nom]

"Paol, what's going on?" Charcot asked, reaching out to find his friend with his hands. He found Kaufmann's bandaged arm instead.



"No no no," Kaufmann said, taking hold of the blind boy's hand and placing it on the tall Frenchman's arm instead. He had winced at the touch, but his arm was well wrapped, and he was gentle as with a wayward child. "There. Now what's going on here? Doña Castillo, what are these Frenchmen doing here? The surgeon said it would just be British wounded here, English!" That was not exactly what the surgeon had said - and Kaufmann had been in too much pain to pay much attention - but that hardly mattered since the old woman could barely understand his speech.

But Doña Castillo had other concerns. She looked unhappy but resigned to the prospect of housing a crowd of French and English soldiers in her house, but as she harangued Costa and counted on her fingers, she appeared to be arguing over money.

[Keiju]

"What the bloody hell?" Bright demanded in a strained voice, staring at the two grasshoppers with deep suspicion. This was bad. Very bad. He had recovered some of his strength and most of his wits since that awful night in the barn, and he happily regained his ability to recognise danger.

He shook his head vehemently, but stopped short of using his arms to emphasise his refusal. "No. No. We can't stay here. Not with them."

At least, he thought miserably, there was no chance these Riflemen could understand French. Small mercies.

[Paol Kerjean]

Paol pulled Charcot sharply away, shifting him to his injured side, his heart hammering. That the greenjacket had been trying to help, that he was injured himself did not register. The man was an enemy and for the moment that was all Paol was capable of grasping.

Bright seemed to view the riflemen as no less of a threat, but they were still at the mercy of the Spanish and their captors had no such qualms.

Something hard, the muzzle of a musket, drove into his back and Paol stumbled forward -- narrowly missing cracking his head on the door frame -- and into a room whose table and brazier marked it as a kitchen of sorts.

*

Christ above, the old bat could haggle, Costa thought in exasperation. He had half a mind to leave her with the four prisoners and nothing else and have done.

Finally, with a muttered he slammed the coins down on the table and turning, shouldered his way past the prisoners and out the door. If she was unhappy with the compensation, let her take it up with an officer. After a wary hesitation the other soldiers followed him, leaving the prisoners, the English and the women of the house to sort things out amongst themselves.

[sans nom]

"No. No, no no. You can't just leave them here!" Kaufmann called after the disappearing Spanish soldiers. When he got no response from them, he turned to his hostess. "Doña Castillo! Think of Manuela!"

But she was not to be intimidated. With the money snatched up in her hand, she shook her finger at the rifleman and told him what was what. Then she turned about and spoke to the prisoners, issuing orders and pointing them out of the kitchen towards the stairs.

"But that's - no, they can't have my room." Of course it was not his room, but the room of some member of the household who had fled to the hills to wait out the conflict, but it was a rather comfortable room for one injured rifleman.

[Keiju]

This was impossible. He would not stand for it. Sharing a house with these Riflemen was bound to end in disaster, primarily for him. He would have no part of this arrangement.

"I can't. No. Not with them." Bright stood fast near the door, just far enough inside the house to avoid interference from any musket-toting Spaniards. The situation was a mere nuisance to his companions, but to him it represented near-mortal danger.

[sans nom]

Kaufmann barely knew a word of French, but he could recognize "no" in most languages. "Mittelstaedt," he said, his voice low with warning. He did not even stop to think of how much pleasanter it would be to simply let the French escape.

[sans nom]

"What's happening, Paol?" Charcot asked again, whispering this time. And then, the sad little declaration, "I smell food." It was the smell of good food, cooked in someone's home, and suddenly he wanted to sit down and cry.

[Paol Kerjean]

Paol turned, freezing at the rasp of metal as the greenjacket nearest Bright drew his bayonet. "Dominic," he said, his voice oddly calm, "Wait here a minute. Michel—" Not taking his eyes from the rifleman, he started to move towards the door. "Come inside."

*

"Go. Move," Mittelstaedt snapped, keeping his bayonet fixed on the prisoner. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the tall Frenchman start forward. Shit. "Kaufmann...?"

