Re: 3rd August, Room and Board

[sans nom]

Now that the unseen conflict was over, Charcot was able to relax marginally. He had pieced together that they would be staying in a house that seemed to be guarded by Spanish and British soldiers. And there were women present, and food, and stairs. That couldn't be so bad, could it? It could certainly be much worse. They could be going down some stairs into some underground prison.

With his toe he felt the riser of each step and the tread above, climbing carefully. His fingertips slid lightly along the rough wall. Too late he realized it might have been useful to count the number of stairs, but it might not matter. Tomorrow they might be moved somewhere else, starting their long route to a Spanish prison.

The girl reappeared at the top of the stairs, her arms full of blankets. The old woman scolded her and she disappeared again, taking the blankets with her.

[Keiju]

Bright lingered deliberately, letting Kerjean and Charcot proceed up the stairs ahead of him. If he had to stay here, he was not going to make things easy for their grasshopper captors.

When he stirred into motion again, his gaze turned briefly toward the table nearby, which was laden with food. Food that smelled fantastic. Whatever it was. The old Spanish bat whose house this seemed to be was busy with the pretty slip of a girl and that gave Bright an opportunity.

He slowed, gradually, then stepped quickly to the side, the table his goal. It was almost a certainty they would not feed the three prisoners, so Bright was determined to see to that himself.

If he could get his hands - or hand - on even a little of that food, he'd consider the action a success.

[outis]

"Touch my food and I'll cut your goddamn hand off," Mittelstaedt growled, moving in on the table.

[Keiju]

Rather insensibly, Bright ignored the warning growl and grabbed at the nearest bowl, which contained something that looked like meat. The smell of the food had overpowered his better judgement.

[outis]

"Oi!" Mittlestaedt sprang forward. Being a stubborn little shite was one thing, but thieving was quite another, particularly food, and particularly his food. He jabbed his bayonet at the prisoner's chest, making a grab for the bowl at the same time.

[sans nom]

"Mittelstaedt!" Kaufmann yelled in his formidable voice. "Put that away. And you!" he snapped at the prisoner, but then he did not know what to say. But after all, he had just seen the woman receive money for the housing of these prisoners, and they would have to eat at some point. The bowl of stewed meat was not overabundant for three men, but it would take the edge off if they were as ravenous as this man seemed to be.

"Go on, take it upstairs," he said, gesturing with his good arm. "And don't make a mess."

[Keiju]

He dodged backward, albeit awkwardly, and tried to keep the grasshopper from stealing the bowl away from him. "Piss off, you bastard," Bright snarled in French, wondering just how in the hell he could get back to the stairs with this bugger between him and the door.

But rescue seemed to come in the form of the other grasshopper, who looked as though he was calling his mate off. Wasn't that something. Bright was not about to trust his apparent good fortune too much, though. He made for the door, clutching his prize in his right hand.

[Paol Kerjean]

Paol was half way down the stairs by the time Bright appeared at the bottom. He stopped, staring at him, his alarm fading to blank incomprehension. That Bright should be there unharmed, un-pursued and bearing food....did not make any sense. But he was not about to question it.

Pushing away from the wall against which he had unconsciously sagged, he started back up the stairs to where he'd left Charcot on the landing. "Sorry, mate" he murmured, glancing at the old woman for direction.

*

"But he was stealing!" Mittelstaedt protested, throwing himself down in one of the chairs opposite Kaufmann.

[sans nom]

"Oh shut up, Mittelstaedt," Kaufmann said, though without venom. "The old woman will make us some more."

The old woman in question was still at the top of the stairs, but she was looking down and shouting to them, having spotted one of the French prisoners with her bowl of meat.

"You took money for them," Kaufmann reminded her, rubbing his fingers together. "Just let them have it."

She scowled and threw her hands in the air, seeing that the rifleman would be no help on this issue, and led the way into what had been Kaufmann's room.

[Keiju]

Now that he was apparently safe, Bright felt his anxiety begin to fade. It would not go away entirely, he knew but at the moment he seemed out of danger. He tramped up the stairs after the others, casting a dismissive glance at the elderly Spanish woman who was obviously quite put out.

"Mad old bat," he muttered in French.

[sans nom]

The woman smirked at Bright and pointed at the open door of the room where they would be sleeping.

[Paol Kerjean]

It was a small room, taken up for the most part by two narrow beds. Beds, the idea was scarcely credible. "Here," Paol said, guiding Charcot's hand down to the mattress, "Sit."

He turned back to the door, shutting it as soon as Bright was through. Shutting it, for that matter, a bit harder than was strictly necessary. Then with a soft curse, he set his back against it and slid slowly to the ground.

[sans nom]

Charcot had by now taken off his bandage, and his unseeing eyes widened as he sat down. "It's - is this a bed? A real one?"

