Sharpes Devil   ::   Корнуэлл Бернард

Sharpe had introduced himself as Lieutenant Colonel Sharpe, but the wars had left as many Colonels as they had bastards, so the rank hardly impressed Consul Blair, but if Lieutenant Colonel Sharpe had been a friend of Don Bias Vivar, who had been Count of Mouromorto and Captain-General of Spain's Chilean Dominion, then such a friendship could also imply that Sharpe was a friend of the high London lords who, ultimately, gave Blair the privileges and honors that eased his existence in Valdivia. "A bad business," Blair muttered, vainly trying to make amends for his flippancy.

"Where was the body found?" Sharpe asked.

"Some miles northeast of Puerto Crucero. It's a wild area, nothing but woods and rocks." Blair was speaking in a much more respectful tone now. "The place isn't a usual haunt of the rebels, but once in a while they'll appear that far south. Government troops searched the valley after the ambush, of course, but no one thought to look in the actual ravine till a hunting party of Indians brought news that a white god was lying there. That's one of their names for us, you see. The white god, of course, turned out be Don Bias. They reckon that he and his horse must have fallen into the ravine while fleeing from his attackers."

"You're sure it was rebels?" Sharpe turned from the window to ask the question. "I've heard it might have been Bautista's doing."

Blair shook his head. "I've not heard those rumors. I'm not saying Bautista's not capable of murder, because he is. He's a cruel son of a whore, that one, but I never heard any tales of his having killed Captain-General Vivar, and believe me, Chile breeds rumor the way a nunnery breeds the pox."

Sharpe was unwilling to let the theory slip. "I heard Vivar had found out about Bautista's corruption, and was going to arrest him."

Blair mocked Sharpe's naivete. "You don't arrest a man for breathing, do you? Everyone's corrupt here! If Vivar was going to arrest Bautista then it would have been for something far more serious than corruption. No, Colonel, that dog won't hunt."

Sharpe thumped a fist in angry protest. "But to be buried three months ago! That's long enough for someone to tell the authorities in Europe! Why the hell did no one think to tell his wife?"

It was hardly Blair's responsibility, though he tried to answer as best he could. "Maybe the ship carrying the news was captured? Or shipwrecked? Sometimes ships do take a God-horrible time to make the voyage. The last time I went home we spent over three weeks just trying to get round Ushant! Sick as a dog, I was!"

"Goddamn it." Sharpe turned back to the window.