Flashman And The Tiger

Aye, a far cry between the two, and middling tough to reconcile them. I’ve known hard women show soft, and soft women turn harpy, but blowed if I remember another who was at such extremes, a giggling feather-brained romp and a practised professional slayer. Thank God for both of ’em, but as I drifted into sleep it was a comforting thought that she wouldn’t be the one fetching my slippers in the long winter evenings.

Remember I said there were two kinds of awakening? My drowsy revival with Hutton had been one of the good ones, but next morning’s was even better, for while I was still weak as a Hebrew’s toddy I was chipper in mind with all perils past, and eager for news. Hutton brought a brisk sawbones who peered and prodded at my stitches, dosed me with jalup, refused my demand for brandy to take away the taste, but agreed that I might have a rump steak instead of the beef tea which they’d been spooning into me in my unconscious state. I told Hutton to make it two, with a pint of beer, and when I’d attended to them and was propped up among my pillows, pale and interesting, he elaborated on what he’d already told me.

"She was on your tail, at a safe distance, from the moment you and Starnberg set off for the lodge, and talked yourselves in—neat scheme of Bismarck’s, that. Then when night came, Delzons and I and our four lads joined her in the woods—a skeleton crew, you may say, but ain’t we always, damn the Treasury? We picketed the place as best we could, and near midnight Delzons and his Frogs, who were on the side away from the town, heard fellows skulking down from the hill, and guessed they were Holnups come to call. He and his two men sat tight, while Mamselle trailed ’em close to the house—"

"Good God, he let her go alone?"

"She’s a stalker—Delzons'. fellows call her Le Chaton, French for kitten, I’m told. Some kitten. Anyway, there were three Holnups, gone to ground under a bush, whispering away, and she slid close enough to gather that they were an advance guard, so to speak, and there were others up the hill. Then comes a whistle from near the house, and who should it be but friend Starnberg, summoning the three Holnups, if you please. Here’s a go, thinks Mamselle, and follows ’em in, to eavesdrop. She must," says Hutton in wonder, "be a bloody Mohawk, that girl. From what she heard, Starnberg was plainly a wrong ’un, but before she could slip back to Delzons to report, you came in view and went for him. The row brought the Emperor’s sentries, and all at once there was a battle royal, with more Holnups arriving—we heard it all, but in the dark there was nothing to be done. Mamselle kept her head, though, and when Starnberg’s gang brushed off, carrying you along, she stuck to her task, which was to cover you, whatever happened." He paused to ask: "How had you discovered that Starnberg was a bent penny?"

"Tampered cartridges. Ne’er mind that now. What then?"

"She dogged ’em into the hills a few miles, first to a steiger’s [Steiger, the foreman in a salt-mine] hut at the foot o' the mountain, where they rested a spell. Then they put you on a stretcher and went up the mountain to the mouth of the salt-mine. She judged it best not to follow ’em in, but lay up in the rocks nearby, and about dawn the whole crew, as near as she could judge, came out with their dunnage and scattered—but no sign of you and Starnberg, which she couldn’t figure … neither can I. What was he about?"

"Settling a score. With me. In his own peculiar way." He frowned. "I don’t follow."

"You don’t have to. It don’t matter." It was none of his business to know about Rudi long ago, or Willem’s rum behaviour, killing me one moment, saving me the next. "Nothing to do with this affair, Hutton. A personal grudge, you could call it. Go on."

He gave me a hard look, but continued. "Well, she waited a while. Then she went in. Nick o' time, by the sound of it … but you know more than I do about that. She settled Starnberg, plugged the leak in you as best she could, and then ran hell-for-leather down the hill, seven or eight miles, to the rendezvous we’d fixed on beforehand. Delzons and I and a couple of our lads went back with her to the mine. I thought you were a goner, but Mamselle put a few stitches in you from the first-aid kit, and after dark we brought you down here to our bolt-hole. She’s nursed you these past few days, too. Regular little Nightingale." He shook his head in admiration. "She’s a trump and a half, colonel. Blessed if I ever saw a female like her. Smiling sweet and pretty as a peach and she bowled out Starnberg! How the dooce did she do it?"

"Nerve," says I. "And by being a better fencer than he was. Where is she?"