Waiting to enter Óbidos

"Mornin'," Sharpe answered, looking from one to the other. "So, if you weren't fightin' the French army, my next guess is you were fightin' a duel and had to get away from our lot to do. Only way to explain all that blood, though I don't reckon either of you looks like you lost as much as all that. Not really." And he knew from experience just how much blood one body contained.

"What c'n we do for you?" He deliberately used the plural, identifying himself with the Chosen Men in no uncertain terms.

"We have papers that must be delivered to Major Hogan and Sir Arthur Wellesley. They are of the utmost... utmost importance. Though if you and your men do not object, we would be obliged if you would also aid us in returning to Lisbon." Stephen counted himself as blessed to have Padstowe present - if he and Calderón had been alone, he doubted that this dangerous looking man would be quite so amiable.

"We were originally to have a... 'guest' with us," Padstowe said quietly. "Hence the initial need for an escort, though unfortunately he was detained from joining us."

Stephen blanched, and looked away.

"Looks as though he was permanently detained, if that's his blood you've gone swimmin' in," Sharpe said. He was leaning against the doorpost as he spoke, but came in and closed the door, leaning against that. Dotor Maturin seemed unconvinced Sharpe and his men could help them... or at least, that was how Sharpe read his expression. "We've been wanderin' round half Portugal this winter, lookin' after Major Hogan. My lads ain't let 'im down yet."

He knew there was more to Hogan's 'map-making' expeditions than the Major let on, but he wasn't sure how much either Captain Padstowe or Doctor Maturin knew of that, and he wasn't about to let slip he knew it, either. He didn't like all this cloak-and-dagger business, but he knew well enough when to keep his mouth shut about it.

Stephen spoke softly, still looking down. "I have no doubt as to the abilities of you or your men, Lieutenant. Major Hogan and Captain Padstowe have both spoken about your work with the greatest admiration."

Padstowe sighed as the doctor spoke, closing his eyes against another wave of nausea that came upon him. Sharpe was being prickly, and they did not need that.

"Richard," he said gently. "Please, take a chair and sit down."

He found a chair and sat down. Padstowe looked faintly green, and he had another look at the Doctor, a proper look this time. The man looked all-in and there was an unfocussd look to his eyes. If he didn't know better, he'd have said than man had been drinking, but that look, coupled with the state of his clothes, told a different story.

"I'm sorry, didn't mean to sound so... outspoken," he said slowly, wondering just how hard the man had hit his head. He also started wondering just how much of what Hogan and Padstowe had told him.

He sighed. "I suggest that the Chosen Men and I keep watch today, to let you two get some rest, and we move out tonight. Or even tomorrow. You look about done in, both of you."

Padstowe gave a weak smile again.

"You could say that," he said. He sighed once more. "I'm sorry this has all been such a mess. I am not permitted to tell you the details, but I will tell you as much because you are a friend and I know that I can trust you. Amongst other goals of our mission we were supposed to if possible capture and return with a French agent - however he proved to be somewhat quicker than anticipated, and suceeded in wounded the both of us before he was delt with."

Here he grimaced.

"My shoulder was shot through and the doctor has a slash to his leg, not to mention a fractured skull. It has been advised that, yes, we do rest here leaving tonight at the earliest, but possibly tomorrow morning depending on whether Calderón thinks it best. Your men keeping watch in that time would be a great comfort."

[OOC: I'll shoot off to bed now, if that's ok with you all. *glares* And so should you, Sharpie, seeing as what time you didn't go to bed last night... *Killick nag*]

Stephen listened as Padstowe explained the situation to Sharpe, portioning no blame, for failure or for murder. He still looked down, struggling to keep his emotions under control in the fogged spin of his thoughts. "You and your men can really give us that much time, Lieutenant? It would indeed be a very great comfort. Though I worry about how long it will take us to return to Lisbon - are your men mounted, or on foot?"

[OOC: Good night then! And I agree, Sharpie, go and get a good night's sleep. *adds Stephen-glare to the great moral force that is the Killick-nag*]

He cracked a grin at the thought of his men on horseback. "We march. Rifles quick march when we have go speedy, like. Enough to keep up wi' them officer on their horses."

Which brought another question to Sharpe's mind. Between them they had one injured shoulder, one injured leg and a cracked skull... "Will you both be able to ride? Because you won't bloody be walking, in that state.." He looked at the doctor, though his words were meant for Padstowe as well. He looked back at the Captain. "I prob'ly oughtn't to say this, but knowin' your lot, this French agent weren't all you were tryin' to get hold of." He knew this was dangerous territory, but continued anyway. "I know you've got stuff Major Hogan needs to see. If anythin' was to happen to you, either of you, that has to get back to him." One of them was sure to raise an objection here, but he carried right on speaking. "I need to know where it is. Just so's I can keep an eye on it, and make sure it gets to Hogan. I don't want to know what it is, or anythin' else, just what I need to make sure we've got if things go wrong on the way back."

He wasn't an exploring officer, or a spy, but he did know what was important, and he'd risked his life for important stuff before. Hell, he'd done his own bit of spying, even if it hadn't amounted to very much, really.

"I will be able to ride." Stephen was determined in that at least.

As to the papers... Sharpe spoke sense. The night's trauma had engendered a deep sense of trust in Stephen for Padstowe, and Padstowe obviously trusted the man. "We had not yet planned how to transport the papers. They are in files - I would suggest splitting them between myself and Captain Padstowe, and Señor Calderón if he is willing to come with us as far as Lisbon; if not, we can take them between the two of us."

