Waiting to enter Óbidos

Stephen looked sideways at Padstowe. He was obviously a practical man, or thought himself as such - Stephen felt a brief pang for the quixotic boy - much like Jack, maybe. But Jack belied his pragmatic nature when he played - such depth of feeling, a poetry to put the nightingale's to shame.

"What think you of music, João?"

"Music?" The captain was startled by the sudden question. He scratched at the back of his head idly; he wasn't quite sure whether he had an opinion or not.

"Don't know really. My mother forced me to take piano lessons when I was a boy - it was sheer agony for both the teacher and myself. I suppose it's alright to listen to if it's a good piece, but I don't really ever have much time to listen. Sarah is the musical one, not me."

"Sarah is your sister, yes?"

A thought occurred to him. "Oh, we musn't miss our tide. Do you have a watch?"

He did. The captain reached into the filthy inside of his coat and pulled out the silver watch.

"It is not quite a quarter past eleven," he said. "A little time to go yet."

[OOC: Perhaps. Whatever the time, I think I should be going now. Should you stay up a little longer and ecide to move, take it for read that I mutely follow whatever your instructions are and will happily be placed on guard on either front or back of house. Night! ]

Stephen nodded, leaning back again. "We should probably wake him soon though. We are still a mile or so from the walls."

[OOC: I should probably go to bed soon too - and if you're around tomorrow, we can all be online and go in together! Goodnight!]

Padstowe glanced at the slumbering Calderon.

"I think I shall leave that to you, Esteban, if you don't mind. He might shoot me if I try."

"Oh, he wouldn't shoot you. He uses a knife." Stephen stretched his fingers, and began to check his own pistol again.

"We have a little while yet. José tells me that Prideaux's house is a large one - I would suggest one of us takes upstairs and one downstairs, with one on guard. José would probably be best for that - you will pass for a local peasant with a casual glance in the dark, but I would prefer not to risk it."

Padstowe nodded, ignoring the doctor's tasteless joke - that sounded sensible. Good with his Portuguese and tanned as hide he may be, but he did not doubt that his very un-Portuguese build and looks would give him away under close scrutiny.

"Very well, I will take the downstairs. You will probably find what you are looking for upstairs, seeming as these fellows are never inclined to leave sensitive material on display."

"I hope so. That is why we must go in like this, so he has no chance to destroy his papers, or worse, fabricate them - they are far more valuable than Prideaux is, in truth. I have reason to believe he might have extremely sensitive material indeed - quite apart from anything to do with intelligence, the numbers and natures of the French in Oporto. That alone would be worth the risk, I think."

The captain gave a low whistle.

"No wonder you were so eager to come here as soon as possible," he murmured. "Take Prideaux and his papers out and that would upset their network for months!"

Stephen nodded. "There is another reason for haste. Sir Joseph Blaine informed me that Prideaux was using Óbidos as a base from which to send spies into Lisbon. If spies could enter the city, so could assassins, and I am reluctant to suggest that the Prideaux's relocation from Oporto to Óbidos only a few weeks before Sir Arthur's arrival in Portugal is mere coincidence."

"Ah."

Yes, there was that possibility as well - although so far Sir Arthur had not really done enough to merit threats of assasination. Vimeiro was it really, one battle, and he had been absent from the Peninsula for a year. If Prideaux had been moved here specifically for the purpose of Sir Arthur's arrival, then it meant the French really were worried.

"And everybody says that Bonaparte doesn't think the Beau a suitable threat."

"It is quite possible that he does not. But there are several men on Sir Arthur's staff who are suspected to be a threat in and of themselves. As to Wellesley himself, he made a name for himself in India, sure, but he is largely an unknown element, and that is enough. The French have learned the danger of underestimating the British - the navy has seen to that. Everything is in flux - Wellesley's arrival is seen as a catalyst to change in the Peninsula, and that is enough to make Buonaparte's intelligence services nervous. This makes them cautious, and they send spies as close as they can get to the centre of the change. And thus we must be even more cautious." He smiled wryly. "Strangely enough, our caution takes on the guise of hasty, risky ventures such as this."

Padstowe returned Maturin's smile.

"It is never a good idea to give the enemy his head," he said. "So cutting it off before he can use it may be considered an action born of caution."

"You are quite right. De inimico non loquaris; sed cogites. And as I have so often in my life been late, caution begs me ask you again what o'clock it is?"

Padstowe checked his watch again.

"Twenty-five past."

Stephen nodded. He was beginning to feel the knot in his stomach again - some instinct told him that not all would go according to plan. In an attempt to distract himself, he picked a long stem of grass and twisted it, watching the end dance in the gloom, just about lit by the moonlight. He patted the catling tucked into the waistband of his trousers - he'd put a new blade on it before they left.

"I saw you had some pistols earlier, João - prodigiously fine weapons. Who made them?"

The captain pulled out one of the pistols and handed it to Maturin to feel. It was small, with a plain ivory handle, perfectly balanced. It was a beautiful thing, but deadly.

"They were a present from my sister," he said. "When she heard we were coming out here she had them made by some fellow in London - his name escapes me at the moment. It was a sweet gesture, yet I dread to think how much they must have cost her."

"Your sister - is that Sarah? You mentioned her earlier - the musician of the family." Stephen held it, feeling the weight of it, the moonlight gleaming on the fittings. "Sure, it's a beautiful piece. The barrel feels different to that of an ordinary pistol."

"Yes, dear Sarah," he smiled. "Best sister in the world. The barrels are rifled, which gives them a greater degree of accuracy - the added spin makes the ball fly straighter."

"I see, so." Stephen smiled back at Padstowe - almost useless, considering how dark it had become. His childhood had been a solitary one, and the idea of having a sibling was a fascinating one to him. "Is she older than yourself, or younger?"

"Three years younger," Padstowe said, taking the pistol back and placing it back in under his coat. "Married with two children and last I heard a third on the way. He's a decent chap, but I do think she could have done better."

"Give her joy of her children. Are they boys or girls? My friend has just married, a wonderful, beautiful girl by the name of Sophia - her mother is the most illiberal harpy I have yet had the misfortune to meet. Sophie too has a child on the way - she became pregnant just as I left for Portugal."

It was rather odd to be talking of children and babies at such a time or in such a place, but it was keeping their minds off darker thoughts.

"One of each, the girl being the eldest. She prays that the third shall be boy, as she believes else poor boy shall feel outnumbered with two sisters."

"She does not worry about the girl being outnumbered by two brothers?" He felt himself drifting into thoughts about the fate of girls - it was a familiar topic, one that he had considered often with Diana in mind. "I know Jack wishes for a son, one who he can provide for by way of time aboard his friend's ships. He has no idea what a daughter might require of him."