JК
Sharpes Eagle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 96 из 203”
Before Sharpe could move there came another scream, this time a man’s, and it turned into a bellow of rage. A door burst open on the top floor spilling yellow candlelight onto the balcony, and a woman ran out of the room and darted towards the stairs. A voice shouted, “Stop her!”
The girl tore down the stairs as though the fiends of hell were after her. The officers in the courtyard cheered her on and shouted abuse at the two figures who emerged after her, Gibbons and Berry. They stood no chance of catching her; both men looked drunk, and as they burst from the room they lurched and blinked round the courtyard.
“It’s Josefina,” Forrest said. Sharpe watched the girl half run, half fall down the stairs until she reached the other side of the courtyard from their table. For a second she looked desperately round as though looking for help. She was carrying a bag, and Sharpe had a glimpse of what could have been a knife in her hand, and then she turned and ran into the darkness, over the stream, towards the lights of the Battalion’s fires. Gibbons stopped halfway down the stairs; he was dressed in trousers and shirt and one hand was clutching the unbuttoned shirt to his stomach; in the other hand was a pistol. “Come back, you lousy bitch!”
He jumped the last flight of steps and fumbled with the lock of his pistol.
“What’s the matter, Gibbons? Girl took your colours!” The voice came from one of the tables in the courtyard. Gibbons, his face furious, ignored the jibes and laughter and ran with Berry towards the stream.
“There’s going to be trouble.” Sharpe climbed from the bench. “I’m going.”
He threaded his way through the tables, Forrest and Hogan following him. He left the light of the courtyard and splashed through the stream; there was no sight of the girl or her pursuers, just the lights in the cork grove and the occasional silhouette of a man crossing in front of the flames. He paused to let his eyes become accustomed to the dark. Forrest caught up with him.
“Is there going to be trouble, Sharpe?”
“Not if I can help it, sir. But you saw him, he’s got a pistol.” There were shouts to the left, a commotion. “Come on!”
He outpaced the other two; he was running fast, keeping the silver track of the stream to his left, holding the rifle in his right hand.
“What’s going on? Who the hell’s that?” In the light of a fire he saw an angry private. The man looked surprised when he saw Sharpe and threw a hasty salute. “You after them two, sir?”
“Was a girl with them?”
“That way, sir.
Before Sharpe could move there came another scream, this time a man’s, and it turned into a bellow of rage. A door burst open on the top floor spilling yellow candlelight onto the balcony, and a woman ran out of the room and darted towards the stairs. A voice shouted, “Stop her!”
The girl tore down the stairs as though the fiends of hell were after her. The officers in the courtyard cheered her on and shouted abuse at the two figures who emerged after her, Gibbons and Berry. They stood no chance of catching her; both men looked drunk, and as they burst from the room they lurched and blinked round the courtyard.
“It’s Josefina,” Forrest said. Sharpe watched the girl half run, half fall down the stairs until she reached the other side of the courtyard from their table. For a second she looked desperately round as though looking for help. She was carrying a bag, and Sharpe had a glimpse of what could have been a knife in her hand, and then she turned and ran into the darkness, over the stream, towards the lights of the Battalion’s fires. Gibbons stopped halfway down the stairs; he was dressed in trousers and shirt and one hand was clutching the unbuttoned shirt to his stomach; in the other hand was a pistol. “Come back, you lousy bitch!”
He jumped the last flight of steps and fumbled with the lock of his pistol.
“What’s the matter, Gibbons? Girl took your colours!” The voice came from one of the tables in the courtyard. Gibbons, his face furious, ignored the jibes and laughter and ran with Berry towards the stream.
“There’s going to be trouble.” Sharpe climbed from the bench. “I’m going.”
He threaded his way through the tables, Forrest and Hogan following him. He left the light of the courtyard and splashed through the stream; there was no sight of the girl or her pursuers, just the lights in the cork grove and the occasional silhouette of a man crossing in front of the flames. He paused to let his eyes become accustomed to the dark. Forrest caught up with him.
“Is there going to be trouble, Sharpe?”
“Not if I can help it, sir. But you saw him, he’s got a pistol.” There were shouts to the left, a commotion. “Come on!”
He outpaced the other two; he was running fast, keeping the silver track of the stream to his left, holding the rifle in his right hand.
“What’s going on? Who the hell’s that?” In the light of a fire he saw an angry private. The man looked surprised when he saw Sharpe and threw a hasty salute. “You after them two, sir?”
“Was a girl with them?”
“That way, sir.