Jane Feather - Violet

“Your hair in the moonlight is like a damn torch,” he hissed against her ear. “Cover it with that bandanna you're wearing.”

Tamsyn pulled off the dark kerchief at her throat and tied it over her head. It was annoying to be reminded of this elementary precaution by someone she considered a mere novice at this game, but she couldn't quarrel with the instruction.

“It takes the picket about three minutes to patrol his section,” Gabriel whispered. He'd been concentrating on the activity at the picket line throughout the exchange between the colonel and Tamsyn. “Long enough for one of us to get across.”

“I'll go first,” Tamsyn said. “You follow, Gabriel, and the colonel can come last.”

“No.” Julian stated. “You'll come between us. That way, if anything happens and you're caught, we'll be able to attack from both sides.”

“Surely the same applies to either of you?”

“You're the one Cornichet wants,” he snapped.

“And having winkled you out of there once, I'm damned if I'm going to lose you again. It's bad enough indulging you in this ridiculous whim without jeopardizing my own mission more than I can help.”

For a second Tamsyn debated with herself. He couldn't stop her if she simply launched herself across the ground. Gabriel would follow, and they could manage without help from this damned supercilious colonel. But he did have a point. Pride warred with common sense, and the latter won.

She made no response, merely hunkered down behind the bush, frowning fiercely. Julian gave Gabriel a nod, and as the picket turned at his post to march down the line, the giant leaped forward. He clung to the bare ground, but he was visible for a terrifying few moments under the moonlight; then he disappeared into the shadows beyond the picket line.

The two left behind waited, unmoving. The picket returned and left. Tamsyn didn't wait for the colonel's nod. She darted across the space, crouching low, a diminutive flying figure, and then she too disappeared into the shadows.

Julian waited alone, no longer concerned with the military merits of this exercise. Now that it was begun, all his concentration was on successful completion. His moment came, and he moved out of concealment and ran, conscious of his sword bumping against his hip. His foot caught on a stone and he almost tripped, cursing his clumsiness, but in the full regalia of a cavalry officer he was more encumbered than his companions.

“Over here.” Tamsyn's hissing whisper beckoned him from the gloom, and he dropped to the ground beside the other two behind a woodpile. The camp was surprisingly quiet for this time of night, but they could hear subdued voices from the scattered tents and huts, an occasional burst of laughter, a shout of complaint.

“Let’s get in place.” Tamsyn moved forward on the words, but again Julian caught her arm, his fingers hard, his eyes glinting in the darkness.

“Same order as before.”

She acceded in silence, and they waited while Gabriel threaded his way through the trees to the humped canvas shape,of the officers' latrine and disappeared behind it.

“You, now.”

The English colonel seemed to think he was in charge, but there was no time to stop and argue the toss with him. Tamsyn flitted away, cherishing the thought of revenge on Cornichet. It was worth putting up with a little of the English milord's autocratic manner to achieve it.

At precisely eleven o'clock Colonel Cornichet emerged from his hut, a glass of cognac in his hand. He paused and looked up at the sky, smelling the freshness of the air. Now that the rain had stopped, the English siege of Badajos would move apace. His own force was too small to go to the support of the citizens and garrison of the town, but if he hadn't lost La Violette, he'd now be in a position to mop up a few of the local partisan bands, and a map of the passes they used through the mountains would have been an Invaluable contribution to the struggling French armies.

He'd planned and almost pulled off a neat coup that would have brought him the congratulations of his superiors and almost certainly a promotion. Something that would have taken him out of this godforsaken land before the miseries of summer came down on them. Instead he'd been outwitted by the English, who were now presumably in possession of all Violette's vital information.

A disgruntled frown drew his eyebrows together as he strode through the camp, making his accustomed tour of the pickets in a dour silence that none of his men chose to break, before he turned and walked purposefully toward the latrines.

“There he goes,” an infantryman observed sotto voce to a companion. “Old man's regular as clockwork.” A ribald response brought a guffaw from both of them as the colonel pushed aside the canvas curtain and disappeared from view.

He was preparing to make himself comfortable on the wooden slats resting over the trench when the tip of a knife poked through the canvas wall at the side of the enclosure. He stared, for a moment unsure what he was seeing, and then the canvas split with a harsh rending, and to his eternal astonishment the small face of La Violette appeared in the opening.

“ Bon soir , Colonel Cornichet.” Her white teeth flashed in a far from friendly smile, and the serviceable knife she held pressed into his throat. “We have a little unfinished business, you and I. Don't shout,” she added softly, seeing him gather his wits. “If you open your mouth, my friend here will blow your brains to kingdom come.”

Cornichet gazed stunned to where Gabriel's pale eyes regarded him with deceptive mildness from behind the girl. The muzzle of a rifle jutted through the torn canvas.

“Sacre bleu,” the colonel muttered at this apparition, as he fumbled desperately with his dropped britches, trying not to move his head against the tip of the knife.

“It's not a pleasant sensation, is it, Colonel?” the girl said, still smiling, but her eyes were as flat and cold as violet stones. The knife pricked, and a bead of blood formed and trickled down to stain the white folds of his stock.

Cornichet's Adam's apple moved convulsively, and the tip of the knife slid upward, pressing into the soft skin beneath his chin. He gave up trying to adjust his dress and stood immobile, sweat gathering on his forehead.

“There's an old saying, Colonel. Do as you would be done by,” La Violette continued. “And something else I recall about the sweetness of vengeance.” The knife tip traced a circle on his skin.

“For God's sake,” he whispered hoarsely. “If you're going to do it, then get on with it.”

She shook her head and her eyes made him shiver, but before she could say anything, St. Simon spoke with brusque impatience from the darkness behind her.

“In the name of goodness, girl! You're as bad as a cat with a mouse. Let's be done with this and get out of here.”

Cornichet stared, dumbstruck as a tall cloaked Englishman pushed the colonel's tormentor aside, thrusting her behind him. He held a cavalry sword in his right hand and looked thoroughly exasperated.

“Forgive me, Cornichet. But there's something I want from you.” His sword flickered twice, so quickly the Frenchman had scarcely time to draw breath, and the rich gold braided epaulets fell with a splash into the latrine trench.

“And his buttons,” La Violette demanded from the darkness.

Julian sighed. “Your pardon, Cornichet, but I struck a bargain with this vengeful wretch.” Again his sword flicked, and one by one the colonel's gold tunic buttons with the Napoleonic eagle stamped on them followed the epaulets into the latrine.

Cornichet seemed to be struggling with his senses, his eyes popping, his jaw working, but before he could gather himself together, his visitor had jumped sideways, back through the ripped canvas, and suddenly he was alone in the small odiferous space. If it weren't for the hole in the canvas and his own denuded uniform, he could almost believe he'd dreamed the whole mortifying episode.