FIC: The Green Jacket (1/5)

[splix]

Title: The Green Jacket
Author: Alex
Fandom: Crossover: Sharpe/To the Ends of the Earth
Rating: NC-17 overall
Disclaimer: Richard Sharpe and Edmund Talbot belong to Bernard Cornwell and William Golding, respectively. No money made, no harm intended.
Summary: Young Edmund Talbot makes the crossing to Australia in the occasional company of Captain Richard Sharpe.
Warnings: This section only: attempted sexual assault, nothing overtly graphic.
Notes: While watching To the Ends of the Earth, I was delighted to see Riflemen aboard the ship that carried the young and luscious Edmund Talbot [Benedict Cumberbatch] to his destination. Naturally, I thought of the most famous Rifleman....








1. A Daring Rescue.


*



Considering myself a dutiful godson in most respects, I had promised his lordship a faithful rendering of all pertinent events that did occur aboard the fragile vessel that is to take us to the Antipodes. Be that as it may, there are in fact some matters so intimate that one needs must commit pen to paper, but cannot commend such to the sight of so august a personage as his lordship. Though he exhorted me to omit nothing, I find myself unable to do so (with many a blush besides). Thus, I keep this diary, a far more slender volume than the journal to be sent away, and I dare say a far more indelicate one, whose contents are to be revealed in due course. As I have been promised a great deal of free time aboard the ship, I have every confidence that I shall be able to maintain both accounts with ease.



*



My adventure began, for good or ill, even before we set sail. I had reached the harbor and in my excitement fairly dashed up the gangplank when the purser, a rough but friendly fellow with a weathered face and very few teeth informed me that the launch would be delayed by a day, “and no more for certain” as he declared emphatically, for not all the officers had arrived. I was, as can be imagined, most deeply vexed at the prospect of waiting, but I surmised that no entreaties on my part would force the ship into motion, and so I had the greater part of my luggage stowed aboard (how charming is this nautical lexicon! I know I shall adopt it and talk like a ‘sea dog’ in no time at all) and sought shelter in the coaching-inn the purser had recommended as being eminently comfortable, with the softest beds and the freshest viands.

I had no more paid the fee for the night and ordered supper sent up to my chamber than I discovered the purser spoke false. A more disreputable and disagreeable place I have rarely seen. The public rooms seemed entirely and permanently inhabited by ruffians and whores, and the only couple I might have spoken to departed to their own rooms in haste after a quick and fearful glance about. My own quarters were not much pleasanter; the bed yielded a veritable cloud of fleas when sat upon, and what furniture there was proved much scarred and broken. The fire gave off a choking smell, and I had it doused and counted myself fortunate that the weather was warm. I shall not describe the supper that was sent to me except to state that it was execrable, nor shall I chronicle the wretched night I spent upon a bed that was composed not of feathers and wool, but stones, fleas, and possibly clumps of mud. I awoke (or rather, arose, since I had scarcely slept at all) in a bad humour, shaved, dressed, and made my way back to the common rooms, where I breakfasted upon bacon, bread, and tea, all tasting as if they had been pickled by too-lengthy proximity to the sea.

Though I was exceeding eager to begin my journey, I lingered a while and inspected the colourful characters occupying the public room. As with the evening before, they were an ill-favoured lot and not a few met my regard with an impertinent stare and some stifled, mocking laughter, as though the sight of a gentleman was too amusing to be borne. I confess that after nearly an hour of this insolence, my own feathers began to ruffle, so I decided to make my way toward the ship. I had not been summoned, but could no longer ignore my zeal for adventure. I settled my hat upon my head and made my way from the inn, discreetly pressing against unwashed bodies with my walking-stick to clear a less odiferous path.

I had proceeded no more than halfway down the narrow street when I heard voices behind me and then felt a tugging on my sleeve. I wheeled abruptly to see three grubby and stooped men, their age indeterminate, and their faces at once wheedling and sly. I prepared to make short shrift of their importuning, but one of them held up a shining and familiar object – my pocket-watch.

“Sir! Sir! You left this on the table, sir,” the man said.

“Good God!” I exclaimed. “I do not even recall setting it down. Well, I thank you gentlemen for your trouble.” Naturally such service cannot be rendered without reward, and so, reaching into my pocket, I extracted three half-crowns and settled them in the waiting palm. “Good day.” I touched my hat and made ready to depart again, but one of the trio laid his hand on my arm. Annoyed, I glared down at the offending hand, but it remained firmly – too firmly, in point of fact – in place.

“Might need a bit more than that, sir.” The owner of the hand winked at me.

I held my temper tolerably well. “I’m afraid I have no more money to give you.” Money I had, but none for them; doubtless the subtlety eluded them. “Please unhand me at once.”

