Morris gaped at Baird. 'You, sir?

'Baird, B-A-I-R-D. Major General.

'Yes, sir, but.. Morris had been about to ask what possible business a major general had with a deserter, then realized that such a question would never fetch a civil answer, so he just dipped a quill in ink and hurriedly added the words Baird had requested. 'You think we might see Sharpe again, sir? he asked.

'I do hope so, Captain. Baird stood. 'I even pray as much. Now may I thank you for your hospitality?

'Yes, sir, of course, sir. Morris half stood as the General left, then dropped back onto his chair and stared at the words he had just written. 'What in God's name is all that about? he asked when Baird was safely out of earshot.

Hakeswill sniffed. 'No good, sir, I'll warrant that.

Morris uncovered the arrack and took a sip. 'First the bastard is summoned to Harris's tent, then he runs, and now Baird says we'll see him again and wants him kept alive! Why?

'He's up to no good, sir, Hakeswill said. 'He took his woman and vanished, sir. Ain't no general who can condone that behaviour, sir. It's unforgivable, sir. The army's going to the dogs, sir.

'I can't disobey Baird, Morris muttered.

'But you don't wants Sharpie back here either, sir, Hakes-will said fervently. 'A soldier who's a general's pet? He'll be given a sergeant's stripes next! The thought of such an affront struck Hakeswill momentarily speechless. His face quivered with indignation, then, with a visible effort, he controlled himself. 'Who knows, sir, he suggested slyly, 'but the little bastard might be reporting on you and me, sir, like the traitor what he is. We don't need snakes in our bosoms, sir. We don't want to disturb the happy mood of the company, not by harbouring a general's pet, sir.

'General's pet? Morris repeated softly. The Captain was a venal man and, though no worse than many, he nevertheless dreaded official scrutiny, but he was far too lazy to correct the malfeasances half concealed in the closely penned columns of the pay books. Worse, Morris feared that Sharpe could somehow reveal his complicity in the false charge that had resulted in Sharpe's flogging, and though it seemed impossible for a mere private to carry that much weight in the army, so it seemed equally impossible that a major general should make a special errand to discuss that private. There was something very odd going on, and Morris disliked strange threats. He merely asked for the quiet life, and he wanted Sharpe out of it. 'But I can't leave those words off the form, he complained to Hakeswill, gesturing at the new addition on Sharpe's page.

'Don't need to, sir. With respect, sir. Ain't no form being distributed here, sir, not in the 33rd, sir. Don't need a form, do we? We knows what the bugger looks like, we does, so they won't give us no form, sir. They never do, sir. So I'll let it be known that if anyone sees Sharpie they're to oblige the army by putting a goolie in his back. Hakeswill saw Morris's nervousness. 'Won't be no fuss, sir, not if the bugger's in Seringapatam and we're pulling the bloody place to pieces. Kill him quick, sir, and that's more than he deserves. He's up to no good, sir, I can feel it in my waters, and a bugger up to no good is a bugger better off dead. Says so in the scriptures, sir.

'I'm sure it does, Sergeant, I'm sure it does, Morris said, then closed the Punishment Book. 'You must do whatever you think is best, Sergeant. I know I can trust you.

"You do me honour, sir, Hakeswill said with feigned emotion. 'You do me honour. And I'll have the bastard for you, sir, have him proper dead.

In Seringapatam.

'What in God's name did you think you were doing, Sharpe? Lawford demanded furiously. The Lieutenant was much too angry to go along with the pretence of being a private, and, besides, the two men were now alone for the first time that day. Alone, but not unguarded, for though they were standing sentry in one of the south wall cavaliers there were a dozen men of Gudin's battalion within sight, including the burly Sergeant, called Rothiere, who watched the two newcomers from the next cavalier along. 'By God, Private, Lawford hissed, 'I'Il have you flogged for that display when we're back! We're here to rescue Colonel McCandless, not to kill him! Are you mad?

Sharpe stared south across the landscape, saying nothing. To his right the shallow river flowed between shelving green banks. Once the monsoon came the river would swell and spread and drown the wide flat rocks that dotted its bed. He was feeling more comfortable now, for Doctor Venkatesh had placed some salve on his back which had taken away a lot of the pain. The doctor had then put on new bandages and warned Sharpe that they must not be dampened, but ought to be changed each day until the wounds healed.

Colonel Gudin had then taken the two Englishmen to a barracks room close by the city's south-western corner. Every man in the barracks was a European, most of them French, but with a scattering of Swiss, Germans and two Britishers. They all wore the blue coats of French infantry, but there were none to spare for the two new men, and so Sergeant Rothiere had issued Sharpe and Lawford with tiger tunics like those the Tippoo's men wore. The tunics did not open down the front like a European coat, but had to be pulled over the head. 'Where you boys from? an English voice asked Sharpe as he pulled down the dyed cotton tunic.

'33rd, Sharpe had said.

'The Havercakes? the man said. 'Thought they were up north, in Calcutta?

'Brought down to Madras last year, Sharpe said. He gingerly sat on his cot, an Indian bed made from ropes stretched between a simple wooden frame. It proved surprisingly comfortable. 'And you? he asked the Englishman.

'Royal bleeding Artillery, mate, both of us. Ran three months back. Name's Johnny Blake and that's Henry Hickson.

Tm Dick Sharpe and that's Bill Lawford, Sharpe said, introducing the Lieutenant who looked desperately awkward in his knee-length tunic of purple and white stripes. Over the tunic he wore two crossbelts and an ordinary belt from which hung a bayonet and a cartridge pouch. They had been issued with heavy French muskets and warned they would have to do their share of sentry duty with the rest of the small battalion.

'Used to be a lot more of us, Blake told Sharpe, 'but men die here like flies. Fever mostly.

'But it ain't bad here, Henry Hickson offered. 'Food's all right. Plenty of bibbis and Gudin's a real decent officer. Better than any we ever had.

'Right bastards we had, Blake agreed.

'Aren't they all? Sharpe had said.

'And the pay's good, when you get it. Five months overdue now, but maybe we'll get it when we beat the stuffing out of the British. Blake laughed at the suggestion.

Blake and Hickson were not required to stand guard, but instead manned one of the big tiger-mouthed guns that crouched behind a nearby embrasure. Sharpe and Lawford stood their watch alone and it was that privacy which had encouraged Lawford into his furious attack. 'Have you got nothing to say for yourself, Private? he challenged Sharpe who still stared serenely over the green landscape through which the river curled south about the city's island. 'Well? Lawford snapped.

Sharpe looked at him. 'You loaded the musket, didn't you, Bill?

'Of course!

'You ever felt gunpowder that smooth and fine? Sharpe gazed into the Lieutenant's face.

'It could have been gunpowder dust! Lawford insisted angrily.

'That shiny? Sharpe said derisively. 'Gunpowder dust is full of rat shit and sawdust! And did you really think, Bill' — he pronounced the name sarcastically — 'that the bleeding Tippoo would let us have loaded guns before he was sure he could trust us? And with him standing not six feet away? And did you bother to taste the powder? I did, and it weren't salty at all. That weren't gunpowder, Lieutenant, that were either ink powder or black pigment, but whatever it was it was never going to spark.