Yet another posada in Lisbon

"Well, now, this could be interesting," Cotton said. He smiled at the woman, nodded, and reached into his pocket for a coin, which he passed to her. "Hot water. He wants a cup of tea, por favor, senhora."

Even if Padstowe didn't want a cup of tea, Cotton did. His head was starting to ache, with a combination of the morning's tension in the courtroom, the wine, the heat of the midday sun and now this woman's continual torrent of Portuguese.

The landlady took the coin and gave a haughty sniff. She may not know much English, but there had been English soldiers in Lisbon long enough for most of the inhabitants to know the word 'tea' and what that implied, giving they usually insisted on making it themselves.

"Milk?" she asked as well - one of the few English words she did know.

Cotton grinned. "Sim, senhora. Obrigado."

Now to try to get the captain up the stairs. This was going to be interesting. "Right sir, I hope you can remember how to use a flight of stairs."

"Eh?" Padstowe mumbled, half opening his eyes but not lifting his head. Who said what about stairs?

"Stairs, sir. Up." Typical bloody officers. "I take it your room's upstairs, so we need to get you there, sir. So you need to help me. Please."

Maybe if he started up, Padstowe would realise what he was on about. "This way, sir."

The landlady rolled her eyes. Men! No matter what nationality they were all the same... She bustled over to Cotton, taking Padstowe off him and supporting him beneath the shoulders, indicating the rifleman should take his feet.

"Or we could do that, of course."

Cotton did as he was told, following the landlady up the stairs and to the first room on the landing where they laid the captain on the bed.

He smiled at her, trying to convey his thanks. "Obrigado, senhora."

She brushed it aside with a distracted wave of her hand and left the room.

"I think you'd be more comfortable if we got those boots off you, sir," Cotton said, and bent to pull his boots off. He left them tidily by the side of the bed and wondered if there was anything else he ought to do.

The more he thought about it, the more the sound of a cup of tea appealed to him. Now all he had to do was find the kitchen.

As he was laid down on the bed Padstowe murmured something unintelligible, realising from the familiar feel and smell of the matress that he must be in his bed. He wondered vaguely how it was he had got here, because he certainly hadn't walked home... There was somebody else in the room, but his hearing was fuzzy and he could not quite recognise the voice. He opened his eyes a bit and saw a green jacket above him.

"Richard?"

"No, sir, it's only me, sir."

He bent to unfasten the captain's sword-belt as well, No point in him having that on when he'd have no call to use it. Hopefully, anyway.

"Cotton?"

He suddenly recalled that the rifleman had been helping him home from the posada. Obviously they must have made it back, and Cotton was now helping him into bed. He tried to sit up. "Where's Richard gone?"

"Mister Sharpe's hangin' around downstairs, waiting for a nice cup of tea."

At least he didn't seem to be quite so out of it as he was earlier. He wondered whether that was a good thing or not.

"If you bide quiet, now, sir, I'll go and find you a cup of tea." And now he was telling an officer what to do. That could not be a healthy thing for a soldier to get into the habit of doing.

Tea. Padstowe's sozzled mind locked onto the word like a limpet to a rock. Tea. Tea was always good.

"Tea'd be good," he muttered, easing himself back down onto the matress and laying his arm across his eyes. "Tea's always good..."

"All right then, sir, I'll go and find you some tea."

Tea could work miracles in this army. It seemed to run on the stuff. Cotton quietly let himself out of the door and closed it behind him. Now he had to find the kitchen and persuade the landlady to give him a couple of mugs of tea.

(OOC: and that's a good point to leave it for the moment; I'm working this afternoon. )

(OK.)

It wasn't long before Cotton returned to Padstowe's room, carrying two steaming mugs of tea.

"Here you are, sir," he said, pushing the door open with his knee. "Cup of tea for you."

Padstowe cracked open his eyes at the sound of someone entering the room. His head was swimming, but he registered the fact that there was a green jacket next to his bed offering tea.

"Harper?"

"Wrong again, sir. Cotton, Rifleman, 5th Battalion 60th. Y'know, the one from Kent who's in a mostly German battalion?"

He held out the tea, hoping Padstowe was sober enough not the spill it all over himself or burn himself on the cup.

Cotton... Oh, Cotton. He remembered now, or thought he did. He tried his best to sit up, but found that his elbows kept giving way underneath him.

Cotton saw what he was trying to do, sighed and put both cups down. "Here, let me help you," he said, taking hold of the officer's hand and pulling carefully him into a sitting position. He picked one of the mugs up and held it out. "Careful though, sir, it's a bit hot."

Oh lor... Being pulled upright madethe room spin, and Padstowe groaned as the world went out of focus. The laying down he didn't mind - felt like doing nothingbut laying down at the moment - but it was the laying down and then gettingback up again. He blinked as Cotton shoved two mugs on tea under his nose; though he couldn't see why he was being given a choice.

"Which one?" he slurred.

Well, blind drunk would be the wrong way of putting it, to Cotton's way of thinking. The man could see twice as well as usual: judging by the way his eyes were not focussing on the mug, he could see two of them. "This one sir," he said, taking his hand and putting the handle of the mug into it.

Any worse, and Cotton would probably have to send for a wet nurse...

"You do remember where your mouth is, sir, don't you?" he asked, hoping he wouldn't have to mop up spilt tea.

What? What was the man on about? He aimed a glare in the general direction of the rifleman's face before very carefully taking a sip from the mug. The tea had a somewhat harsh taste to compared to the wine he'd been drinking, and he very nearly spat it out but resolutely swallowed it down. Oh God, he really wanted to lie down again... He took another careful sip and then reached out with the intention of putting the mug on the small beside table.

Cotton caught it just in time and moved it away from the edge of the table. "I think mebbe it'd be best if you had a lie down and forget about the tea for now. It'll still be here when you wake up."

"Sensibibbi... good idea." Padstowe started to undo the buttons of his coat, concentrating furiously as his clumsy fingers managed to undo the first three. He was struggling with the fourth, but he would have it in a second. or two.

"Tailor sews 'em on too bloody tight..."

Cotton had a sip of his own tea and watched him for a second. "Want a hand with them, sir?"

Damn, his hands had gone too now! He dropped them heavily by his side and gazed up at Cotton forlornly.

"Can' do anything anymore," he mumbled morosely.