[Keiju]

Beds. Beds. The lack of space was more than made up for by the presence and, better, the availability of beds. He would not have imagined such generosity to be genetically possible for the Spanish, and he had the benefit of experience of them with two armies.

"Aye. Seems so. Wonders never cease." Bright shook his head and turned slowly in a circle so he could survey their cramped new surroundings. Beds aside, it really was not much, but it was far and away an improvement over that barn.

"Here," he said abruptly, thrusting the bowl at Kerjean. "You'll need this."

[sans nom]

There was a light knock at the door. It seemed that they had shut it too soon, for the girl had returned, frightened but curious and holding a jug and basin. The Frenchmen were filthy and they smelled, and who knew what vermin and contagion they carried. The old woman was not going to allow even her oldest, shabbiest blankets to touch these men until they had washed at least a little.

"Agua," the girl called with loud timidity. "Agua para lavarse." She set them down on the floor.

[Paol Kerjean]

Paol blinked at the bowl, then up at Bright in bewilderment. Had he misunderstood? But the gesture seemed clear enough. "Thanks," he said, accepting it.

Then came the knock on the door and he started. Even with the girl's voice and recognition of the word, 'agua', his first thought was that it must be some sort of trap. But that was ridiculous, he realized; if they were going to kill them, they would have done it already. Or they would do it tonight, when they were asleep. Sleep. Jesus, he was tired.

Rocking forward onto his knees, he set the bowl carefully down and, leaning on the door frame, hauled himself to his feet and opened the door. The girl was standing a short distance away, and on the floor between them was a pitcher and basin. He stared blankly at them for a moment, then with a murmured thanks, stooped to retrieve them.

[sans nom]

The girl stole a quick glance into the room, and then the big Frenchman's eyes met hers. With a frightened cringe, she hurried away down the stairs.

[Keiju]

It was surprisingly easy to ignore the interruption by the Spanish girl, preoccupied as Bright was with stripping carefully out of his coat. It and his waistcoat were the only articles of clothing covering his upper body. His shirt had been sacrificed to make a sling for his left arm.

"If that's not tea, it ain't worth havin'," he grumbled as he lowered himself awkwardly to sit on the floor, once his coat and waistcoat were removed.

[sans nom]

"Is it food?" Charcot asked. He could smell food, but did not yet realize that Bright had brought it with him.

[Paol Kerjean]

"Just water," he said, setting the items one at a time on the floor of the small room. The water was clearly for washing, but after almost a week in the scorching sun with unpredictable access to water, that was the last thing on his mind.

Sinking to his knees, Paol picked up the bowl once more, dividing the contents roughly into thirds. "Put out your hand," he told Charcot, leaning over and placing one of the pieces into his outstretched palm. Then, taking his own share, he slid the bowl and its remaining contents back across the floor to Bright. "Thanks," he said again.

[sans nom]

Charcot gasped and raised his hand to his nose. It felt like meat. It smelled like meat. "It's meat?" he asked in disbelief. He did not want to accidentally eat something inedible in his ravenous hurry. As hungry as he was, his blindness still held him in check. But he could not resist tasting it with his tongue. It was messy with sauce or gravy, but he didn't care; it tasted like meat.

[Keiju]

It took an effort but Bright shook his head in refusal of Kerjean's offering. He was just as hungry as they, yet somehow the thought of actually eating now that food was available made his stomach turn over.

"Just a bit of that water. For my side." The sawbones had been adamant that he should do his best to keep the wound and its sutures clean.

[sans nom]

"Mmm," Charcot sighed, by now busily chewing through the meat. He felt that he would have eaten an old boot, possibly with the foot still inside, if it was presented as meat in this spicy sauce. It was gone in just a few hurried bites and he wiped his hands on the sides of his coat.

"Your side all right, Bright?" he asked, once he was able to think of something besides food. He had heard the scuffle downstairs but hadn't stopped to think that Bright may have been further injured.

[Paol Kerjean]

Leaving the bowl where it was, Paol reached for the jug of water, pouring some into the basin and setting that down near Bright. "Can you manage?"

[Keiju]

A reply to Charcot's question was not immediately forthcoming, owing to Bright being preoccupied with carefully peeling the dressing away from the long, neat line of stitches. What a terrible thing to do to a man. Sewing him up as if he was nothing more than a piece of torn linen.

"It'll mend," he answered presently. Not that he had any idea of the truth of that. But it was what the sawbones had said and there was little choice but to have faith in that bugger's competence.

He tossed the stained dressing aside and eased his left arm out of its makeshift sling. He needed the fabric for a washing cloth. "Hopefully." If he couldn't even wash his own wound, things were in a sorry state indeed.

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