bcornwell.sharpstiger-第52部分

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at　pleased　the　Tippoo　who　worried　about　such　men's　loyalties。　'Is　he　one　of　yours？'　he　asked　Appah　Rao　who　was　acpanying　the　Tippoo　on　the　inspection。
　'No；　Your　Majesty。'
　The　Tippoo　suddenly　turned　and　gazed　up　into　the　tall　Appah　Rao's　face。　He　was　frowning。　'Those　wretched　men　of　Gudin's；'　the　Tippoo　said；　'wasn't　there　a　woman　with　them？'
　'Yes；　Your　Majesty。'
　'And　didn't　she　go　to　your　house？'　the　Tippoo　charged　Appah　Rao。
　'She　did；　Highness；　but　she　died。'　Appah　Rao　told　the　lie　smoothly。
　The　Tippoo　was　intrigued。　'Died？'
　'She　was　a　drab　sick　creature；'　Appah　Rao　said　carelessly；　'and　just　died。　As　should　the　men　who　brought　her　here。'　He　still　feared　that　the　arrest　of　Sharpe　and　Lawford　could　lead　to　his　own　betrayal　and；　though　he　did　not　truly　wish　them　dead；　nor　did　he　wish　the　Tippoo　to　believe　that　he　desired　them　to　live。
　'Those　two　will　die；'　the　Tippoo　promised　grimly；　his　query　about　Mary　apparently　forgotten。　'They　will　surely　die；'　he　promised　again　as　he　clambered　up　the　ruins　of　the　northwestern　bastion。　'We　shall　either　offer　their　black　souls　to　avert　ill　fortune；　or　we　shall　sacrifice　them　as　thanks　for　our　victory。'　He　would　prefer　the　latter；　and　he　imagined　killing　the　two　men　on　the　very　same　day　that　he　first　ascended　thesilver　steps　of　his　tiger　throne；　the　throne　he　had　sworn　never　to　use　until　his　enemies　were　destroyed。　He　felt　a　fierce　pang　of　anticipation。　The　redcoats　would　e　to　his　city　and　there　they　would　be　seared　by　the　fires　of　vengeance　and　crushed　by　falling　stone。　Their　groans　would　echo　through　the　days　of　their　dying；　and　then　the　rains　would　e　and　the　sluggish　Cauvery　would　swell　into　its　full　drowning　spate　and　the　remaining　British；　who　were　already　low　on　food；　would　have　no　choice　but　to　withdraw。　They　would　leave　their　guns　behind　and　begin　their　long　journey　across　Mysore　and　every　mile　of　their　retreat　would　be　dogged　by　the　Tippoo's　lancers　and　sabremen。　The　vultures　would　grow　fat　this　year；　and　a　trail　of　sun…whitened　bones　would　be　left　across　India　until　the　very　last　red…coated　man　died。　And　there；　the　Tippoo　decided；　where　the　last　Englishman　died；　he　would　erect　a　high　pillar　of　marble；　white　and　gleaming　and　crowned　with　a　snarling　tiger's　head。
　The　muezzin's　call　echoed　across　the　city；　summoning　the　faithful　to　prayer。　The　sound　was　beautiful　in　the　silence　after　the　guns。　The　Tippoo；　obedient　to　his　God；　hurried　towards　his　palace　with　one　last　backward　glance　at　the　damned。　They　could　make　their　breach；　they　could　cross　the　river　and　they　could　e　to　his　walls。　But　once　at　the　walls　they　would　die。
　
　'T…I…K；'　Sharpe　said；　scratching　the　letters　in　the　dust　of　the　cell's　floor　where　he　had　cleared　a　patch　of　straw。　'L…O…K。'
　'Picklock；'　Lawford　said。　'Very　good；　but　you've　left　out　two　CV
　'But　I've　got　the　picklock；　sir；'　Sharpe　said；　and　produced　it　from　his　coat　pocket。　It　was　a　small　cluster　of　metal　shafts；　some　curiously　bent　at　their　tips；　which　he　quickly　hid　once　he　had　shown　it　to　Lawford。
　〃Why　didn't　they　find　it？'　Lawford　asked。　Both　men　had　been　searched　when　they　had　been　taken　to　the　palace　aftertheir　arrest；　and　though　the　guards　had　left　the　page　of　the　Bible　in　Lawford's　pocket；　they　had　taken　everything　else　of　value。
　'I　had　it　somewhere　it　couldn't　be　found；　sir；'　Sharpe　said。　'Colonel　Gudin　thought　I　was　scratching　my　arse；　if　you　follow　me；　but　I　was　hiding　it。'
