Rapscallion

habitual stoop, characteristic of so many seamen, which, Hawkwood had come to realize, was more a testimony to the lack of headroom in a man-of-war than any lingering defect of birth.

The officer looked Hawkwood up and down, taking in the scarred face, the unfashionably long hair tied at the nape of the neck and the dark, well-cut attire. The Chief Magistrate walked to his desk. His movements, as ever, were measured and precise. He sat down. 'Officer Hawkwood, this gentleman is Captain Elias Ludd. As his uniform implies, Captain Ludd is from the Admiralty.'

Hawkwood and the captain exchanged cautious nods.

'The Transport Board, to be exact,' James Read said.

Hawkwood said nothing. The Transport Board had been created initially to provide ships, troops and supplies during the American War of Independence. But the wars against Bonaparte had seen the Board expand its range of activities far beyond the original borders of the Atlantic. Now, due to Britain's vast military and naval commitments, the Board was responsible for the movement of supply ships to the four corners of the globe.

'The Admiralty requires our assistance.' Read nodded towards his visitor. 'Captain, you have the floor.'

'Thank you, sir.' Ludd looked down at the carpet and then raised his head. 'I've an officer who's gone missing; name of Sark. Lieutenant Andrew Sark.'

There was a short silence.

Hawkwood looked towards the Chief Magistrate for guidance, then back to the officer. 'And what, you want us to find him? Isn't that the navy's job?'

Ludd looked taken aback by Hawkwood's less than sympathetic response. James Read said, 'There are other factors to consider. As you know, the Transport Board's jurisdiction extends beyond what might be viewed as its traditional bailiwick.'

What the hell did that mean? Hawkwood wondered.

'The Board also administers foreign prisoners of war,' James Read said. 'You recall it took over the duty from the Sick and Hurt Board.'

Hawkwood wondered if the Chief Magistrate was expecting a vocal acknowledgement. He decided it was probably best to remain silent. Better to keep your mouth shut and be thought an idiot than to speak and remove all doubt. He decided a noncommittal nod would probably suffice.

'My apologies, Captain,' Read said. 'Please continue.'

Ludd cleared his throat. 'Over the past several weeks, there's been a sudden increase in the number of prisoners who've escaped from detention. We sent Lieutenant Sark to investigate whether these were random events or part of some orchestrated effort.'

'And he's failed to report back?' Hawkwood said.

Ludd nodded, his face solemn.

'When did you last hear from him?'

Ludd stuck out his chin. 'That's just it - we haven't heard from him at all. It's been six days.'

'Not long,' Hawkwood said.

'In the general scheme of things, I'd not disagree with you.' Ludd gnawed the inside of his lip.

'Captain?' Hawkwood prompted.

Ludd ceased chewing. 'He was not the first,' he said heavily.

Hawkwood sensed James Read shift in his seat. Ludd continued to look uncomfortable. 'The first officer we sent, a Lieutenant Masterson, died.'

'Died? How?'

'Drowned, it's presumed. His body was discovered two weeks ago on a mud bank near Fowley Island.'

'Which is where?' Hawkwood asked.

'The Swale River.'

'Kent.'

Ludd nodded. 'At the time there was nothing to indicate he'd been the victim of foul play. We mourned him, we buried him, and then Lieutenant Sark was dispatched to continue the investigation.'

'But now that Sark's failed to report back, you're thinking that perhaps the drowning wasn't an accident.'

'There is that possibility, yes.'

'Forgive me, Captain, but I still don't see what this has to do with Bow Street,' Hawkwood said. 'This remains a navy matter, surely?'

Before Ludd could respond, James Read interjected: 'Captain Ludd is here at the behest of Magistrate Aaron Graham. Magistrate Graham is the government inspector responsible for the administration of all prisoners of war. He reports directly to the Home Secretary. It was Home Secretary Ryder's recommendation that the Board avail itself of our services.'

Hawkwood had met Home Secretary Richard Ryder and hadn't been overly impressed, but then Hawkwood had a low opinion of politicians, irrespective of rank. In short, he didn't trust them. He had found Ryder to be a supercilious man, too full of his own importance. He wondered if Ryder had been in contact with James Read directly. There was nothing in the Chief Magistrate's manner to indicate he was talking to Ludd under sufferance, but then Read was a master of the neutral expression. It didn't mean his mind wasn't whirring like clockwork underneath the impassive mask.

Read got to his feet. He walked to the fireplace and adopted his customary pose in front of the hearth. The fire was unlit, but Read stood as if warming himself. Hawkwood suspected that the magistrate assumed the stance as a means to help him think, whether a fire was blazing away or not. Oddly, it did seem to imbue an air of gravity to whatever pronouncement he came up with. Hawkwood wondered if that wasn't the magistrate's real intention.

Read pursed his lips. 'It's no secret that the Board has come in for a degree of criticism over the past twelve months. It has been the subject of two Select Committees. Their findings were that the Board has not performed as efficiently as expected. Further adverse reports would be most. . . unhelpful. So far, these escapes have been kept out of the public domain. There's concern that, should word of its inability to keep captured enemy combatants in check emerge, the government's credibility could suffer a severe blow. With all due deference to Captain Ludd, while the loss of one officer sent to investigate these escapes might be construed as unfortunate, the loss of two officers could be regarded as carelessness. It is all grist to the mill, and with the nation at war any lack of confidence in the administration could have dire consequences.'

Hawkwood stole a glance at the captain and felt an immediate sympathy. He knew what it was like to lose men in battle; he himself had lost more men than he cared to remember, and it was a painful burden to bear.

'What services?' Hawkwood asked.

Read frowned.

'You said the Home Secretary wants the Board to avail itself of our services. What services?'

James Read looked towards Ludd, who gave a rueful smile. 'My superiors are unwilling to commit further resources to the investigation.'

'By resources, you mean men,' Hawkwood said.

Ludd flushed. 'As Magistrate Read stated, two officers have apparently fallen prey to the investigation already. I am not anxious to dispatch a third man to investigate the death and disappearance of the first two.'

Everything became clear. Hawkwood stared at James Read. 'You want Bow Street to take over the investigation?'

'That is the Home Secretary's wish, yes.'

'What makes him think we can succeed where the navy has failed?'

Read placed his hands behind his back. 'The Home Secretary feels that, while the Admiralty is perfectly capable of assigning officers to the field, there are certain advantages in utilizing non-naval personnel, particularly in what one might consider to be investigations of a clandestine nature.'

'Clandestine?'

'There are avenues open to this office that are not available to other - how shall I put it? - more conventional, less flexible departments of government. Would you not agree, Captain Ludd?'

'I'm sure you'd know more about that, sir,' Ludd said tactfully.

'Indeed.' The Chief Magistrate fixed Hawkwood with a speculative eye.

 An itch began to develop along the back of Hawkwood's neck. It wasn't a pleasant sensation.