“Nay, can’t do that, sir. Need more money first.” The trio crowded round me, forcing me backward. I felt an overwhelming gratitude that the bulk of my notes and coin were in a strongbox and already aboard the ship. “Might need quite a bit more, eh?”

I consider myself an amiable fellow and vastly clement when dealing with the lower ranks, but this was an untenable outrage. My wrath crested, and I raised my stick in a threatening fashion. “Be gone, or I shall be forced to thrash you soundly.”

They laughed, as if I were a kitten spitting at a mastiff, and then acted with startling and terrifying violence. The man whose hand still clutched my arm swung about behind me and seized me, pulling my arms behind my back and dragging me into a tiny, filthy alley. Shocked and breathless, I could scarcely resist, yet as I was drawn inexorably into the gloom, I realised that I was in most desperate straits. I drew breath to raise a cry of alarm, and another man clapped a hand over my mouth, driving my head backward into a slime-encrusted brick wall. Blackness crept into the edges of my sight, I know not whether from pain or terror – perhaps both.

But it was terror that rose up most strongly when the third ruffian held up a glittering blade and then placed the tip at my throat. “Hush now, pretty lad.” He smiled, displaying irregularly spaced teeth like gaps in a picket-fence (witness how odd is the mind! I recall fixing upon this peculiar detail even in the midst of the most frightening peril) and exhaled a breath that nearly drove me into insensibility with its stench. “Quiet now. No squawking, understand? You stay quiet, you get to live, I reckon.” He touched my brow with his filthy hand. “Understand me?”

I nodded as best as I was able, for the other two men were pressing me against the wall, and one still stifled my mouth with his hand. Presently their grip relaxed somewhat, and I gasped for breath, relieved, though the point of the blade still rested against my throat, unprotected but for my collar and neckcloth (it is also passing strange that I had a fleeting resentful thought for the state of my linen; I did not want it bloodied. Vanity’s fancies even at the worst of times, alas).

“Now then, lad. Where’s the money? This pocket?” One of the men thrust a hand into my waistcoat pocket, then muttered a curse. I was dazed and too terror-stricken by the faint tickling sensation of the knife-edge against my skin to answer, let alone give a coherent reply. Unaided by me, the rogue quickly searched my pockets until he found my purse. With a whoop, he peered inside, and then looked up at me with a scowl. “This ain’t all, not for a toff like you. Where’s the rest?”

I wet parched lips. “On the ship where I sail this afternoon.” Some measure of courage returned to me. “And you’ll not see another penny of it.” I even managed a triumphant smile and confess that my soul thrilled at the thieves’ most evident consternation.

The unholy trio exchanged apprehensive glances, and then the scoundrel with the knife examined me coolly, the blade ensuring I made no threatening motion in response to his slow, insulting inspection. “He’s a pretty one, no?”

The other two glanced toward the street. No-one had seen the scuffle, or if they had, they had simply ignored it. “Aye, he is,” the first man agreed. They all looked at me closely then, as a starving man contemplates a Christmas dinner.

A sensation of the most debilitating fear settled into my stomach, for I quickly discerned their intent. Foolishly, I disregarded the knife and attempted to wriggle from the loosened grip of the men who held me. I kicked out with booted feet and swung one arm in a feeble mockery of fisticuffs. In startlement, the ruffians converged upon me and proceeded to propel me further down the alley.

I shouted at the top of my lungs for aid. “Help! Help! Murder –“ but at once a fist like a battering ram plowed into my chest and another in my stomach, and I bent double, coughing and wheezing, until I was dragged upright once more and a wad of cloth was forced into my mouth, silencing any further outcry. The foul brigands pushed me against the wall, and I felt the rough, wet brick abrading my face. My flailing arms were caught and pinned, and it was then I discerned coarse hands fumbling at the buttons of my breeches. A wave of purest terror overcame me as those same hands found bare skin and caressed intimately, and I let out a smothered wail and struggled for my virtue and my very life.

What happened next I cannot tell, for I was rendered nearly senseless by fright. I heard a blood-curdling yell, thudding sounds, and quite possibly the cracking of bones. I saw one of the miscreants fleeing, and all at once the other two were upon the ground at my feet, shrieking in pain. It was then my wits deserted me altogether, and I would have fallen as well if not for a strong hand grasping my arm – in friendship now, not in threat – and a deep voice in my ear.

“All right, lad. You’re all right. Come on now.” The hand kept me upright, and steadied me against the wall. Gentle fingers eased the stifling gag from my mouth. “There you are. Come on, lad, steady on. Say something.”

“I –“ I half-swooned, and when my vision cleared, I saw a man standing before me in the green jacket of an Army rifleman.