　'I'd　rather　not　know；'　Lawford　said　primly。
　'A　good　picklock　like　that　can　take　care　of　those　old　padlocks　in　seconds；　sir；'　Sharpe　said；　nodding　at　the　lock　on　their　cell　door。　'Then　we　just　have　to　rush　the　guards。'
　'And　get　a　bellyful　of　lead？'　Lawford　suggested。
　'When　the　assault　es；'　Sharpe　said；　'the　guards　will　like　as　not　be　at　the　top　of　the　steps；　trying　to　see　what's　happening。　They　won't　hear　us。'　Sharpe's　back　was　still　painful；　and　the　wounds　inflicted　by　the　jetti　were　crusted　with　dried　blood　and　pus　that　tore　whenever　he　moved　too　quickly；　but　there　was　no　gangrene　and　he　had　been　spared　any　fever；　and　that　good　fortune　was　restoring　his　confidence。
　'When　the　assault　es；　Sharpe；'　Colonel　McCandless　intervened；　'our　guards　are　more　likely　to　be　on　the　walls；　leaving　our　security　to　the　tiger。'
　'Hadn't　thought　of　that；　sir。'　Sharpe　sounded　disappointed。
　'I　don't　think　even　you　can　rush　a　tiger；'　McCandless　said。
　'No；　sir。　I　don't　suppose　I　can；'　Sharpe　admitted。　Each　night；　at　dusk；　the　guards　left　the　cells；　but　first　they　released　the　tiger。　It　was　a　difficult　process；　for　the　tiger　had　to　be　held　away　from　the　guards　with　long　spears　as　they　retreated　up　the　steps。　It　had　evidently　tried　to　charge　the　guards　once　for　it　bore　a　long　scar　down　one　muscular　striped　flank；　and　these　days；　to　prevent　another　such　attack；　the　guards　tossed　down　a　great　chunk　of　raw　goat　meat　to　satisfy　the　tiger's　hunger　before　they　released　it；　and　the　prisoners　would　spend　the　night　hours　listening　to　the　creature　grinding　and　slavering　as　it　ripped　the　last　pieces　of　flesh　from　the　bones。　Each　dawn　the　tiger　was　herded　back　to　its　cell　where　it　slept　throughthe　heat　of　the　day　until　its　time　for　guard　duty　came　again。　It　was　a　huge　and　mangy　beast；　not　nearly　so　sleek　as　the　six　tigers　kept　in　the　palace　yard；　but　it　had　a　hungrier　look　and　sometimes；　in　the　moonlight；　Sharpe　would　watch　it　pacing　up　and　down　the　short　corridor；　the　fall　of　its　pads　silent　on　the　stone　as　it　endlessly　went　up　and　down；　up　and　down；　and　he　wondered　what　tiger　thoughts　brewed　behind　its　night…glossed　yellow　eyes。　Sometimes；　for　no　reason；　it　would　roar　in　the　night　and　the　hunting　cheetahs　would　call　back　and　the　night　would　be　loud　with　the　sound　of　the　animals。　Then　the　tiger　would　leap　lithely　up　the　steps　and　roar　another　challenge　from　the　bars　at　the　head　of　the　staircase。　It　always　came　back　down；　its　approach　silent　and　its　gaze　malevolent。
　By　day；　when　the　tiger　twitched　in　its　sleep；　the　guards　would　watch　the　cells。　Sometimes　there　were　just　two　guards；　but　at　other　times　there　were　as　many　as　six。　Each　morning　a　pair　of　prisoners　from　the　city's　civilian　jail　arrived　in　leg　irons　to　take　away　the　night…soil　buckets；　and　when　these　had　been　emptied　and　returned；　the　first　meal　was　served。　It　was　usually　cold　rice；　sometimes　with　beans　or　scraps　of　fish　in　it；　with　a　tin　jug　of　water。　A　second　pail　of　rice　was　brought　in　the　afternoon；　but　otherwise　the　prisoners　were　left　alone。　They　listened　to　the　sounds　above　them；　ever　fearful　that　they　might　be　summoned　to　face　the　Tippoo's　dreaded　killers；　and　while　they　waited　McCandless　prayed；　Hakeswill　mocked；　Lawford　worried　and　Sharpe　learned　his　letters。
