Waiting to enter Óbidos

Neither Padstowe or Stephen had been around the back of the house - the streets were altogether darker. But they were becoming less so - lights were emerging in some of the windows as shouts could be heard approaching the house.

"No, three gunshots! I heard three gunshots!"

Stephen muttered a prayer, looking down the street, his concussion drawing strange shapes out of the darkness, as Calderón said, "We have two choices: take a longer route and avoid the main square, or hope that they waste enough time in the house for us to reach the water-gate before they get to the plaza."

The longer route was advisable, but time would was not on their side. Yet possibly three men - one carrying the other - would be mistaken for drunks again. Besides, would they expect murderers to walk so brazenly across the open plaza? He looked askance at the doctor.

"Esteban?"

Stephen jerked at the sound of his name. "Oh... They will take their time at the house - a break-in was not evident from the front, but as soon as their find Prideaux I assume they will run after us, and head instinctively for the main square. Can we get to the square without going around by the front of the house?"

Calderón nodded. "I think we can."

"And from there is the fastest way to the water-gate." His legs were shaking. He looked at Padstowe for reassurance. "Do you think we should risk it?"

"So long as you keep crooning how Josephina is a bitch and she never deserved you anyway," Padstowe muttered. "I don't think they will bother us. You make a very good drunk, Esteban - wounded or no."

He took the weight of Stephen left side from Calderón and together they pretty much carried through the back streets round to the plaza.

Stephen chuckled, and deemed it worth the pain in his chest to see the relieved look Calderón gave him. "I think the swaying and the wandering feet add to the performance, don't you?"

Padstowe grinned, but he was still worried when he heard the pained chuckle.

"Quite. Esteban, are you sure he did not get you anywhere else save the leg and banging your head?"

"Some superficialities, but I am afraid the rest is self-inflicted. It is bruising - cracked sternum at the most; it should heal fine, with the blessing. And you - did you hit your head when you fell? I thought I heard-"

Two sentries ran past - Calderón only just managed to pull them all into a doorway. "Pistol-shots in that rich foreigner's house, sir, neighbour reported it. Nogueira and Faria told me to go and get you, they went in a few minutes ago-"

Padstowe shrunk back into the wall, waiting for the sentries to pass. They spent some time talking with a third person - most likely their sergeant or duty officer - and then the three figures ran off back in the direction of Prideaux's house. He waited a few moments longer, but there was no further sound from the street.

"Come on,"he whispered. "Let's go."

The streets in this part of Óbidos were silent, but as they approached the plaza, a low hum reached their ears. Calderón swore under his breath. There were at least fifteen people in the main square, wandering in the direction of Prideaux's house - it was a small place, and news spread fast, those woken by the gun-shots eager to discuss in detail what they had witnessed. Or what they hadn't - Stephen heard one woman to their left tell her friend that at least six shots were exchanged, and she saw a band of cloaked figures heading towards the church, gold falling from their pockets. The shadowy alleyway at the east of the square was tantalising in its emptiness.

Stephen tightened his grip on the cloak swathing him. "Chance it, or go around?"

This was all becoming too close for Calderón's liking. Esteban's wounds would slow them up and in fact already were. Too, the city guard and now citizens were filling the streets. There was no easy way out of the city.

The scout grimaced at Esteban's question. Either option was a chance. "Forward is best," he replied through gritted teeth, the Portuguese words feeling rough on his tongue for some reason. "We take a risk no matter what."

Stephen looked askance at Calderón - even his fogged mind could tell the young man was bothered. "Very well." He stepped forward with his good leg, his head bowed, hoping the collar of the cloak hid the bloody handprints on his face.

The strain was starting to show on Calderón as well it seemed. Padstowe tightened his grip of Stephen's arm and stepped forward into the Plaza, praying that the small group would be largely ignored amongst the excitement of the night.

Ahead of them, the city-people were beginning to drift more collectively toward Prideaux's house. Calderón wished suddenly for his hat, to help conceal his face. No hope for it though. He kept his head canted slightly down and helped support Esteban's weight.

"Nearly out of it, we are," he said, his voice slightly louder than before. "Told you not to try going back to her."

He hoped the others would catch on to the act and play along. It was probably their best hope.

"I mean, a soldier! I don't have money, José, but at least I'm not a damn soldier - not likely to run into a French volley and leave her alone! Oh, Josefina..."

