Sharpe's Fortress Part 51

And wanting revenge.

Sharpe borrowed a cloak from one of Sevajee's men, then pulled himself up behind Ahmed onto Major Stokes's horse. They rode slowly away from the village where the torches guttered in the temple towards the smear of red light that betrayed where the British encampment lay some miles to the west. Sevajee talked as they rode, telling Sharpe how Ahmed had fled straight into the arms of his men.

"Luckily for you, Ensign," the Indian said, "I recognized him."

"Which is why you sent for help, isn't it?" Sharpe asked sarcastically.

"It's why you fetched some redcoats to get me out of that b.l.o.o.d.y tent."

"Your grat.i.tude touches me deeply," Sevajee said with a smile.

"It took us a long time to make sense of what your boy was saying, and I confess we didn't wholly believe him even then, and by the time we thought to take him seriously, you were already being carried away.

So we followed. I thought we might fetch some entertainment from the evening, and so we did."

"Glad to be of service, sahib," Sharpe said.

"I knew you could beat ajetti in a fair fight."

"I beat three at once in Seringapatam," Sharpe said, 'but I don't know as it was a fair fight. I'm not much in favour of fair fights. I like them to be unfair. Fair fights are for gentlemen who don't know any better."

"Which is why you gave the sword to the jetti," Sevajee observed drily.

"I knew he'd make a b.o.l.l.o.c.ks of it," Sharpe said. He was tired suddenly, and all the aches and throbs and agony had come back.

Above him the sky was brilliant with stars, while a thin sickle moon hung just above the faraway fortress. Dodd was up there, Sharpe thought, another life to take. Dodd and Torrance, Hakeswill and his two men. A debt to be paid by sending all the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds to h.e.l.l.

"Where shall I take you?" Sevajee asked.

"Take me?"

"You want to go to the General?"

"Christ, no." Sharpe could not imagine complaining to Wellesley. The cold b.u.g.g.e.r would probably blame Sharpe for getting into trouble.

Stokes, maybe? Or the cavalry? Sergeant Lockhart would doubtless welcome him, but then he had a better idea.

"Take me to wherever you're camped," he told Sevajee.

"And in the morning?"

"You've got a new recruit," Sharpe said.

"I'm one of your men for now."

Sevajee looked amused.

"Why?"

"Why do you think? I want to hide."

"But why?"

Sharpe sighed.

"D'you think Wellesley will believe me? If I go to Wellesley he'll think I've got sunstroke, or he'll reckon I'm drunk. And Torrance will stand there with a plum in his b.l.o.o.d.y mouth and deny everything, or else he'll blame Hakeswill."

"Hakeswill?" Sevajee asked.

"A b.a.s.t.a.r.d I'm going to kill," Sharpe said.

"And it'll be easier if he doesn't know I'm still alive." And this time, Sharpe vowed, he would make sure of the b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

"My only worry," he told Sevajee, 'is Major Stokes's horse. He's a good man, Stokes."

"That horse?" Sevajee asked, nodding at the grey mare.

"You reckon a couple of your fellows could return it to him in the morning?"

"Of course."

"Tell him I got thrown from the saddle and s.n.a.t.c.hed up by the enemy," Sharpe said.

"Let him think I'm a prisoner in Gawilghur."

"And meanwhile you'll be one of us?" Sevajee asked.

"I've just become a Mahratta," Sharpe said.

"Welcome," said Sevajee.

"And what you need now, Sharpe, is some rest."

"I've had plenty of rest," Sharpe said.

"What I need now are some clothes, and some darkness."

"You need food too," Sevajee insisted. He glanced up at the sliver of moon above the fort. It was waning.

"Tomorrow night will be darker," he promised, and Sharpe nodded. He wanted a deep darkness, a shadowed blackness, in which a living ghost could hunt.

Major Stokes was grateful for the return of his horse, but saddened over Sharpe's fate.

"Captured!" he told Sir Arthur Wellesley.

"And my own fault too."

"Can't see how that can be, Stokes."