JК
Sharpes Eagle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 16 из 203He’s the laddie who killed the Sultan Tippoo. Then, let me see, there was that ghastly affair at Assaye. No-one knows how many Sharpe killed there. Do you know, Sharpe?” Hogan ignored any possible answer and ground on remorselessly. “Terrible fellow, our Lieutenant Sharpe, equally fatal with a sword or gun.”
Gibbons could hardly mistake Hogan’s message. The Captain had seen the scuffle and was warning Gibbons about the likely consequence of a formal duel. The Lieutenant took the proffered escape. He bent down and picked up his Light Company shako, then nodded to Sharpe.
“My mistake, Sharpe.”
“My pleasure, Lieutenant.”
Hogan watched Gibbons retrieve his horse and disappear from the alleyway. “You’re not very gracious at receiving an apology.”
“It wasn’t very graciously given.” Sharpe rubbed his cheek. “Anyway, the bastard hit me.”
Hogan laughed incredulously. “He what?”
“Hit me, with his whip. Why do you think I dumped him in the manure?”
Hogan shook his head. “There’s nothing so satisfying as a friendly and professional relationship with your fellow officers, my dear Sharpe. I can see this job will be a pleasure. What did he want?”
“Wanted me to salute him. Thought I was a private.”
Hogan laughed again. “God knows what Simmerson will think of you. Let’s go and find out.”
They were ushered into Simmerson’s room to find the Colonel of the South Essex sitting on his bed wearing nothing but a pair of trousers. A doctor knelt beside him who looked up nervously as the two officers came into the room; the movement prompted an impatient flap of Simmerson’s hand. “Come on, man, I haven’t all day!”
In his hand the doctor was holding what appeared to be a metal box with a trigger mounted on the top. He hovered it over Sir Henry’s arm and Sharpe saw he was trying to find a patch of skin that was not already scarred with strangely regular marks.
“Scarification!” Sir Henry barked to Hogan. “Do you bleed, Captain?”
“No, sir.”
“You should. Keeps a man healthy. All soldiers should bleed.” He turned back to the doctor who was still hesitating over the scarred forearm. “Come on, you idiot!”
In his nervousness the doctor pressed the trigger by mistake and there was a sharp click. From the bottom of the box Sharpe saw a group of wicked little blades leap out like steel tongues. The doctor flinched back. “I’m sorry, Sir Henry. A moment.
Gibbons could hardly mistake Hogan’s message. The Captain had seen the scuffle and was warning Gibbons about the likely consequence of a formal duel. The Lieutenant took the proffered escape. He bent down and picked up his Light Company shako, then nodded to Sharpe.
“My mistake, Sharpe.”
“My pleasure, Lieutenant.”
Hogan watched Gibbons retrieve his horse and disappear from the alleyway. “You’re not very gracious at receiving an apology.”
“It wasn’t very graciously given.” Sharpe rubbed his cheek. “Anyway, the bastard hit me.”
Hogan laughed incredulously. “He what?”
“Hit me, with his whip. Why do you think I dumped him in the manure?”
Hogan shook his head. “There’s nothing so satisfying as a friendly and professional relationship with your fellow officers, my dear Sharpe. I can see this job will be a pleasure. What did he want?”
“Wanted me to salute him. Thought I was a private.”
Hogan laughed again. “God knows what Simmerson will think of you. Let’s go and find out.”
They were ushered into Simmerson’s room to find the Colonel of the South Essex sitting on his bed wearing nothing but a pair of trousers. A doctor knelt beside him who looked up nervously as the two officers came into the room; the movement prompted an impatient flap of Simmerson’s hand. “Come on, man, I haven’t all day!”
In his hand the doctor was holding what appeared to be a metal box with a trigger mounted on the top. He hovered it over Sir Henry’s arm and Sharpe saw he was trying to find a patch of skin that was not already scarred with strangely regular marks.
“Scarification!” Sir Henry barked to Hogan. “Do you bleed, Captain?”
“No, sir.”
“You should. Keeps a man healthy. All soldiers should bleed.” He turned back to the doctor who was still hesitating over the scarred forearm. “Come on, you idiot!”
In his nervousness the doctor pressed the trigger by mistake and there was a sharp click. From the bottom of the box Sharpe saw a group of wicked little blades leap out like steel tongues. The doctor flinched back. “I’m sorry, Sir Henry. A moment.