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datatime: 2022-12-08 15:04:31 Author:XdNmjZTl

Harper kicked the fallen beam. 'Perhaps they can rig another telegraph, sir?'

'Sunday, sir.'

'What day is it?'

Lossow stood up, wiped blood from his hands. 'We must get out of here!'

Lossow's heels clicked in the side aisle; he came from behind a pillar, blinked in the sunlight. 'Where is he?' He disappeared again.

Lossow stood up, wiped blood from his hands. 'We must get out of here!'

Sharpe turned to him. 'We must persuade Cox to let us out.'

'Amen to that, sir.' Harper had infinitely more patience.

'Yes.' Sharpe's shoulder hurt like the devil. 'Where's the boy?'

Cox had not been at his headquarters; he was on the ramparts, they were told. So the three had hurried there and Cox had gone. Now he was said to be visiting the magazine, so they waited, and the light shaped the dust into silver bars and the muffled responses got lost somewhere in the high stone ceiling, and still Cox had not arrived. Sharpe slammed his scabbard on the floor, hurting his shoulder, so he cursed again.

The Sergeant pointed to the head. 'Rest of him's over the wall, sir. Poor wee thing.'

'Amen to that, sir.' Harper had infinitely more patience.

'What day is it?'

Sharpe felt ashamed. This was Harper's religion. 'I'm sorry.'

Harper looked over the ramparts, at the drifting smoke. 'Just four shots. That's good shooting.' There was a reluctant respect in his voice.

'Just a bruise.' Lossow saw the midshipman's head. 'Good God.' He knelt by Charles, felt for a pulse, and opened one of the Captain's eyelids. 'Dead, poor fellow.'

The Irishman grinned. 'Wouldn't worry, sir. It doesn't offend me and if it offends Him then He's plenty of opportunity to punish you.'

'Sunday, sir.'

'You want to go?'

Lossow swore in German, stood up, flinched as he put his weight on his left leg. Sharpe looked at him. 'Are you - hurt?'

Light, like carved silver, slashed the cathedral's gloom, slanted across the crouching grey pillars, splintered o(T brass and paint, drowned the votive candles that burned before the statues, inched its way over the broad, worn flagstones as the sun moved higher, and Sharpe waited. A priest, lost in the depths of the choir, mumbled beyond the window light, and Sharpe saw Harper cross himself.

Lossow stood up, wiped blood from his hands. 'We must get out of here!'

Lossow's heels clicked in the side aisle; he came from behind a pillar, blinked in the sunlight. 'Where is he?' He disappeared again.

The Sergeant pointed to the head. 'Rest of him's over the wall, sir. Poor wee thing.'

Lossow's heels clicked in the side aisle; he came from behind a pillar, blinked in the sunlight. 'Where is he?' He disappeared again.

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