Hopper brought Sharpe some bread and cheese toward evening and the two men ate in the storeroom, which had a small barred window looking down the street toward the houses of Nyboden. “He’s sleeping,” Hopper said, meaning Ole Skovgaard. Skovgaard’s fingers had been splinted and his wounds bandaged. “He ain’t sleeping well,” Hopper went on, “but he won’t for a while, will he?” He pushed a jug of water toward Sharpe. “I was thinking, sir, that either Clouter or me ought to go and see Captain Chase.”
Sharpe nodded. “He’ll be worrying.”
“Just to let him know we’re still ticking,” Hopper said. “Doesn’t matter which of us goes, sir, but the Captain, sir, he’ll want to know what’s going to happen.”
“If I knew, I’d tell you,” Sharpe said.
“I thought we’d wait till the bombs start again, then go. No one takes a blind bit of notice when the bombs are dropping.”
Sharpe gazed down the street where a lame sweeper was brushing litter toward a wheelbarrow. “What we do,” Sharpe said, “really depends on what the Danes do. On whether they surrender or not.”
“Have to drop a few more bombs than we did last night,” Hopper said scathingly. “It’s no good annoying them, is it? You have to bloody hurt them.”
“If they surrender,” Sharpe said, “then there isn’t a problem. We’ll just take Mister Skovgaard to a British surgeon. But if they don’t surrender… ” He left the thought unfinished.
“Then we’ll be dodging this Captain Lavatory?”
Sharpe nodded. “Though I think we’re safe enough here.”
Hopper nodded. “So when it’s dark, sir, and the bombs start up, I’ll sneak back to the Captain.”
“Tell Captain Chase I’ll stay here till Mister Skovgaard can be moved.” Sharpe did not know what else he could do. He knew he should hunt Lavisser down, but guarding Ole Skovgaard now seemed the more important task. “And when it’s all over, Hopper, you, me and Clouter are going to go digging in that house. There ought to be forty-three thousand melted guineas somewhere under the ashes.”
“Forty-three thousand?”
“Give or take a handful.”
Hopper whistled. “Captain Lavatory will already be digging though, won’t he?”
“It’ll still be too hot,” Sharpe said.
“So pray the buggers surrender, eh?” Hopper stared down the shadowed street. “Look at that silly bugger! Sweeping up a bombed city! You should get some sleep, sir, you look like a rag.” He frowned at the small storeroom. “You ain’t got room to make a proper cot in here, sir, why not go to the chapel? It’s quiet enough there.”
“Wake me before you leave.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
It was quiet in the chapel, though Sharpe could not sleep. He sat at the very back in a white-painted pew and stared at the stained glass window above the simple altar. It was getting darker outside and the details of the window were obscured, but the golden hair of the children and Christ’s silver halo showed up brightly. There were words scrolled around the halo, but they were in Danish so he could not read them.
He heard the door open and turned to see that Astrid had come to join him. “You look very thoughtful,” she said.
“I was just wondering what those words say,” Sharpe said, “up on the window.”
Astrid peered up at the dark glass. “Lader de sind Bom,” she read, “komme til mig.”
“I’m none the wiser.”
“Let the little children come to me,” she translated. “It’s from the Gospels.”
“Ah.”
Astrid smiled. “You sound disappointed.”
“I thought it might be `Be sure your sin will find you out.’ ”
“So you do have some religion?”
“Do I?”
She took his hand and held it silently for a while, then she sighed. “Why would anyone hurt another man so much?”
“Because it’s war,” Sharpe said.
“Because the world is cruel,” Astrid said. She stared up at the window. Christ’s halo and eyes were piercing white, the rest was darkening. “From now on,” she said, “he will be half blind, toothless and never able to hold a pen again.” She squeezed Sharpe’s hand. “And I will have to look after him.”
“Then I’ll have to look after you, won’t I?”