Rapscallion

you out?'

'In as much as we have no firm evidence to suppose Officer Hawkwood is in extremis, that is correct.'

'Well, at least you're honest,' Jago said. 'I'll grant you that. But you've got a bloody nerve.'

There was a pause.

'So, you'll do it?' Read said.

Jago did not reply immediately. He turned and looked out of the window, gazing down on the dimly lit windows of the street below before raising his eyes to stare out over the steeply tiled, moon-flecked rooftops.

Finally, he nodded.

'Of course I'll bloody do it.'

The gunshot echoed around the stable like a thunderclap, causing the horses to shy and stomp in fear. The powder smoke dissipated.

'Now, there's a pity,' Morgan said. He stared at the pistol muzzle, which was aimed at a point over Hawkwood's left shoulder.

Lasseur lowered the gun. His eyes met Hawkwood's and he gave a wry smile.

Hawkwood said nothing. The distant booming sound was not an echo from the shot, he realized, but the pounding of his own heartbeat slowing to a crescendo.

Morgan held out his hand. 'It wasn't loaded anyway, Captain. It was to see what you'd do with it. You didn't think we'd actually give you a loaded weapon, did you?'

Morgan looked almost sorrowful as Lasseur, silent and stone- faced, handed over the pistol.

'Better the devil you know, eh?' Morgan said. 'