Sharpe's Challenge Page #3

Retired, Captain, retired.

I've... I've no commission here.

It'll be an honour to have you travel along with us,

Mr Sharpe, of course, but as...

I'd wait, if I were you.

There's someone up on that ridge.

May be nothing but...

I'd send a scouting party forward.

Alas, sir, our cavalry vanished off to the west

to find forage some two hours since.

Two hours?

-Then I'd best go and find them for you.

-I'd be grateful.

Meantime, you may depend we shall advance

along the pass with every weight of caution.

Ma'am.

(HORSE NEIGHING)

(FLIES BUZZING)

Not long dead.

An hour at most.

You must be the cavalry

Captain Lawrence sent me to find.

Next time you're looking to catch a man unawares,

you might want to conceal your horses downwind.

Captain Mohan Singh.

I command these lancers.

Richard Sharpe.

And I command no one here.

Pindari?

A raiding party,

acting on orders from Khande Rao.

I thought this was friendly territory.

It was.

What brings you to India, Mr Sharpe?

I'm looking for a friend. A man called Harper.

Patrick Harper.

-You know him?

-The Irish horse master?

-That's him.

-Yeah.

I knew him.

There was a raid, uh, six months ago.

The column he was travelling with

was massacred to the last man.

Most likely by the same dogs responsible for this.

I'm sorry, Mr Sharpe,

your journey seems to have been in vain.

It would appear your father

has sent a Company escort, ma'am.

Good day, Captain Lawrence.

-It is Captain Lawrence, isn't it?

-Sir.

Which would make this...

delightful creature Miss Celia Burroughs,

daughter to the great white General.

-Could I ask, sir, who you might be?

-My name is Dodd.

General William Dodd.

Formerly of the honourable...

honourable East India Company.

Now, happily Commander-in-Chief

to his Highness, Khande Rao,

Rajah of Ferraghur.

-Do you joke with me, sir?

-Joke, sir? Why, sir, no, sir.

But I do have a paradox

might amuse Miss Burroughs.

Present!

I'm sorry, Mr Sharpe,

but we really must get back to column.

(GUNS FIRING)

(MEN SHOUTING)

What the hell are you doing here?

You're supposed to be dead.

Sure, I can't watch your arse

if I'm dead, now, can I?

By God, Pat.

I don't think much of your new tailor.

You're a long way from home, Richard.

Are you lost?

Ramona sent me.

What the bloody hell were you doing

running off and leaving her?

I've been too long a soldier. You know how it is.

Your Lucille can't be too happy about you...

Last winter.

A fever.

Oh, Jesus, no. I'm...I'm so sorry.

She was a rare lady.

Aye.

Aye, she was that.

Mr Harper?

Well...

it would appear we have all been premature

in our prayers at your passing.

Luck of the Irish, Captain. You can't beat it.

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