Sharpe's Sergeant

Chapter 29 Grafenwoehr, 1822

The midnight moon was in it’s descent as the wagons creaked into motion. The horses snorted in the cool night air as they moved out to carry the motley group of well-armed men and two women bound for Steinmetz. They had about 12 miles to go before reaching the site of the caves where Colonel Sharpe had disappeared and they had to be there by sunup. Harry Price, Jamie Sharpe and Jean Calvert rode abreast as the cortege headed south out of the town towards the junction with the Vilseck road.

“You’re certain you know the way in the dark?” Harry asked of Jamie as he fortified himself with a big swig from his brandy flask.

“Yes, Harry, I made notes of all the landmarks and turns in the road.” Jamie assured.

“Don’t look for me to keep us on the right track, my friends,” Jean muttered, “I haven’t the slightest idea of where I am let alone where I am going, no?”

“Why you bothered to even show up is beyond my foggiest notion,” Harry muttered under his breath, not bothering to disguise his animosity towards an old enemy.

“The General is with us because he knows Ducos on sight, Harry,” Jamie defended, “and word has it that Ducos has been seen here in Grafenwoehr. And if Ducos is in Graf, then you can be sure he has either orchestrated this whole mess or he is here to ensure we never reach the Colonel.”


From a perch at the top of the town church steps in the shadow of the Gothic entry arch watched a pair of malevolent eyes from behind wire-rimmed spectacles. As the small column moved out of the center of the town, Ducos felt a sense of satisfaction that the collected company of Sharpe cronies was leading the way towards his enemy. From his secret spy hole he had watched as they had assembled and prepared, planned and practiced. He was indeed the facilitator of a neat little plot to trap his nemesis and blow him to kingdom come. He just hadn’t planned on Jamie Sharpe showing up instead of his father. Yes, he had manufactured the arms deal that had put the cache of weapons, ammunition and powder into one of the smuggler’s caves at the Steinmetz escarpment. Yes, he had fed the rumors of the plot to the underworld of agents. Yes, he had seen to the placement of the fused charges that would blow Sharpe to hell. No, he had not banked on the legend of the caves being real, on the gypsy curse that whisked Sharpe away to another place and time. Now, he could hardly contain his joy that Sharpe’s friends would be the ones to call him back to his death. With a smile frozen on his dead fish face, Ducos hobbled on his wooden foot to his waiting horse hidden in the alley beside the church to silently follow the train at a discreet distance.


The amber glow of dawn was just making its presence known on the eastern horizon as the small group quietly passed through the abandoned village of Steinmetz. High in the attic of the last building in the village, Pat Harper and Will Fredrickson slept fitfully amid the rustlings of mice and the calls of a nesting owl. They both woke to spy on the troupe filing slowly past the building, unable to quite make out who the men were with two exceptions: Septimus Pyecroft and his unmistakable hooded face sat atop the first of the two wagons and seated next to him was Harper’s own nephew Cade. The second wagon was driven by a woman Harper knew could only be Zara, the Gypsy girl Pyecroft had taken as wife, the old woman beside her a mystery.

Harper and Fredrickson merely looked at each other, puzzled expressions creasing their faces. They watched silently as the group passed beyond the village, making the turn in the road that led towards the escarpment. No sooner had they passed when the two men heard the unmistakable sound echoing upwards of a single horse picking its way through the town. By the time the horse came into sight, the dawn was breaking and as recognition crossed their minds, the two men again looked at each other and mouthed in unison, “Ducos”.