He was fair-haired, with narrow green eyes that watched me closely, and a sturdy, square-jawed face that seemed disinclined to smile. The weapon that made his kind both admired and infamous was slung quite nonchalantly over his shoulder, and it was now clear to me even in the midst of my utter confusion that this man was my rescuer, and that he had dispatched my attackers with outstanding courage.

“Sir,” I stammered, for I saw a red sash of rank clasping his slim waist, “I do not – that is, I cannot thank you enough. They –“ Here I broke off and with a ferocious blush, attended to the buttons of my trousers.

“Did they take your money?” The officer’s voice held strong echoes of the North Country.

“Yes.”

The officer leant down, grasped one of the ruffians by the collar, and dragged him upward, all but snarling. “Go on, then. Give it back. Now.”

The scoundrel whimpered and clawed pathetically at the officer’s hands. “I ain’t got it.” He pointed at his compatriot still curled upon the ground, holding himself between the legs. Had the officer dealt a blow to his most sensitive nether regions? I confess to a feeling of sweet satisfaction, though it was hardly sporting; it was no more than the foul beast deserved.

“Right.” The officer dropped the first man and went to the second, rifling through his pockets as rudely as the second man had rifled through mine. He found the purse and handed it to me. “There you go, lad. They’ll not trouble you again.” With a short nod, he strode up the alley and into the street.

Bewildered, I watched for a moment, then hastened after him, collecting my hat, grip, and walking-stick, all of which had been lost in the scuffle. I saw him threading his way through the crowds in the direction of the wharf and broke into a most undignified trot. “Sir! Pray stop!”

The officer halted, spun smartly, and glared at me as if I had interrupted a pleasant constitutional. “Aye?”

“You departed precipitously –“ That was ungrateful, I decided, and tried again. “I was not afforded – that is, I did not take the chance to adequately thank you for your assistance.”

He shrugged, and a lock of thick gold hair fell upon his brow. “Heard you yell,” he said. “Nobody else looked, so I did.”

Truly, man is indifferent to the sufferings of his fellow creatures. Had I heard an agonised plea for succour, I surely would have…well, at the very least I would have sought the aid of a patrol-man. “They might have killed me.”

“Aye. I didn’t like the odds. Three on one.”

Three on one. The image that phrase conjured turned my stomach. “I cannot say the odds were bettered in your favour, sir. I did nothing whatsoever to help. I apologise most heartily.”

The officer clapped me on the shoulder, an overfamiliarity I was willing to overlook under these extraordinary circumstances. “You weren’t in any state to help, lad. It’s nowt.” He smiled then, and the flesh around his eyes crinkled in agreeable fashion.

“Is there no way I can thank you? I sail for Australia this very afternoon, but in the meantime should there be any service I can render, I –“

“You’re headed there too?” The officer tilted his head to one side and gave me a closer look.

“Indeed I am. Have I the honour of travelling with you, sir?”

The officer looked over his shoulder and jerked a thumb toward the decrepit hulk that would be my home for the next several months. “If you’re travelling in that heap of shite, I reckon you have at that.”

I blanched at the man’s vulgar choice of words, but gamely thrust out my hand. “Edmund Talbot, at your service.”

He took my hand. He was only a fraction less tall than I, and I have considerable height. I perceived then, too, that he was older than I, but not by more than ten years. “Richard Sharpe.”

“Colonel Sharpe?”

Sharpe’s cool green eyes bored into mine. “Captain.”

“The same rank as our good Captain Anderson who is in command of the ship, then!”

“Army’s different from the Navy, sir.”

I wondered then at his accent, decidedly not that of a gentleman. “Are you one of those stalwarts who distinguish themselves in the ranks and rise upward, Captain Sharpe?”

The green eyes became icy. Sharpe placed his tall crested stovepipe atop his head, and his hand rested upon the blade of what appeared to be a butcher’s cleaver – hardly a gentleman’s sword, to be sure, and I had only to look at that to discern the truth. “Aye, I am that. How did you guess?” Without another word, he swung about and strode toward the gangplank with a heavy, arrogant stride.

I could only watch, crimsoning and hoping no-one had heard our exchange. I was simply attempting to be affable and, considering our impending situation, neighbourly. But it is, I suppose, a harsh lesson to realise that those lower in social distinction nearly always respond with either servility or a needlessly insolent tongue. And surely more of that delicate stepping lies ahead. Navigating these particular waters may be more difficult, I fear, than the journey itself.

I will declare, here and only here, however, that I have a certain lingering fascination now for my reluctant benefactor, Captain Richard Sharpe.


*



To be continued in Part Two: Mal de Mer