[sans nom]

Kaufmann was watching their moves. Instinctively he knew that the big man wanted to protect his friends and therefore was unlikely to attack first. "Just hold onto that bayonet," he told Mittelstaedt, his voice steady but wary. The girl had disappeared silently, but the old woman was still standing by the stairs, arms folded and looking impatient.

[Keiju]

Bright shook his head, heedless of the danger that his refusals were putting all of them in. "No," he repeated in a slightly unsteady tone. "They'll find me out. They'll know. And they'll kill me for it."

And that had to be avoided. Even if it meant running. Or trying to run.

[sans nom]

"But they've got food," Charcot said piteously. Unless the smell of food was simply meant to torture them, maybe it was possible they might be allowed to eat some of it.

[Paol Kerjean]

"No one's going to find out, Michel," Paol said firmly, "I swear. Just—please. Do as he says."

*

"I got that bit," Mittelstaedt retorted. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"

[Keiju]

That was easy for Kerjean to say, wasn't it? He had not deserted the British Army. Neither did he particularly know what British soldiers were like when faced with captured deserters.

"As if you could stop 'em both," Bright retorted, eyeing up the grasshopper who'd drawn his sword. Even with only one functional arm, he was prepared to take his chances.

[sans nom]

Kaufmann had no ideas. "Well, I guess you better open the door and whistle for that Spaniard again. Doña Castillo, soldado español for this fellow. Guess he'd rather be in a Spanish prison than share a house with us."

[Paol Kerjean]

Soldato espagnol? Paol looked round in alarm. "No!" No. Not the Spanish. They couldn't go back with the Spanish. But the other rifleman was already edging around Bright to get to the door.

"Michel, how is this any different?" Paol demanded, strain slipping into his voice. "Christ -- they didn't find out in the barn when you were nattering in English. They ain't going to find out now. Please." If the Spanish came back, it was over. And not just for Bright.

[sans nom]

Besides no, there was another word that Kaufmann had learned to recognize - English. Would it make a difference if the prisoners knew that the riflemen weren't English? Anything to keep the peace. Even though Mittelstaedt was the only man healthy and armed, he was outnumbered by the French, and even wounded men could be dangerous in desperation.

"We're not English, all right? We're Germans. Allemand, yeah? Now, just go up the stairs like the old woman wants. Marchez."

[Keiju]

It was not simply one thing that kept Bright in place, but rather a combination of things. Kerjean's pleading, that one grasshopper's remarks, the neat cutting off of Bright's avenue of retreat by the second Rifleman... those and the belated realisation that the Spanish had complete control of the town.

Shit.

"Easy for you to say and all, ain't it?" Bright challenged, but the fight had gone out of him. He was not going to take a bayonet in the back before he even started to turn to run. That defeated the purpose a little, didn't it?

He suppressed a sigh, barely, and reluctantly stepped away from the door. Blasted bloody grasshoppers.

[outis]

Finally. Mittelstaedt gave the stubborn Frenchman a shove in the right direction, but took an involuntary step back at the tall prisoner's answering advance. "Oh for--- touchy bastard, ain't you?" he muttered, glaring at him.

[sans nom]

"Just leave 'em alone," Kaufmann said mildly. "We ain't on guard duty, not really, and they're not our problem."

[Keiju]

The shove to his back caused him to turn sharply, his right hand coming up in a fist, but he did not swing. He was unarmed, with only one good arm, in fact, and a fight now was the last thing he wanted.

"Damn grasshoppers," Bright muttered instead.

[Paol Kerjean]

The greenjacket brandished his bayonet at Bright, but other than a snapped order, made no further attempt to escalate the situation, and Paol found himself retreating, somewhat unsteadily, to where he'd left Charcot. "C'mon," he said, taking the younger soldier by the arm and starting toward where the old woman was waiting. If he could make it up the stairs without being sick or his legs giving out, then... he hadn't any idea. But at the moment the alternative wasn't really an option.

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