Stephen couldn't stop the plainchant running through his mind - it was fully automatic, and so he did not recognise the impiety in it, his heart hammering out the prayer that his friends and he would not be captured, that no one would stop them.

No one did.

They all paused in the alleyway to consider their good luck. Everyone was much too excited by the boy who had run into the square, shrieking that that foreign bastard had been found in a pool of his own blood. There was almost a stampede to get to Prideaux's house now, some women wailing about the state of the world, some children woken by the uproar excitedly laying out their lists of prime suspects. Nothing united a community like a crime.

Fortunately such was the state of the world that old matrons needed to be as close to thescene of the crime todenounce it properly! Through into the alleyway with a barely a glance spared for them he straightened up and patted Stephen's shoulder lightly.

"She didn't derserve you in the first place," He said in a mollifying tone. He looked up at Calderón and grinned.

The ruse was enough to get them past the crowd. Calderón allowed himself a relieved breath when they were at a safe distance and glanced over at the British officer in time to catch the man grinning at him. A faint return smile flickered across his face, then he was thinking ahead to their next move.

"Can you make it out the water-gate of your own power?" The scout asked Esteban, with a quick and pointed glance at the man's leg. It was possible to get him out the tunnel, though it was ideal for him to make it on his own.

Stephen smiled up at Padstowe and Calderón. "Yes, I can. Do not worry about me."

As they limped together towards the water-gate, a horrible feeling was settling in his stomach. Apart from the guilt which had already flooded him, for he knew exactly who was slowing them down and by how much, putting all their lives in danger, it was the dread and foreboding of going back down into that place...

He also knew exactly how furious Padstowe would be at him for this, but a sense of duty and honour forced him to. When they reached the entrance to the water-tunnel, Calderón bending down, he hung back momentarily and touched the captain's arm. "Jonathan," he said softly, before he made his voice as cool and firm as he could, "it is the papers that are important. Nothing else. You must get those papers to Hogan and Wellesley."

"And I will," Padstowe said. He caught Stephen's expression, knew what he was hinting at and frowned.

"Oh no, don't start that!" he said in a low growl. "Don't start being noble, because we don't have the time! In!" He pointed to the entrance where Calderón had gone. "Now! I'll be behind you in case you slip."

"I can follow you - I am almost certain I can evade them - we could met on the way back, once you are certain you have lost them. If you are caught with those, you will be shot, if you are lucky, and all this will be for nothing." He pulled the cipher booklet from his pocket. "You will need this as well."

They were delaying. He knew it the instant he failed to hear shod feet over the stones behind him. Annoyed more right at that moment than he had been all night, Calderón glanced back over his shoulder toward the mouth of the tunnel. What were they doing?

"Come along!" There was no time for discussion, not now they were so close to successful escape. "And mind your footing," he warned quietly, deciding it was more useful if he sidled along sideways over the rocks and water. He could watch Esteban's progress better that way. Just as long as nothing else happened to impede their progress. Otherwise they would soon be away from the city and on their way back toward British encampments.

Padstowe growled in frustration - there was no time for this! With a strength born from pure anger he released his other arm, ignoring the pain, and bodily picked up the doctor, carrying him as if he were a child into the tunnel and kicked the door shut behind them.

"For God's sake, Jonathan, your arm! Put me down, this instant!" Stephen was furious - illogical, sentimental English! "Fine, I'll follow, I will follow you! You are going to injure yourself!"

"Hush!" Calderón could scarcely believe what was happening. "¡Silencio!"

Honestly! They could all be captured yet and Esteban felt it necessary to nearly shout his indignation. It was madness. Giving in to his frustration, Calderón hastened back toward the other two and clapped a hand over Esteban's mouth. Dios mio the man was half out of his mind.

"I'll grant you a full crown if you can hold your tongue until we're out of here."

"Sod that!" Padstowe grunted as he put the doctor down in front of him. His shoulder felt as if it were on fire, but he would see to it later. He placed his good hand on the doctor's shoulder and urged him and Calderón on.

"My hand will be here so you know I am following," he said. "And keep going. I will keep up."

Because I'm not the one with the injured leg!

Stephen pulled Calderón's hand from his face as the echo died - he was shaking with anger. "Your crown to the Devil, José," he growled in a low voice.

He pulled the Dutourd letter and the cipher booklet from his pocket before they became sodden, and clung to the wall with both hands. He began to inch his way along the tunnel, his numb leg buoyed up by the water- Oh, Christ. "Jonathan. Do not allow the water to touch your shoulder. Are the papers safe?"