Sharpe’s Assassin by Bernard Cornwell

Author:Bernard Cornwell [Cornwell, Bernard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780008184032
Google: TwUGEAAAQBAJ
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2021-09-29T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 9

‘General Delaunay is dead, Sharpe,’ Fox boomed. ‘Gone to meet his maker, and good riddance.’

‘You know that, sir?’

‘I spoke to two officers who saw him fall.’

‘You shouldn’t have gone off on your own,’ Sharpe said.

‘Oh do stop being an old woman, Sharpe.’ Fox had returned to the Hôtel Mauberges where he now strolled in the garden with Sharpe. He had inspected the Dowager Countess’s pictures and declared them to be dross. ‘Just the kind of daubs you’d expect from a coal merchant’s taste,’ he said dismissively.

‘And who were these men who saw Delaunay fall?’

‘Cuirassiers. They were exercising their horses just up the road.’ Fox gestured westwards. ‘Have you seen the arch there?’

‘Only from a distance.’

‘The arch of triumph, they call it! It’s not even stone! It’s wood and canvas! A fake! But the Emperor ordered it made. I think we should burn it.’

‘And I think we must find la Fraternité,’ Sharpe offered sourly.

‘It doesn’t exist, Sharpe! That old bitch was right, it was medieval claptrap! And with her husband gone? Forget it.’

‘Colonel Lanier lives. I saw him.’

‘Bugger Lanier, from what I heard he’s a mere adventurer.’

‘So probably the right man for medieval claptrap.’

‘Where did you see him?’

‘At the Delaunay vineyard.’

‘Then your job, Sharpe, is to make sure he stays there. Can’t do any damage with a bullet in his filthy heart, can he? I want him dead, then I can get on with my proper job.’

‘Listing paintings?’

Fox sneered at that. ‘Saving paintings, Sharpe. That may sound trivial to you, but we have an agreement with our allies to restore the stolen works, and that’s important!’

‘More important than la Fraternité?’ Sharpe asked harshly.

‘Bugger la Fraternité! A piece of romantic balderdash, Sharpe, and with Delaunay dead the balderdash died too.’

‘Except for Lanier.’

Fox sighed with exasperation. ‘Lanier is a brute. But yes, maybe you’re right, maybe he’s a danger, but if it makes you feel safer, kill the man. You’re good at that.’

‘Is that an order?’

‘As if from the Duke himself. Who must be here soon! Maybe tomorrow? You know the craven little buggers are surrendering?’

‘They are?’

‘It was settled this morning. Our troops will occupy Paris, and all French forces are ordered to scuttle off to the far side of the Loire. Bonaparte has abdicated and given the throne to his four-year-old son. Shouldn’t have much trouble eviscerating that little bastard, should we? But it’s all flim-flam.’

‘Flim-flam?’

‘Pure show, Sharpe, circus tricks. No one takes Bonaparte’s wishes seriously. They’ve lost and they damn well know it. The four-year-old can concentrate on his toilet training, and Fat Louis will be King again, peace is restored and we can all go back to sleep.’

‘Where is Bonaparte?’

‘Skulking somewhere. Licking his wounds and hoping he isn’t put against a wall and filleted. The provisional government want no part of him. Except, perhaps, his head!’ Fox thought this a great joke and laughed heartily.

‘So who’s in charge?’ Sharpe asked when the laughter subsided.

‘This is France, Sharpe, no one is in charge. They’re like headless chickens, a lot of clucking, feathers everywhere, and broken eggs.

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