Waiting to enter Óbidos

At last! They were going forward again. Calderón ignored Esteban's oath and advanced a pace toward the distant end of the tunnel. Esteban's interest in keeping the papers safe was one he shared, though the timing of such concerns was a little off. It was close to impossible to see in the tunnel and they were proceeding too slowly for comfort.

The scout did not voice any more admonitions or protests, but instead waited again for the other two to decide to carry on forward. At this rate, it would take the remainder of the night for them to get out of the tunnel. There was still a mile at least to go before they reached their horses, even!

"They're safe." He could feel them safely inside his shirt were the water would not reach. "And if this water should not touch my shoulder than I don't think it should touch your leg."

It was a rather futile statement, as Stephen was already edging his way into the water, and it would not be possible to carry him. He followed on.

Even with his leg growing numb and the pain in his stomach and chest easing slightly, this was the worst Stephen had felt since leaving Prideaux's house. He worried about his leg, and the stench of the filthy water was not helping him to conquer his nausea. The flow of the water and the shifting shadows on the walls were transforming into vague, grotesque, threatening things in his head - he blinked and tried to bring himself under control. Padstowe's hand on his shoulder was a comfort, he thought as he nearly slipped, as was the sight of Calderón's back in the gloom.

He realised with a jolt how much he had neglected Padstowe, and cursed himself. "Jonathan, your shoulder - did the bullet pass through?"

"No."

The answer was gruff, mainly because the captain could not believe that the doctor was so concerned with his wound. Here the were trying to save their skins and all he could do was fuss.

"I does not matter. Keep moving."

It was not as if the doctor could do anything about it here either.

He would remove it as soon as he was able - if Padstowe were to come down with a fever on their way back to Lisbon... He wondered if he should ask whether the ball was against bone or flesh, but decided against it - there was no way for Padstowe to tell, and the impatience in his voice suggested he didn't want to. Maturin wouldn't be able to plan any sort of operation until he had examined the wound anyway. He hissed as his leg caught a rock - he edged along another foot, and then another - he thought of shoulder operations he had known, dissections he had made of the joint - all should go well, with the blessing. He had moved his arm when picking Stephen up, so neither joint nor nerve must be damaged too much - hopefully a flesh wound.

Calderón was moving ahead of them; Stephen gritted his teeth and tried to increase his speed.

Padstowe felt Stephen pick up the pace and adjusted his gait to match. The going was slow - slower than it had been on the way in - but they carried doggedly on, the stench of the stagnant water stinging at their nostrils. Time seemed to drag in that dark, noisome tunnel so the captain lost track of time. Five minutes? Fifteen minutes? It seemed the same to him as they walked on, the pain in his shoulder a sharp, throbbing ache.

Suddenly a paler patch of light came into view up ahead. The tunnel mouth outside the town walls. It had to be.

Calderón was never more glad to see the moon than he was when he reached the end of the tunnel. He paused just back from the opening and checked for any sign of enemy. Nothing. The scout passed quickly out of the tunnel into the slightly-cooler night air and drew in a deep breath of it. A moment later, he was making another visual check of the surroundings. At this point, he was not trusting anything to luck.

"Come," he called back into the tunnel, his voice hushed. "There is a place to hide close by."

Hiding would probably be the last thing on anyone's mind just then, but somebody had to fetch the horses. Esteban was in no shape to travel any farther otherwise.

"Come on, Stephen," Padstowe whispered.

They were at the end of the tunnel now, and Jonathan supported the dcotor's weight as they went out into the fresh air. The place Calderón indicated was a small but dense grove of trees and he half supported, half carried Maturin across there. There was no shout from the walls, so they could only assume that everyone was too busy within the town.

Oh, thank the Dear... Stephen stumbled out of the water-gate into the moonlight, supported by Padstowe, and breathed in the clean air. Now that they were free of the water-tunnel his strength was leaving him; he wanted nothing more than to sit, just to lie down, just for one minute, but already Padstowe was pulling him along, and for all the scree they disturbed, there was no shout or musket-shot.

He lingered only for a minute once the other two were tucked away in the small copse of trees, just long enough to be sure that Esteban was still conscious and of steady mind. Then, bidding the pair to stay put, he took to his heels. They had avoided detection thus far but the chance of that good luck holding out until dawn was not good. It was best to clear out of the area with every speed.

Thankfully his legs and lungs were in top shape from his constant meandering about the countryside. He had set out at a brisk run and - with the exception of one instance where he tripped over a stone and gashed open his elbow - did not break stride until he reached the spot where he'd first met up with Esteban. The horses were, blessedly, still there. Calderón pulled up their picket lines and, tying the reins of one horse to the stirrup of the second, pulled himself up into the second horse's saddle.

Neither animal resisted the gallop that he put them both into. Another blessing. He covered the distance back to the city at a gallop, only reining quickly down to a walk when he judged himself to be too close for such a fast pace. The heavy darkness helped conceal him but there was no time to waste. Calderón licked his lips and gave the bird-call, reluctant to go any closer without being certain it had not been compromised.

They were in the grove now, and Padstowe lowered Stephen to the ground, seating him against a boulder as Calderón departed to fetch the horses. He glanced back through the branches to the town, but there was no sign of pursuit. Relieved, he bent over to catch his breath, resting his good arm on his thouigh whilst the other hung loose. Dear God, but his shoulder was agony, and he could not help a soft moan escaping his lips.