　At　first　the　learning　was　hard　and　it　was　made　no　easier　by　Hakeswill's　constant　scoffing。　Lawford　and　McCandless　would　tell　the　Sergeant　to　be　quiet；　but　after　a　while　Hakeswill　would　chuckle　again　and　start　talking；　ostensibly　to　himself；　in　the　far　corner　of　his　cage。　'Above　himself；　ain't　he？'　Hakeswill　would　mutter　just　loud　enough　for　Sharpe　to　hear。　'Got　hairs　and　bleeding　graces。　That's　what　Sharpie's　got。　Hairs　and　graces。　Learning　to　read！　Might　as　well　teach　a　stone　to　fart！It　ain't　natural；　ain't　right。　A　private　soldier　should　know　his　place；　says　so　in　the　scriptures。'
　'It　says　nothing　of　the　sort；　Sergeant！'　McCandless　would　always　snap　after　such　an　assertion。
　And　always；　every　daylight　hour　of　every　day；　there　was　the　sound　of　the　besiegers'　guns。　Their　thunderous　percussions　filled　the　sky　and　were　echoed　by　the　crack　of　iron　on　sun…dried　mud　as　the　eighteen…pound　round　shots　struck　home；　while；　nearer；　the　Tippoo's　own　guns　answered。　Few　such　cannon　had　survived　on　the　western　walls；　but　closer　to　the　dungeons；　on　the　northern　rampart；　the　Tippoo's　gunners　traded　shot　for　shot　with　the　batteries　across　the　Cauvery　and　the　sound　of　the　weapons　punched　the　warm　air　incessantly。
　'Working　hard；　them　gunners！'　Hakeswill　would　say。　'Doing　a　proper　job；　like　real　soldiers　should。　Working　up　a　proper　muck　sweat。　Not　wasting　their　time　with　bleeding　letters。　C…A…T？　Who　the　hell　needs　to　know　that？　It's　still　a　bleeding　pussy　cat。　All　you　needs　to　know　is　how　to　skin　the　thing；　not　how　to　spell　it。'
　'Quiet；　Sergeant；'　McCandless　would　growl。
　'Yes；　sir。　I　shall　be　quiet；　sir。　Like　a　church　mouse；　sir。'　But　a　few　moments　later　the　Sergeant　could　be　heard　grumbling　again。　'Private　Morgan；　I　remembers　him；　and　he　could　read　and　he　wasn't　nothing　but　trouble。　He　always　knew　more　than　anyone　else；　but　he　didn't　know　better　than　to　be　flogged；　did　he？　Would　never　have　happened　if　he　hadn't　had　his　letters。　His　mother　taught　him；　the　silly　Welsh　bitch。　He　read　his　Bible　when　he　should　have　been　cleaning　his　musket。　Died　under　the　lash；　he　did；　and　good　riddance。　A　private　soldier's　got　no　business　reading。　Bad　for　the　eyes；　sends　you　blind。'
　Hakeswill　even　talked　at　night。　Sharpe　would　wake　to　hear　the　Sergeant　talking　in　a　low　voice　to　the　tiger；　and　one　night　even　the　tiger　stopped　to　listen。　'You're　not　such　a　bad　puss；　are　you？'　Hakeswill　crooned。　'Down　here　all　alone；　you　are；just　like　me。'　The　Sergeant　reached　a　tentative　hand　through　the　bars　and　gave　the　beast's　back　a　swift　pat。　He　was　rewarded　with　a　low　snarl。　'Don't　you　growl　at　me；　puss；　or　I'll　have　your　bleeding　eyes　out。　And　how　will　you　catch　mouses　then？　Eh？　You'll　be　a　hungry　blind　pussy　cat；　that's　what　you'll　be。　That's　it。　Lay　you　down　now　and　rest　your　big　head；　see？　Doesn't　hurt；　does　it？'　And　the　Sergeant　reached　out　and；　with　remarkable　tenderness；　scratched　the　big　cat's　flank　and；　to　Sharpe's　wonder；　the　huge　beast　settled　itself　fortably　against　the　bars　of　the　Sergeant's　cell。　'You're　awake；　aren't　you；　Sharpie？'　Hakeswill　called　softly　as　he　scratched　the　tiger。　'I　knows　you　are；　I　can　tell。　So　what　happened　to　little　Mary　BickerstafF；　eh？　You　going　to　tell　me；　boy？　Some　heathen　darkie　got　his　filthy　hands　on　her；　has　he？　She'd　have　done　better　lifting　her　skirts　to　me。　Instead　she's　being　rogered　by　some　blackie；　ain't　she？　Is　that　what　happened？　Still　now；　still！'　he　soothed　the　tiger。　Sharpe　pretended　to　be　asleep；　but　Hakeswill　must　have　sensed　his　attention。　'Officer's　pet；　Sharpie？　Is　that　what　you　are？　Learning　to　read　so　you　can　be　like