'Don't you ever worry that you'll be recaptured? Lawford asked him.

'Of course I bloody worry! All the bleeding time! Hickson held the thumbstall close to his right eye to judge the neatness of his stitching. 'Christ, Bill, I don't want to be stood up against a bleeding post with a dozen bastards staring down their musket barrels at me. I want to die in Suni's bed. He grinned. 'You do ask the most stupid questions, Bill, but what do you expect of a bleeding clerk! All that reading and writing, mate, it doesn't do a man any bleeding good. He had shaken his head in despair of Lawford ever seeing sense. Like all of Gudin's soldiers, Hickson was more suspicious of Lawford than of Sharpe. They all understood Sharpe for he was one of them and good at his trade, but Lawford was patently uncomfortable. They put it down to his having come from a comfortable home that had fallen on hard times, and while they were sympathetic to that misfortune they nevertheless expected him to make the best of it. Others in Gudin's small battalion despised Lawford for his clumsiness with weapons, but Sharpe was his friend and so far no man had been willing to risk Sharpe's displeasure by needling Lawford.

Sharpe and Lawford watched the invading armies make their camp well out of cannon range to the south of the city. A few Mysorean cavalrymen still circled the armies, watching for a chance to snap up a fugitive, but most of the Tippoo's men were now back on the city's island. There was an excited buzz in the city, almost a relief that the enemy was in sight and the waiting at last was over. There was also a feeling of confidence, for although the enemy horde looked vast, the Tippoo had formidable defences and plenty of men. Sharpe could detect no lack of enthusiasm among the Hindu troops. Lawford had told him there was bad blood between them and the Muslims, but on that evening, as the Tippoo's men hung more defiant banners above their limewashed walls, the city seemed united in its defiance.

Sergeant Rothiere shouted at Sharpe and Lawford from the inner wall of the Mysore Gate, pointing to the big bastion at the city's south-western corner. 'Colonel Gudin wants us, Lawford translated for Sharpe.

'Vitel' Rothiere bellowed.

'Now, Lawford said nervously.

The two men threaded their way through the spectators who crowded the parapets until they found Colonel Gudin in a cavalier that jutted south from the huge square bastion. 'How's your back? the Frenchman greeted Sharpe.

'Mending wonderfully, sir.

Gudin smiled, pleased at the news. 'It's Indian medicine, Sharpe. If I ever go back to France I've a mind to take a native doctor with me. Much better than ours. All a French doctor would do is bleed you dry, then console your widow. The Colonel turned and gestured south across the river. 'Your old friends, he said, indicating where the British and Indian cavalry were exploring the land between the army's encampment and the city. Most were staying well out of range of Seringapatam's cannon, but a few braver souls were galloping closer to the city, either to tempt the Tippoo's cavalry to come out and dare single combat, or else to provoke the gunners on the city wall. One especially flamboyant group was shouting towards the city, and even waving, as though inviting cannon fire, and every now and then a cannon would boom or a rocket scream across the river, though somehow the jeering cavalrymen always remained untouched. 'They're distracting us, Gudin explained, 'drawing attention away from some others. There, see? Some bushes. Beside the cistern. He was pointing across the river. 'There are some scouts there. On foot. They are trying to see what defences we have close to the river. You see them? Look in the bushes under the two palm trees.

Sharpe stared, but could see nothing. 'You want us to go and get them, sir? he offered.

'I want you to shoot them, Gudin said.

The bushes under the twin palms were nearly quarter of a mile away. 'Long bloody range for a musket, sir, Sharpe said dubiously.

'Try this, then, Gudin said and held out a gun. It must have been one of the Tippoo's own weapons, for its stock was decorated with ivory, its tiger-head lock was chased with gold and its barrel engraved with Arabic writing.

Sharpe took and hefted the gun. 'Might be pretty, sir, he said, 'but no amount of fancy work on the outside will make it more accurate than that plain old thing. He patted his heavy French musket.

'You're wrong, Gudin said. 'That's a rifle.

'A rifle! Sharpe had heard of such weapons, but he had never handled one, and now he peered inside the muzzle and saw that the barrel was indeed cut in a pattern of spiralling grooves. He had heard that the grooves spun the bullet which somehow made a rifle far more accurate than a shot from a smoothbore musket. Why that should be the case he had not the slightest idea, but every man he had ever spoken to about rifles had sworn it was true. 'Still, he said dubiously, 'near a quarter-mile? Long ways for a bullet, sir, even if it is spinning.

'That rifle can kill at four hundred paces, Sharpe, Gudin said confidently. 'It's loaded, by the way, the Colonel added, and Sharpe, who had been peering down the muzzle again, jerked back. Gudin laughed. 'Loaded with the best powder and with its bullet wrapped in oiled leather. I want to see how good a shot you are.

'No, you don't, sir, Sharpe said, 'you want to see if I'm willing to kill my own countrymen.

'That too, of course, Gudin agreed placidly, and laughed at having had his small ploy discovered. 'At that range you should aim about six or seven feet above your target. I have another rifle for you, Lawford, but I don't suppose we can expect a clerk to be as accurate as a skirmisher like Sharpe?

'I'Il do my best, sir, Lawford said and took the second rifle from Gudin. Lawford might be clumsy at loading a gun, but he was a practised shot in the hunting field and had been firing rifled fowling pieces since he was eight years old.

'Some men find it hard to shoot at their old comrades, Gudin told Lawford mildly, 'and I want to make sure you're not among them.

'Let's hope the bastards are officers, Sharpe said, 'begging your presence, sir.

'There they are! Gudin said, and, sure enough, just beside the cistern beneath the two palm trees across the river, were a pair of red coats. The men were examining the city walls through telescopes. Their horses were picketed behind them.

Sharpe knelt in a gun embrasure. He instinctively felt that the range was much too long for any firearm, but he had heard about the miracle of rifles and he was curious to see if the rumours were true. 'You take the one on the left, Bill, he said, 'and fire just after me. He glanced at Gudin and saw that the Colonel had moved a few feet down the cavalier to watch the effect of the shots from a place where the rifles' smoke would not obscure his glass. 'And aim well, Bill, Sharpe said in a low voice. 'They're probably only bloody cavalrymen, so who cares if we plug them with a pair of bloody goolies. He crouched behind the rifle and aligned its well-defined sights that were so much more impressive than the rudimentary stub that served a musket as a foresight. A man could stand fifty feet in front of a well-aimed musket and still stand a better than evens chance of walking away unscathed, but the delicacy of the rifle's sights seemed to confirm what everyone had told Sharpe. This was a long-range killer.

He settled himself firmly, keeping the sights lined on the distant man, then gently raised the barrel so that the rifle's muzzle obscured his target but would give the ball the needed trajectory. There was no wind to speak of, so he had no need to offset his aim. He had never fired a rifle, but it was just common sense really. Nor was he unduly worried about killing one of his own side. It was a sad necessity, something that needed to be done if he was to earn Gudin's trust and thus the freedom that might let him escape from the city. He took a breath, half let it out, then pulled the trigger. The gun banged into his shoulder, its recoil much harder than an ordinary musket's blow. Lawford fired a half-second later, the smoke of his gun joining the dense cloud pumped out by Sharpe's rifle.