Looking for the Provost Officer

Vickery didn't waste time looking for the 33rd's officers' mess but went up to the nearest soldier and asked him where the officers could be found. He was directed over to a tree, around which were gathered various officers.

"I am looking for a Lieutenant Wiffort of the Provosts," he said, declining the glass of wine that the mess servant offered him.

"Wiffort," a short-limbed captain called in a deep voice. "Visitor for you!"

The provost officer looked up and his expression quickly became one of vague disinterest. "Help you, sir?"

At least he'd used the honorific, which was something. "If we might talk somewhere a little more private," Vickery suggested.

If this was what their officer was like, then it was no wonder the provosts were as ill-disciplined as they were.

Oh of course. Wiffort swallowed a sigh. It was always somewhere 'private' with those grasshoppers, wasn't it? Couldn't be troubled to air their grievances in the presence of men, not at all.

The provost got to his feet, nodding his apology to his messmates for the interruption. "Certainly, sir," he said and waited for the grasshopper to lead the way to wherever.

Once they were far enough away from the 33rd's mess, Vickery stopped and turned. "I presume you are unaware that your men have been pawing through my personal baggage," he began. "I have no idea what they expected to find, as it hasn't been unpacked since leaving Lisbon, but I object to having my possessions strewn all over the road."

Wiffort arched an eyebrow. "They have, sir? I was not aware, but I apologise most heartily for their lack of judgment - though I am sure they will claim they had suitable suspicion. Be assured I will have words with them about it. It shall not happen again."

It had better not. Vickery nodded. "Thank you." It probably wouldn't do any good, but alerting their officer to the fact that the men were behaving like drunken boors with another officer's possessions couldn't do any harm. "I apologise for the interruption," he said, and offered his hand for the other man to shake.

"Happy to be of service, sir," Wiffort said silkily and accepted the offered hand. Stuck-up oaf of an officer... what made him think Wiffort cared that his baggage had been disturbed?

It was a formula, and spoken as one, too. Vickery didn't think that protesting to the officer would have the slightest effect, but he had at least attempted to use the correct channels.

"Thank you for your time, sir," he said, and took his leave, heading back to where he'd left Newbury and the others.

"It won't make the blindest bit of diff'rence, sir," Cotton said, looking up at the Captain. "That sort ain't the type who'll listen to an officer an' obey his orders when he ain't around. If he even gives 'em any orders about it at all."

"Don't be impertinent, Cotton," Vickery said, leading Brandy away from the 33rd's encampment.

"Din't mean to be," the Rifleman said, sighing. "Sorry, sir." It was true though. That Lieutenant had been all... oily and had no intention of doing anything about anything.