Sharpe's Fortress Part 14

"One barrel of horseshoes, see?

Being carried on an ox from Jamkandhi, lost in the G.o.davery on November 12th."

"How many horseshoes in a barrel?" Sharpe asked.

"A hundred and twenty." The long-legged cavalry Sergeant had come into the office and now leaned against the doorpost.

"And there are supposed to be four thousand horseshoes in store?"

Sharpe asked.

"Here!" The clerk turned a page.

"Another barrel, see?"

Sharpe peered at the ill-written entry.

"Lost in the G.o.davery," he read aloud.

"And here." The clerk stabbed his finger again.

"Stolen," Sharpe read. A drop of sweat landed on the page as the clerk turned it back.

"So who stole it?"

"The enemy, sahib," the clerk said.

"Their hors.e.m.e.n are everywhere."

"Their b.l.o.o.d.y hors.e.m.e.n run if you so much as look at them," the tall cavalry Sergeant said sourly.

"They couldn't steal an egg from a chicken."

"The convoys are ambushed, sahib," the clerk insisted, 'and things are stolen."

Sharpe pushed the clerk's hand away and turned the pages back, looking for the date when the battle had been fought at a.s.saye. He found it, and discovered a different handwriting had been used for the previous entries. He guessed Captain Mackay must have kept the ledger himself, and in Mackay's neat entries there were far fewer annotations reading 'stolen' or 'lost'. Mackay had marked eight cannonb.a.l.l.s as being lost in a river crossing and two barrels of powder had been marked down as stolen, but in the weeks since a.s.saye no fewer than sixty-eight oxen had lost their burdens to either accidents or thieves. More tellingly, each of those oxen had been carrying a scarce commodity. The army would not miss a load of round shot, but it would suffer grievously when its last reserve of horseshoes was gone.

"Whose handwriting is this?" Sharpe had turned to the most recent page.

"Mine, sahib." The clerk was looking frightened.

"How do you know when something is stolen?"

The clerk shrugged.

"The Captain tells me. Or the Sergeant tells me."

"The Sergeant?"

"He isn't here," the clerk said.

"He's bringing a convoy of oxen north."

"What's the Sergeant's name?" Sharpe asked, for he could find no record in the ledger.

"Hakeswill," the cavalry Sergeant said laconically.

"He's the b.u.g.g.e.r we usually deal with, on account of Captain Torrance always being ill."

"b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l," Sharpe said, and pushed the chair back. Hakeswill!

Obadiah b.l.o.o.d.y Hakeswill!

"Why wasn't he sent back to his regiment?"

Sharpe asked.

"He isn't supposed to be here at all!"

"He knows the system," the clerk explained.

"Captain Torrance wanted him to stay, sahib."

And no b.l.o.o.d.y wonder, Sharpe thought. Hakeswill had worked himself into the army's most profitable billet! He was milking the cow, but making sure it was the clerk's handwriting in the ledger. No flies on Obadiah.

"How does the system work?" he asked the clerk.

"Chitties," the clerk said.

"Chitties?"

"An ox driver is given a chitty, sahib, and when he has delivered his load the chitty is signed and brought here. Then he is paid. No chitty, no money. It is the rule, sahib. No chitty, no money."

"And no b.l.o.o.d.y horseshoes either," put in the lean Sergeant of the "And Sergeant Hakeswill pays the money?" Sharpe asked.

"If he is here, sahib," the clerk said.

"That doesn't get me my d.a.m.ned horseshoes," the Company Lieutenant protested.

"Or my buckets," the gunner put in.

"The bhinjarries have all the essentials," the clerk insisted. He made shooing gestures.

"Go and see the bhinjarriesl They have necessaries!

This office is closed till tomorrow."

"But where did the bhinjarries get their necessaries, eh? Answer me that?" Sharpe demanded, but the clerk merely shrugged. The bhinjarries were merchants who travelled with the army, contributing their own vast herds of pack oxen and carts. They sold food, liquor, women and luxuries, ar'.d now, it seemed, they were offering military supplies as well, which meant that the army would be paying for things that were normally issued free, and doubtless, if b.l.o.o.d.y Hakeswill had a finger in the pot, things which had been stolen from the army in the first place.