"Then if one of the files goes, a half or two thirds of the information still remains - but is it more likely to go missing if the information is split up? I should stay awake and sort them, keep ciphers and codes together, in case one set goes missing - but would it not be more secure to thus separate coded works and ciphers in case of capture? Should one man carry the master booklet, one man the coded papers and one the uncoded, or should they be organised with regards to content - Wellesley will find the military information to be of the most use, undoubtedly, but the intelligence papers that he had are of great significance; the Dutourd letter proves that. It comes down to capture or accident - which is more likely?" He did not realise he was still speaking aloud - the words came in a fast stream of consciousness, in a low hiss, tripping over each other in their haste to escape. "I don't know what we should do - I cannot think. Hogan must see as much as possible, all we managed to bring out, all we managed to bring out, God forgive me - but what is the safest way to get it to him? Who could be trusted most with one file? Now, three files, three is best, unless José leaves us, but what if one falls? What if you fall, Maturin?"

He looked up suddenly at Sharpe. "When do we leave, Lieutenant?"

Sharpe had been turning this over in his mind. Te best time to travel would be during the night; there was a little moon, and that, together with the starlight, should give them enough light to see their road. And they had Hagman. The old poacher had instincts honed over who knew how many years of taking the Squire's animals at night? He could follow a path blindfold, Sharpe would bet on it.

But Portugal itself was friendly; it was just the French they had to avoid, and once they were away from the Crapauds, they could afford to travel during daylight hours. Which would make their journey back that much faster.

"Soon as it's dark, if you're up to goin' tonight. Tomorrow, else. Though the later we leave it, the more we run the risk of the French gettin' here after what you've got."

(OOC: I shall take Sharpe's advice and get my head down; I'm falling asleep on the keyboard here!)

"What?" Stephen was looking at him incredulously, before he frowned, and looked down again. "No, of course, of course..." He spoke now very slowly, and very carefully. "Captain Padstowe lost a lot of blood last night, and sleep is vital for his recovery. I will be able to travel tonight, for I am pressed by anxiety for these papers, but the decision is to be made by Captain Padstowe with regards to his wellness, and if Señor Calderón agrees."

Sharpe reckoned the bang on his head was affecting the doctor more than the man realised, but he knew he'd never be able to say so without a mouthful of abuse. Well, if he was like an other doctor, anyway. The last time he'd suggested something medical to a medical man, he'd received the rough edge of the man's tongue.

And it wasn't as if he knew Doctor Maturin well enough to show his concern as a friend, anyway.

He stood up.

"Right. I'll let you get some sleep and come back later to see what you want to do. Won't take more'n a moment to get ready for the march, after all." He grinned. "And knowing my lads, they'll have water on the go already. Would you like some tea?" He looked between the two men as he spoke.

"No, thank you." Stephen brought his legs around to the side of the bed, his face impressively impassive - he felt it a matter of pride to show as little pain in front of Sharpe as possible. "Captain Padstowe, please take the bed. I will not sleep, and a chair will be more than adequate."

He looked to the rifleman. "Thank you for all your help, Lieutenant Sharpe. Where will you and your men be?"

"We'll be downstairs. And I think you should get some sleep, travellin' won't be easy. 'Specially in the state you're in. You'll need all the sleep you can get. An' I'll make sure nobody disturbs you. Or Senhor... Calderón, I think you called him, will." He smiled. "Ain't nobody else goin' to get in here, I promise."

"I thank you for your concern, Lieutenant, and your presence." Stephen suspected sleep would be impossible, but he would put the time to good use. "I have one more question: how long do you suspect it will take us to reach Lisbon?"

[OOC: Distance from Obidos to Lisbon is about 50 miles. ]

"Two or three days. Mebbe longer if you find the pace too fast. But we'll do it all right. Once we're away from the French it'll be easier, o' course."

He knew his lads could do about twenty, twenty-five miles in a day, but he really didn't know how fast the two wounded men would be able to go, and of course the faster they rode, the more their wounds would hurt. And the doctor had the lightly glassy stare of someone with a nasty bang on the head. Which could lead to him feeling sick. Which would lead to them all slowing down.

"We go at the speed of the slowest man. And we don't leave anyone be'ind unless he's dead. We will get there, even if it takes a week, which it won't."

He slipped out of the door and headed downstairs to find Harris keeping watch out of the window while the others were unstrapping blankets from their packs and generally making themselves at home.

"Any chance of a cup of tea, lads?" he asked, looking around.

Harper, his own blanket already laid out for the night, retrieved the steaming pot, carefully pouring the hot liquid into a cup and passing it to Sharpe. Returning the pot, he retrieved his own half-finished cup and sat beside the heat.

"Aye, that's the stuff," Sharpe said, accepting the cup and tasting the tea. "Your tea always was better'n mine, you know, Pat." He glanced across at Perkins. "How's the lad doin'? Not the nicest thing in the world, havin' a knife held to your throat."

"Nothin' a cup of tea and a good night's rest won't cure, Sir." Harper glanced at Perkins, then lowered his voice. "It'll do him good in the long run, won't be so bad when he comes up against the Frogs."

And that was nothing more than the truth. "We'll stop here today, and start back for Lisbon just as soon as the two officers upstairs feel fit enough. They've both been wounded; Captain Padstowe's had a bullet in his shoulder and Doctor Maturin's got a gash in his leg. 'E didn't say owt, but he looked like he'd bashed his head an' all. They've got horses, so they should be able to keep up wi' us." He cracked a grin.

"Aye, they might!" Harper was dubious about bringing the strangers along, but he'd been sent on enough missions to know not to ask questions. And he'd been on enough missions with Sharpe to trust the man's judgement.

"So when do the gentlemen reckon they'll be fit for action?"