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Sharpes Escape :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 196 из 283"You have to scoop them out, and they get a bit mixed up with loose gunpowder, but most of us like that taste."
"Sergeant Harper's in the kitchen," Sarah said diffidently.
"Worried what you might see?" Sharpe asked with a smile. "He won't mind. There's not a lot of privacy in the army. It's an education, the army."
"So I'm discovering," Sarah said, and she went to the kitchen, but came back to report that the stove was cold.
She had moved as quietly as she could, but she had still woken Harper who rolled out of his makeshift bed and came bleary-eyed into the small parlor. "What time is it?"
"Nightfall," Sharpe said.
"All quiet?"
"Except for your snoring. And we had a visit from a Frog who chatted with Sarah about the state of the world."
"It's in a terrible state, so it is," Harper said, "a shame, really." He shook his head, then hefted the volley gun. "You should get some sleep, sir. Let me watch for a while." He turned and smiled as Joana came from the kitchen. She had taken off her torn dress and seemed to be wearing nothing except the Frenchman's shirt, which reached halfway down her thighs. She put her arms round Harper's waist, rested her dark head against his shoulder and smiled at Sharpe. "We'll both keep watch," Harper said.
"Is that what you call it?" Sharpe asked. He picked up his rifle. "Wake me when you're tired," he said. He reckoned he needed proper sleep more than he needed tea, but Harper, he knew, could probably drink a gallon. "You want to make some tea first? We were going to light the stove."
"I'll brew it on the hearth, sir." Harper nodded at the small fireplace where there was a three-legged saucepan designed to stand in the embers. "There's water in the garden," he added, nodding at a rain butt, "so the kitchen's all yours, sir. And sleep well, sir."
Sharpe ducked through the low door which he closed to find himself in almost pitch blackness. He groped to find the back door beyond which was a small enclosed yard eerily lit by moonlight filtered by the drifting smoke. There was a pump in the yard's corner and he worked the handle to splash water into a stone trough. He used a handful of straw to scrub the filth off his boots, then tugged them off and washed his hands. He unstrapped the sword belt and carried belt, boots and sword back into the kitchen. He closed the door, then knelt to find the bed in the darkness.
"Careful," Sarah said from somewhere in the tangle of blankets and greatcoat.
"What are you… " Sharpe began, then thought it was a stupid question and so did not finish it.
"Sergeant Harper's in the kitchen," Sarah said diffidently.
"Worried what you might see?" Sharpe asked with a smile. "He won't mind. There's not a lot of privacy in the army. It's an education, the army."
"So I'm discovering," Sarah said, and she went to the kitchen, but came back to report that the stove was cold.
She had moved as quietly as she could, but she had still woken Harper who rolled out of his makeshift bed and came bleary-eyed into the small parlor. "What time is it?"
"Nightfall," Sharpe said.
"All quiet?"
"Except for your snoring. And we had a visit from a Frog who chatted with Sarah about the state of the world."
"It's in a terrible state, so it is," Harper said, "a shame, really." He shook his head, then hefted the volley gun. "You should get some sleep, sir. Let me watch for a while." He turned and smiled as Joana came from the kitchen. She had taken off her torn dress and seemed to be wearing nothing except the Frenchman's shirt, which reached halfway down her thighs. She put her arms round Harper's waist, rested her dark head against his shoulder and smiled at Sharpe. "We'll both keep watch," Harper said.
"Is that what you call it?" Sharpe asked. He picked up his rifle. "Wake me when you're tired," he said. He reckoned he needed proper sleep more than he needed tea, but Harper, he knew, could probably drink a gallon. "You want to make some tea first? We were going to light the stove."
"I'll brew it on the hearth, sir." Harper nodded at the small fireplace where there was a three-legged saucepan designed to stand in the embers. "There's water in the garden," he added, nodding at a rain butt, "so the kitchen's all yours, sir. And sleep well, sir."
Sharpe ducked through the low door which he closed to find himself in almost pitch blackness. He groped to find the back door beyond which was a small enclosed yard eerily lit by moonlight filtered by the drifting smoke. There was a pump in the yard's corner and he worked the handle to splash water into a stone trough. He used a handful of straw to scrub the filth off his boots, then tugged them off and washed his hands. He unstrapped the sword belt and carried belt, boots and sword back into the kitchen. He closed the door, then knelt to find the bed in the darkness.
"Careful," Sarah said from somewhere in the tangle of blankets and greatcoat.
"What are you… " Sharpe began, then thought it was a stupid question and so did not finish it.