LITMIR.BIZ

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God,’ Sharpe said, then pulled the trigger. The flint fell, it snapped its spark on the frizzen and nothing else happened. McCandless’s face jerked back as the flint sparked, then an expression of pure relief crossed his face. Sharpe hesitated a second, then drove the gun’s muzzle into the Colonel’s belly. The blow looked hard, but he checked it at the last moment. McCandless still doubled over, gasping, and Sharpe raised the jewelled butt to bring it hard down on the officer’s grey head.

      ‘Stop!’ Gudin shouted.

      Sharpe paused and turned. ‘I thought you wanted the bugger dead.’

      The Tippoo laughed. ‘We need him alive for a while. But you passed your test.’ He turned and spoke to Gudin, and Gudin answered vigorously. It seemed to Sharpe that they were discussing his fate, and he prayed he would be spared a painful initiation into one of the Tippoo’s cushoons. Another Indian officer, a tall man in a silk tunic decorated with the Tippoo’s tiger stripes, was talking to Mary while Sharpe still stood above the crouching McCandless.

      ‘Did Harris send you?’ McCandless asked softly.

      ‘Yes,’ Sharpe hissed, not looking at the Colonel. Mary was shaking her head. She glanced at Sharpe, then looked back to the tall Indian.

      ‘Beware the west,’ McCandless whispered. ‘Nothing else.’ The Scotsman groaned, pretending to be in much more pain than he was. He retched dryly, tried to stand and instead toppled over. ‘You’re a traitor,’ he said loudly enough for Gudin to hear him, ‘and you’ll die a traitor’s death.’

      Sharpe spat on McCandless. ‘Come here, Sharpe!’ Gudin, disapproval plain in his voice, ordered him.

      Sharpe marched back to Lawford’s side where one of the Tippoo’s attendants took back the two muskets. The Tippoo gestured at McCandless’s guards, evidently signifying that the Scotsman was to be returned to his cell. The Tippoo then gave Sharpe an approving nod before turning and leading his entourage out of the courtyard. The tall Indian in the silk tiger stripes beckoned to Mary.

      ‘I’m to go with him, love,’ she explained to Sharpe.

      ‘I thought you were staying with me!’ Sharpe protested.

      ‘I’m to earn my keep,’ she said. ‘I’m to teach his little sons English. And sweep and wash, of course,’ she added bitterly.

      Colonel Gudin intervened. ‘She will join you later,’ he told Sharpe. ‘But for now you are both, how do you say it? On test?’

      ‘Probation, sir?’ Lawford offered.

      ‘Exactly,’ Gudin said. ‘And soldiers on probation are not permitted wives. Don’t worry, Sharpe. I’m sure your woman will be safe in General Rao’s house. Now go, Mademoiselle.’

      Mary stood on tiptoe and kissed Sharpe’s cheek. ‘I’ll be all right, love,’ she whispered, ‘and so will you.’

      ‘Look after yourself, lass,’ Sharpe said, and watched her follow the tall Indian officer out of the courtyard.

      Gudin gestured towards the archway. ‘We must let Doctor Venkatesh finish your back, Sharpe, then give you both new uniforms and muskets. Welcome to the Tippoo Sultan’s army, gentlemen. You earn a haideri each every day.’

      ‘Good money!’ Sharpe said, impressed. A haideri was worth half a crown, far above the miserable tuppence a day he received in the British army.

      ‘But doubtless in arrears,’ Lawford said sarcastically. He was still angry at Sharpe for having tried to shoot McCandless, and the musket’s misfire had not placated him.

      ‘The pay is always in arrears,’ Gudin admitted cheerfully, ‘but in what army is the pay ever on time? Officially you earn a haideri a day, though you will rarely receive it, but I can promise you other consolations. Now come.’ He summoned Doctor Venkatesh who retrieved his basket and followed Gudin out of the palace.

      Thus Sharpe went to meet his new comrades and readied himself to face a new enemy. His own side.

      General David Baird did not feel guilty about Sharpe and Lawford, for they were soldiers and were paid to take risks, but he did feel responsible for them. The fact that neither the British nor Indian cavalry patrols had discovered the two men suggested that they might well have reached Seringapatam, but the more Baird thought about their mission the less sanguine he was about its successful completion. It had seemed a good idea when he had first thought of it, but two days’ reflection had diluted that initial hope with a score of reservations. He had always suspected that even with the help of Ravi Shekhar their chances of rescuing McCandless were woefully small, but at the very least he had hoped they might learn McCandless’s news and succeed in bringing it out of the city, but now he feared that neither man would even survive. At best, he thought, the two men could only hope to escape execution by joining the Tippoo’s forces, which would mean that both Sharpe and Lawford would be in enemy uniform when the British assaulted the city. There was little Baird could do about that, but he could prevent a dreadful miscarriage of justice following the city’s fall, and so that night, when the two armies’ great encampment was established just a few days’ march from their goal, Baird sought out the lines of the 33rd.

      Major Shee seemed alarmed at the General’s sudden appearance, but Baird soothed the Major and explained he had a little business with the Light Company. ‘Nothing to trouble you, Major. Just an administrative matter. A triviality.’

      ‘I’ll take you to Captain Morris, sir,’ Shee said, then clapped on his hat and led the General down the line of officers’ tents. ‘It’s the end one, sir,’ he said nervously. ‘Do you need me at all?’

      ‘I wouldn’t waste your time, Shee, on trifles, but I’m obliged for your help, though.’

      Baird found a shirt-sleeved Captain Morris frowning at his paperwork in the company of an oddly malevolent-looking sergeant who, at the General’s unannounced arrival, sprang to quivering attention. Morris hastily placed his cocked hat over a tin mug that Baird suspected was full of arrack. ‘Captain Morris?’ the General asked.

      ‘Sir!’ Morris upset his chair as he stood up, then he plucked his red coat off the floor where it had fallen with the chair.

      Baird waved to show that Morris need not worry about donning a coat. ‘There’s no need for formality, Captain. Leave your coat off, man, leave it off. It’s desperately hot, isn’t it?’

      ‘Unbearable, sir,’ Morris said nervously.

      ‘I’m Baird,’ Baird introduced himself. ‘I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure?’

      ‘No, sir.’ Morris was too nervous to introduce himself properly.

      ‘Sit you down, man,’ Baird said, trying to put the Captain at his ease. ‘Sit you down. May I?’ Baird gestured at Morris’s cot, asking permission to use it as a chair. ‘Thank you kindly,’ Baird said, then he sat, took off his plumed hat and fanned his face with its brim. ‘I think I’ve forgotten what cold weather is like. Do you think it still snows anywhere? My God, but it saps a man, this heat. Saps him. Do relax, Sergeant.’

      ‘Thank you, sir.’ Sergeant Hakeswill’s stiff posture unbent a fraction.

      Baird smiled at Morris. ‘You lost two men this week, Captain, did you not?’

      ‘Two men?’ Morris frowned. That bastard Sharpe had run, taking his bibbi with him, but who else? ‘Oh!’ Morris said. ‘You mean Lieutenant Lawford, sir?’

      ‘The very fellow. A lucky fellow too, eh? Carrying the despatch to Madras. It’s quite an honour for him.’ Baird shook his head ruefully. ‘Myself, I’m not so certain that little scrap the other day was worth a despatch, but General Harris insisted and your Colonel chose Lawford.’ Baird was using the excuse the army had invented to explain Lawford’s disappearance. The excuse had provoked some resentment in the 33rd for Lawford was one of the most junior of the battalion’s lieutenants and most men who

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