Read Online Sharpe's Fortress by Bernard Cornwell - Free Book Online
Authors: Bernard Cornwell
Tags: Historical
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Sevajee disagreed, 'it was yours." Sevajee, who led this band of horsemen, waved
his men away from Sharpe, then looked down at the boy who struggled in Sharpe's grip.
“You really want to save that little wretch's life?”
“Why not?”
“A tiger cub plays like a kitten,” Sevajee said, 'but it still grows into a tiger and
one day it eats you."
“This one's no kitten,” Sharpe said, thumping the boy on the ear to stop his
struggles.
Sevajee spoke in quick Arabic and the boy went quiet.
“I told him you saved his life,” Sevajee explained to Sharpe, 'and that he is now
beholden to you." Sevajee spoke to the boy again who, after a shy look at Sharpe,
answered.
“His name's Ahmed,” Sevajee said, 'and I told him you were a great English lord who
commands the lives and deaths of a thousand men."
“You told him what?”
“I told him you'd beat him bloody if he disobeys you,” Sevajee said, looking at his men
who, denied their entertainment, had gone back to looting the dead.
“You like being an officer?” he asked Sharpe.
“I hate it.”
Sevajee smiled, revealing red-stained teeth.
“McCandless thought you would, but didn't know how to curb your ambition.” Sevajee
slid down from his saddle.
“I am sorry McCandless died,” the Indian said.
“Me too.”
“You know who killed him?”
“I reckon it was Dodd.”
Sevajee nodded.
“Me too.” Syud Sevajee was a high-born Mahratta, the eldest son of one of the Rajah of
Berar's warlords, but a rival in the Rajah's service had murdered his father, and
Sevajee had been seeking revenge ever since. If that revenge meant marching with the
enemy British, then that was a small price to pay for family pride. Seva^e had ridden with
Colonel McCandless when the Scotsman had pursued Dodd, and thus he had met Sharpe.
“Beny Singh was not with the enemy today,” he told Sharpe.
Sharpe had to think for a few seconds before remembering that Beny Singh was the man
who had poisoned Sevajee's father.
“How do you know?”
“His banner wasn't among the Mahratta flags. Today we faced Manu Bappoo, the Rajah's
brother. He's a better man than the Rajah, but he refuses to take the throne for himself.
He's also a better soldier than the rest, but not good enough, it seems. Dodd was
there.”
“He was?”
“He got away.” Sevajee turned and gazed northwards.
“And I know where they're going.”
“Where?”
“To Gawilghur,” Sevajee said softly, 'to the sky fort."
“Gawilghur?”
“I grew up there.” Sevajee spoke softly, still gazing at the hazed northern
horizon.
“My father was kill adar of Gawilghur. It was a post of honour, Sharpe, for it is our
greatest stronghold. It is the fortress in the sky, the impregnable refuge, the place that
has never fallen to our enemies, and Beny Singh is now its kill adar Somehow we shall have
to get inside, you and I. And I shall kill Singh and you will kill Dodd.”
“That's why I'm here,” Sharpe said.
“No.” Sevajee gave Sharpe a sour glance.
“You're here, Ensign, because you British are greedy.” He looked at the Arab boy and asked
a question. There was a brief conversation, then Sevajee looked at Sharpe again.
“I have told him he is to be your servant, and that you will beat him to death if he steals
from you.”
“I wouldn't do that!” Sharpe protested.
“I would,” Sevajee said, 'and he believes you would, but it still won't stop him
thieving from you. Better to kill him now." He grinned, then hauled himself into his
saddle.
“I shall look for you at Gawilghur, Mister Sharpe.”
“I shall look for you,” Sharpe said.
Sevajee spurred away and Sharpe crouched to look at his new servant. Ahmed was as thin as
a half-drowned cat. He wore dirty robes and a tattered headdress secured by a loop of
frayed rope that was stained with blood, evidently where Sharpe's blow with the musket had
caught him during the battle. But he had bright
his men away from Sharpe, then looked down at the boy who struggled in Sharpe's grip.
“You really want to save that little wretch's life?”
“Why not?”
“A tiger cub plays like a kitten,” Sevajee said, 'but it still grows into a tiger and
one day it eats you."
“This one's no kitten,” Sharpe said, thumping the boy on the ear to stop his
struggles.
Sevajee spoke in quick Arabic and the boy went quiet.
“I told him you saved his life,” Sevajee explained to Sharpe, 'and that he is now
beholden to you." Sevajee spoke to the boy again who, after a shy look at Sharpe,
answered.
“His name's Ahmed,” Sevajee said, 'and I told him you were a great English lord who
commands the lives and deaths of a thousand men."
“You told him what?”
“I told him you'd beat him bloody if he disobeys you,” Sevajee said, looking at his men
who, denied their entertainment, had gone back to looting the dead.
“You like being an officer?” he asked Sharpe.
“I hate it.”
Sevajee smiled, revealing red-stained teeth.
“McCandless thought you would, but didn't know how to curb your ambition.” Sevajee
slid down from his saddle.
“I am sorry McCandless died,” the Indian said.
“Me too.”
“You know who killed him?”
“I reckon it was Dodd.”
Sevajee nodded.
“Me too.” Syud Sevajee was a high-born Mahratta, the eldest son of one of the Rajah of
Berar's warlords, but a rival in the Rajah's service had murdered his father, and
Sevajee had been seeking revenge ever since. If that revenge meant marching with the
enemy British, then that was a small price to pay for family pride. Seva^e had ridden with
Colonel McCandless when the Scotsman had pursued Dodd, and thus he had met Sharpe.
“Beny Singh was not with the enemy today,” he told Sharpe.
Sharpe had to think for a few seconds before remembering that Beny Singh was the man
who had poisoned Sevajee's father.
“How do you know?”
“His banner wasn't among the Mahratta flags. Today we faced Manu Bappoo, the Rajah's
brother. He's a better man than the Rajah, but he refuses to take the throne for himself.
He's also a better soldier than the rest, but not good enough, it seems. Dodd was
there.”
“He was?”
“He got away.” Sevajee turned and gazed northwards.
“And I know where they're going.”
“Where?”
“To Gawilghur,” Sevajee said softly, 'to the sky fort."
“Gawilghur?”
“I grew up there.” Sevajee spoke softly, still gazing at the hazed northern
horizon.
“My father was kill adar of Gawilghur. It was a post of honour, Sharpe, for it is our
greatest stronghold. It is the fortress in the sky, the impregnable refuge, the place that
has never fallen to our enemies, and Beny Singh is now its kill adar Somehow we shall have
to get inside, you and I. And I shall kill Singh and you will kill Dodd.”
“That's why I'm here,” Sharpe said.
“No.” Sevajee gave Sharpe a sour glance.
“You're here, Ensign, because you British are greedy.” He looked at the Arab boy and asked
a question. There was a brief conversation, then Sevajee looked at Sharpe again.
“I have told him he is to be your servant, and that you will beat him to death if he steals
from you.”
“I wouldn't do that!” Sharpe protested.
“I would,” Sevajee said, 'and he believes you would, but it still won't stop him
thieving from you. Better to kill him now." He grinned, then hauled himself into his
saddle.
“I shall look for you at Gawilghur, Mister Sharpe.”
“I shall look for you,” Sharpe said.
Sevajee spurred away and Sharpe crouched to look at his new servant. Ahmed was as thin as
a half-drowned cat. He wore dirty robes and a tattered headdress secured by a loop of
frayed rope that was stained with blood, evidently where Sharpe's blow with the musket had
caught him during the battle. But he had bright
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