JК
Sharpes Devil :: Корнуэлл Бернард
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"So he's a rebel?"
"Of course he's a bloody rebel! Why else would he have come to Chile? He likes to fight, and Europe isn't providing any proper warsthese days, so all the rascals come over here and complicate my life instead. What do you want with Charles?"
"Nothing," Sharpe said, then let the subject drop. An hour later he and Harper went to their beds and lay listening to the water sluice off the tiles. The mattresses were full of fleas. "Like old times," Harper grumbled when they woke early the next morning.
Blair was also up at first light. The rain in the night had been so heavy that part of the misted square was flooded, and the inundation had turned the rubbish-choked ditch into a moat in which foul things floated. "A horrid day to travel," Blair complained when he met them in his parlor where coffee waited on the table. "It'll be raining again within the hour, mark my words."
"Where are you going?"
"Downriver. To the port." Blair groaned and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. "I've got to supervise some cargo loading, and probably see the Captain of the Charybdis."
"What's the Charybdis?" Harper asked.
"Royal Navy frigate. We keep a squadron on the coast just to make sure the bloody dagoes don't shoot any of our people. They know that if they upset me, I'll arrange to have their toy boats blown out of the water." Blair shivered, then groaned with pain. "Breakfast!" he shouted toward the kitchen, then flinched as a muffled rattle of musketry sounded from the Citadel. 'That's another rebel gone," Blair said thickly. There was a second ragged volley. "Business is good this morning."
"Rebels?" Sharpe asked.
"Or some poor bugger caught with a gun and no money to bribe the patrol. They shove them up against the Angel Tower, say a quick Hail Mary, then send the buggers into eternity."
"The Angel Tower?" Sharpe asked.
"It's that ancient lump of stone in the middle of the fort. The Spaniards built it when they first came here, way back in the dark ages. Bloody thing has survived earthquake, fire and rebellion. It used to be a prison, but it's empty now."
"Why is it called the Angel Tower?" Harper asked.
"Christ knows, but you know what the dagoes are like. Some drunken Spanish whore probably saw an angel on its top and the next thing you know they're all weeping and praying and the priests are carrying around the collection plate. Where's my Goddamned bloody breakfast?" he shouted toward the kitchen.
Blair, well breakfasted at last, left for the harbor an hour later. "Don't expect anything from Marquinez," he warned Sharpe. "They'll promise you anything, but deliver nothing. You'll not hear a word from that macaroni until you offer him a fat bribe.
"So he's a rebel?"
"Of course he's a bloody rebel! Why else would he have come to Chile? He likes to fight, and Europe isn't providing any proper warsthese days, so all the rascals come over here and complicate my life instead. What do you want with Charles?"
"Nothing," Sharpe said, then let the subject drop. An hour later he and Harper went to their beds and lay listening to the water sluice off the tiles. The mattresses were full of fleas. "Like old times," Harper grumbled when they woke early the next morning.
Blair was also up at first light. The rain in the night had been so heavy that part of the misted square was flooded, and the inundation had turned the rubbish-choked ditch into a moat in which foul things floated. "A horrid day to travel," Blair complained when he met them in his parlor where coffee waited on the table. "It'll be raining again within the hour, mark my words."
"Where are you going?"
"Downriver. To the port." Blair groaned and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. "I've got to supervise some cargo loading, and probably see the Captain of the Charybdis."
"What's the Charybdis?" Harper asked.
"Royal Navy frigate. We keep a squadron on the coast just to make sure the bloody dagoes don't shoot any of our people. They know that if they upset me, I'll arrange to have their toy boats blown out of the water." Blair shivered, then groaned with pain. "Breakfast!" he shouted toward the kitchen, then flinched as a muffled rattle of musketry sounded from the Citadel. 'That's another rebel gone," Blair said thickly. There was a second ragged volley. "Business is good this morning."
"Rebels?" Sharpe asked.
"Or some poor bugger caught with a gun and no money to bribe the patrol. They shove them up against the Angel Tower, say a quick Hail Mary, then send the buggers into eternity."
"The Angel Tower?" Sharpe asked.
"It's that ancient lump of stone in the middle of the fort. The Spaniards built it when they first came here, way back in the dark ages. Bloody thing has survived earthquake, fire and rebellion. It used to be a prison, but it's empty now."
"Why is it called the Angel Tower?" Harper asked.
"Christ knows, but you know what the dagoes are like. Some drunken Spanish whore probably saw an angel on its top and the next thing you know they're all weeping and praying and the priests are carrying around the collection plate. Where's my Goddamned bloody breakfast?" he shouted toward the kitchen.
Blair, well breakfasted at last, left for the harbor an hour later. "Don't expect anything from Marquinez," he warned Sharpe. "They'll promise you anything, but deliver nothing. You'll not hear a word from that macaroni until you offer him a fat bribe.