JК
Sharpes Gold :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 150 из 179The stiff leather could soak up a minor blast, protect the massive dump of gunpowder beneath, and Harper watched, astonished, as Sharpe drew his sword and cut off the weights, clenching his teeth as he sawed through the leather.
'What the hell, sir?
Sharpe looked up at him. 'Don't ask. Where are the sentries?
'Upstairs. The Sergeant knelt beside him. 'Sir?
Sharpe stopped the desperate cutting, looked at the broad, friendly face. 'Don't you trust me?
Harper was offended, even hurt, and he bent past Sharpe, took hold of the torn part of the curtain in one hand, the upper leather in the other, and pulled. As a demonstration of strength it was remarkable, the veins standing out in his neck, his whole body rigid with effort as the double-thick leather peeled apart, silently and slowly, and Sharpe helped it with the sword blade until, after thirty seconds, Harper leaned back with a grunt and in his hand was the separated bottom two inches of the curtain with its heavy lead weights sewn into the hem.
'Of course I bloody trust you. Just tell me. The Irishman's anger was real.
Sharpe shook his head. 'I will. Later. Come on.
Upstairs, taking off the slippers, Sharpe nodded at the candles.
'Funny keeping them alight.
Harper shook his head. 'They're a hell of a way from the vault, sir. His voice showed that he was slightly mollified, still insulted, but ready to be friendly. 'Anyway. It's what they call insurance, isn't it?
'Insurance?
'Sure. The huge head nodded. 'A few prayers never did any army any harm. He stood up. 'Where now, sir?
To a bakery. The soldiers, British and German, were mystified as Sharpe traced a gutter away from the cathedral to a building not far from the north gate. He tried the door, but it was well locked, and Harper gestured him to one side.
'Helmet? Door.
The German Sergeant nodded, moved ponderously at the barrier, grunted as he hit it, and then turned with what passed as a smile as the wood splintered away in front of him.
'Told you, sir, Harper said. 'Any provosts about?
'If there are any, kill them, Sharpe said.
'Sir! You hear that, Helmet? Kill the provosts!
It was pitch black inside but Sharpe felt his way over the floor, past a table that must once have been the counter for the shop, and found huge brick ovens, cold now, hunched at the back of the bakery. He went back to the street, empty of Portuguese provosts or patrols.
They climbed the shallow ramp to the first wall and stopped by the battlements.
'What the hell, sir?
Sharpe looked up at him. 'Don't ask. Where are the sentries?
'Upstairs. The Sergeant knelt beside him. 'Sir?
Sharpe stopped the desperate cutting, looked at the broad, friendly face. 'Don't you trust me?
Harper was offended, even hurt, and he bent past Sharpe, took hold of the torn part of the curtain in one hand, the upper leather in the other, and pulled. As a demonstration of strength it was remarkable, the veins standing out in his neck, his whole body rigid with effort as the double-thick leather peeled apart, silently and slowly, and Sharpe helped it with the sword blade until, after thirty seconds, Harper leaned back with a grunt and in his hand was the separated bottom two inches of the curtain with its heavy lead weights sewn into the hem.
'Of course I bloody trust you. Just tell me. The Irishman's anger was real.
Sharpe shook his head. 'I will. Later. Come on.
Upstairs, taking off the slippers, Sharpe nodded at the candles.
'Funny keeping them alight.
Harper shook his head. 'They're a hell of a way from the vault, sir. His voice showed that he was slightly mollified, still insulted, but ready to be friendly. 'Anyway. It's what they call insurance, isn't it?
'Insurance?
'Sure. The huge head nodded. 'A few prayers never did any army any harm. He stood up. 'Where now, sir?
To a bakery. The soldiers, British and German, were mystified as Sharpe traced a gutter away from the cathedral to a building not far from the north gate. He tried the door, but it was well locked, and Harper gestured him to one side.
'Helmet? Door.
The German Sergeant nodded, moved ponderously at the barrier, grunted as he hit it, and then turned with what passed as a smile as the wood splintered away in front of him.
'Told you, sir, Harper said. 'Any provosts about?
'If there are any, kill them, Sharpe said.
'Sir! You hear that, Helmet? Kill the provosts!
It was pitch black inside but Sharpe felt his way over the floor, past a table that must once have been the counter for the shop, and found huge brick ovens, cold now, hunched at the back of the bakery. He went back to the street, empty of Portuguese provosts or patrols.
They climbed the shallow ramp to the first wall and stopped by the battlements.