JК
Sharpes Gold :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 27 из 179They don't trust us, and they think we're losing the war and planning to take their gold. El Catolico wants to move the gold by land, but I've persuaded them to give us one more chance!
After a dearth of information Sharpe was suddenly being deluged with new facts. 'El Catolico, sir?
'I told you! The new man. Marrying Moreno's daughter.
'But why El Catolico?
A stork flapped its way up into the sky, legs back, long wings edged with black, and Kearsey watched it for a second or two.
'Ah! See what you mean. The Catholic. He prays over his victims before he kills them. The Latin prayer for the dead. Just as a joke, of course. The Major sounded gloomy. His fingers riffled the pages as if he were drawing strength from the psalms and stories that were beneath his fingertips. 'He's a dangerous man, Sharpe. Ex-officer, knows how to fight, and he doesn't want us to be involved.
Sharpe took a deep breath, walked to the battlement, and stared at the rocky northern landscape. 'So, sir. The gold is a day's march from here, guarded by Moreno and El Catolico, and our job is to fetch it, persuade them to let us take it, and escort it safely over the border.
'Quite right.
'What's to stop Moreno already taking it, sir? I mean, while you're here.
Kearsey gave a single snorting bark. 'Thought of that, Sharpe. Left a man there, one of the Regiment, good man. He's keeping an eye on things, keeping the Partisans sweet. Kearsey stood up and, in the growing heat of the sun, shrugged off his cloak. His uniform was blue with a pelisse of silver lace and grey fur. At his side was the polished-steel scabbard of the curved sabre. It was the uniform of the Prince of Wales Dragoons, of Claud Hardy, of Josefina's lover, Sharpe's usurper. Kearsey pushed the Bible into his slung sabretache. 'Moreno trusts us; it's only El Catolico we have to worry about, and he likes Hardy. I think it will be all right.
'Hardy? Sharpe had somehow sensed it, the feeling of an incomplete story.
'That's right. Kearsey glanced sharply at the Rifleman. 'Captain Claud Hardy. You know him?
'No, sir.
Which was true. He had never met him, just watched Josefina walk away to Hardy's side. He had thought that the rich young cavalry officer was in Lisbon, dancing away the nights, and instead he was here! Waiting a day's march away. He stared westward, away from Kearsey, at the deep, dark-shadowed gorge of the Coa that slashed across the landscape. Kearsey stamped his feet.
'Anything else, Sharpe?
'No, sir.
'Good. We march tonight. Nine o'clock.
After a dearth of information Sharpe was suddenly being deluged with new facts. 'El Catolico, sir?
'I told you! The new man. Marrying Moreno's daughter.
'But why El Catolico?
A stork flapped its way up into the sky, legs back, long wings edged with black, and Kearsey watched it for a second or two.
'Ah! See what you mean. The Catholic. He prays over his victims before he kills them. The Latin prayer for the dead. Just as a joke, of course. The Major sounded gloomy. His fingers riffled the pages as if he were drawing strength from the psalms and stories that were beneath his fingertips. 'He's a dangerous man, Sharpe. Ex-officer, knows how to fight, and he doesn't want us to be involved.
Sharpe took a deep breath, walked to the battlement, and stared at the rocky northern landscape. 'So, sir. The gold is a day's march from here, guarded by Moreno and El Catolico, and our job is to fetch it, persuade them to let us take it, and escort it safely over the border.
'Quite right.
'What's to stop Moreno already taking it, sir? I mean, while you're here.
Kearsey gave a single snorting bark. 'Thought of that, Sharpe. Left a man there, one of the Regiment, good man. He's keeping an eye on things, keeping the Partisans sweet. Kearsey stood up and, in the growing heat of the sun, shrugged off his cloak. His uniform was blue with a pelisse of silver lace and grey fur. At his side was the polished-steel scabbard of the curved sabre. It was the uniform of the Prince of Wales Dragoons, of Claud Hardy, of Josefina's lover, Sharpe's usurper. Kearsey pushed the Bible into his slung sabretache. 'Moreno trusts us; it's only El Catolico we have to worry about, and he likes Hardy. I think it will be all right.
'Hardy? Sharpe had somehow sensed it, the feeling of an incomplete story.
'That's right. Kearsey glanced sharply at the Rifleman. 'Captain Claud Hardy. You know him?
'No, sir.
Which was true. He had never met him, just watched Josefina walk away to Hardy's side. He had thought that the rich young cavalry officer was in Lisbon, dancing away the nights, and instead he was here! Waiting a day's march away. He stared westward, away from Kearsey, at the deep, dark-shadowed gorge of the Coa that slashed across the landscape. Kearsey stamped his feet.
'Anything else, Sharpe?
'No, sir.
'Good. We march tonight. Nine o'clock.