Entering Coimbra and Fireworks

"D'you need a hand, or are you goin' to be all right?"

He wondered what was wrong; it wasn't like Newbury to end up on his arse like that. Had he been wounded during the fighting earlier? It was possible, he supposed, but surely he'd have seen the surgeon if that was the case?

Still straightfaced v. Lossow halted and performed a perfect salute.
"The King's Greman Cavalry, at your service, Sir!" Then his face split into a huge grin. "But the best mares are the ones in our stables!"

He turned and gestured uphill. "We will have to climb like mountain goats, but our billet is spectacular. It's a large estate overlooking the valley. Every room with a view. Great stables, too!" He led Edrington uphill through a maze of narrow and ill-paved streets.

"That is the trouble with being last - we have to make do with some ruined dead duke's mansion with a damp basement and spiders in every corner. I think they took our horses back across the river, because of the state of the stables." Edrington looked critically at the houses lining the lanes up which they climbed. "Though compared with these, we are royally housed. I thought Coimbra was rather more prosperous than this."

Lossow shrugged. "Being at war does not help civilian trade. And this is a University town, the students won't mind cheap lodgings. It's the countryside round Coimbra that is beautiful. Small pine-woods, babbling brooks, many gardens, quintas, neat summer houses and the ever present monasteries... it's a pleasure to patrol here."
They had reached their destination and Lossow bowed to Edrington with a sweeping gesture. "Welcome to our humble abode!"

Edrington looked at the baroque building with its sweeping formal gardens, and smiled. "You are well situated here, aren't you? Perhaps I should transfer." Down the slope of the hill were the red tiled roofs of what was presumably the stable block. Officers and troopers, with or without horses, were everywhere on the paths and the lawns. " Are you high enough here to be out of the range of the mosquitoes? Or whatever they are. I have already been bitten several times."

[OOC: I have just realised it is dark - but I will edit it for night time vision later - I am now due a drink in the mess]

"Hah! You would be welcome! And no mosquito dares to trespass here!"
He chukled.
"Yes we are high enough and there is always a bit of a breeze to keep away those pests. Let's find some comfortable chairs and the KGL will treat you to some good beer. Come inside!"

(We are going there)

Colonel Prestwich was engaged in an argument with Colonel Starley, an artillery officer. A common enough occasion for the two.

'No, you can't have it. It's my powder. You'll get it only if Wellesley himself orders me to hand it over and even then I would not bet on getting it if I were you.'
'You know I command more men than you, Prestwich...', Starley smirked, knowing that that was a sore subject for Prestwich.
'Just don't start saying that you have bigger guns too. Christ, you are not going to steal it, are you?'
'Now that would be telling. And it won't be stealing if Wellesley orders you to hand it over'.
'Well, he has not done it yet, so bugger off'.
'Oh, are you always that polite and grown up?' Prestwich growled in response, then continued.
'How many times do I have to repeat myself? Oh, wait, sorry, it seems all those guns firing must have not only affected your hearing but also your intelligence. NO! MY POWDER! Forget it!'.
'Seems like your explosions have affected your intelligence, if you had any to begin with. I want that powder, you are not going to need any in foreseable future'.
'Oh, no, I will need it. To blow up your mess! So keep your dirty paws off it, Starley'.

The argument could have carried on for hours. Knowing that, Captain Needham and Starley's staff officer swiftly interfered, asking the men to turn their attention to the some affairs that needed their attention. As Prestwich and Starley were led away by the concerned officers in opposite directions, Starley turned back.
'Don't forget about that dinner tomorrow at out mess, Prestwich'.
'I'll be there, Starley, don't you forget about that wine you've been promising me'.

Rifleman Cotton wrote:"D'you need a hand, or are you goin' to be all right?"

He wondered what was wrong; it wasn't like Newbury to end up on his arse like that. Had he been wounded during the fighting earlier? It was possible, he supposed, but surely he'd have seen the surgeon if that was the case?

Newbury managed a grin. "Should be all right, mate. It just hurts a fair bit."

That, at least, was not a lie. He touched the brim of his shako at Miss Evans and headed back toward camp. Later, he could get wine from Cotton. Maybe he ought to see the sawbones after all.

"Well, if you're goin' to pass out on us, give us fair warnin' first, won't you?" He spoke lightly, teasingly. He didn't think Newbury looked as though he was going to pass out, or anything like it, but stranger things had happened.

"I won't," Newbury assured him, shaking his head. His pride wouldn't bear it well if he took another fall. It simply wouldn't do, especially not in front of his mates!

"Good thing, too. Might have to ask Maggie here to catch ye - or drop Cap'n's things all over." He hefted a package, hoping they would get back to camp before it decided to split all over the road.

Maggie swore as an onion bounced onto the ground and rolled away. "Joe, catch it! See Gabe, this is why we should have bought that basket."

The mention of dropping Captain Vickery's things had no sooner passed from Cotton's mouth than an onion tumbled out of Miss Evans' grip and attempted to escape off the road.

At Miss Evans' cry, Newbury moved quickly. He chased the onion for two steps and bent down to catch it before it could roll into the ditch. It was not the smartest move he could have made. His fingers closed around the onion and there was a sharp stab of pain in his side.

"Oh for - " he started to snap, as he dropped the onion to grab at his side. Well that was marvellous. "I dropped the onion again," he grunted, rather annoyed by that.

"Well, tha'll be one for our pot, if we can find it. If not, someone else'll have it." Though whatever had made Newbury drop it again was of more concern right now.

"You all right there?" He shot a look at Maggie. "Is there summat you ain't tellin' me?"

That damned onion. Newbury glared in the direction it had gone and straightened up slowly, the effort of it making him hiss in pain.

"I'm all right," he answered. "Just sore."

Damn it all. That was definitely blood oozing down his side again. Better get moving toward camp again before Cotton or Miss Evans asked more questions.