Bernard Cornwell - Sharpe’s Devil - Napoleon and South America, 1820–1821

Another hour passed, noted by the chiming of a clock somewhere deep in the fort. Neither wine, coffee, nor a summons from the Captain-General arrived. Captain Marquinez had disappeared, and the only clerk in the office behind the guardroom did not know where the Captain might be found. The rain fell miserably, slowly diluting the bloodstains on the limewashed wall of the Angel Tower.

The rain fell. Still no one came and, as the clock chimed another half hour, Sharpe’s patience finally snapped. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’

‘What about Bautista?’

‘Bugger Bautista.’ It seemed that Blair was right about the myriad of delays that the Spanish imposed on even the simplest bureaucratic procedure, but Sharpe did not have the patience to be the victim of such nonsense. ‘Let’s go.’

It was raining much harder now. Sharpe ran across the Citadel’s bridge, while Harper lumbered after. They splashed across the square’s cobbles, past the statue where the group of chained Indians still sat vacant under the cloudburst, to where a heavy wagon, loaded with untanned hides, was standing in front of Blair’s house. The untreated leather stank foully. A uniformed soldier was lounging under the Consul’s arched porch, beside the drooping British flag, apparently guarding the wagon’s stinking cargo. The day-dreaming soldier straightened as Sharpe approached. ‘You can’t go in there, señor

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.