Stephen had collapsed as soon as they reached the grove, Padstowe resting him against a boulder, and he lay with his head on the rock, letting his limbs relax for the first time since they had fled Prideaux's body. He could see Calderón from the corner of his eye mutter something to Padstowe before he left, melting into the darkness - Padstowe did not try to stop him, so Stephen did not worry.

He looked up at the captain, who had his eyes closed, obviously in a lot of pain. "I am so sorry, Jonathan." He drew a long, shuddering breath. "He must have been behind a panel, or in a cupboard I didn't check, and I allowed myself to be distracted."

Padstowe shook his head.

"No. In the cellar," he grunted. He wanted to straighten up but at the moment it did not feel like the best of ideas. "Came up just as I was in the kitchen. Followed him upstairs. Wasn't quick enough."

Damn! If he had not waited to see what Prideaux was going to do he could have maybe stopped him going up, or would have been able to stop his injuring Stephen at least.

He shook his head.

"My fault. Slowed you down..."

Stephen creaked. "You slowed me down?" He stared at the Captain. "If you hadn't been there, I would be dead. Or worse. You saved my life - and again, at the water-gate." He shook his head. "I was still distracted, still too... too weak. I didn't want to kill him, and then I couldn't - if I hadn't hesitated, you would have had him."

Padstowe looked up in surprise at the odd sound the doctor made before speaking.

"Are you alright?"

But then he heard the bird-call, and despite the pain he smiled.

"I believe your duck is back, Stephen."

So even Padstowe in his kindness could not deny it... He nodded and smiled sadly at him. He put his fingers to his mouth and called .

The remaining quarter-mile seemed to pass agonisingly slow. He hadn't even dared to trot the two horses, lest the sound of hooves over the earth carry very far on the air. Too, he'd taken a slightly-circuitous route back to the hiding-hole in order to avoid being spotted by some keen-eyed sentry on the city walls.

As he drew near to the copse of trees, he felt as though his senses were close to overload. His ears were straining for the slightest sound of movement and he was looking around constantly, if cautiously. Wariness might be scoffed at by some but it helped keep him alive. Especially in situations like this.

Finally, he reined his horse to a stop. He could see both edges of the copse and the area around it without having to turn his head. He was also shielded from view of any sentry by the trees. There hadn't been an answer - that was a lie, there it was now. Relieved, Calderón slithered down from the saddle and led the horse forward.

"I have brought you wings," he said to Esteban, striving to keep a light note in his voice. "It is past time for us to fly from here."

Stephen had closed his eyes - he opened them to see Calderón smiling down at him. "Bless you, José," he said, propping himself on his right hand, forgetting his earlier snappishness. He paused for a moment while his head swam, and then nodded to Padstowe. "Could you help me get him onto his horse? Then you and I will share mine."

Padstowe straightened up at that. Help him onto his horse? He shook his head in disbelief, before walking over to his horse and putting his foot in the stirrup, placing his right hand onto the saddle for balance and relying on his legs to get him up as he had seen other officers do who had been unfortunate enough to lose an arm. He managed it, seating himself comfortably and picking up the reins.

"You'll be able to keep him on?" he asked Calderón, indicating the prostate Stephen.

He nodded at the British officer as he helped Esteban to his feet. "If we moderate our pace," he replied. That, naturally, would be difficult since Calderón planned to ride hellbent for leather toward the coast, where he knew it was more likely to avoid French patrols.

There was one slight difficulty to get around first, however. Getting Esteban up into the saddle. Calderón hesitated, not fond of the idea of allowing the Irishman to stand on his own but knowing he couldn't push the man up onto the horse either. "Can you stand?" He asked finally, thinking he ought to give the man a shoulder and back to use as a mounting block.

"Yes." He pulled himself up using the boulder and leaned on it for a moment, breathing heavily. Grabbing Calderón's hand he managed to hobble over to the horse - he reached over to the other side of the saddle, and managed to grasp at the leather. This would hurt... He put all of his weight onto his right leg in an attempt to get his left into the stirrup, but it buckled, and he fell to the ground with a cry.

Padstowe nudged his horse over to stand next to Stephen's.

"Here," he said, bending from the saddle and reaching down his good arm, his practised knees keeping the horse steady. He would be able haul the doctor up partway whilst Calderón gave him a leg up.

Stephen wrapped his fingers around Padstowe's forearm, and let the captain take as much of his weight as he thought he could bear - he managed with a groan to slip his foot into the left stirrup, and from there he pushed himself into a side-saddle position. He disengaged his foot, and pull his injured leg over to the other side of the horse while Calderón nimbly climbed up after him. He nodded his thanks to Padstowe; he was exhausted now.

Satisfied that the doctor was in place Padstowe turned to Calderón.

"Let's be off then."

Distressingly, Calderón wasn't swift enough to catch Esteban before he hit the ground. His cheeks and face flushed hot with embarrassment. He had the other man back on his feet in a moment though and took care to keep a steady grip on him this time. This was no time to make such careless mistakes!

The British edged his horse over and held his hand out, offering the assistance of an outstretched hand. With that man to act as anchor, it would be a little easier to get Esteban up into the saddle. Thus the task was managed. Calderón waited until Esteban was seated firmly in the saddle before clambering up behind him.

Once he got the reins in hand, something made awkward as he had to reach around the man in front of him, he gave his horse a light nudge with his bare heels. They were leaving the city behind them, at last.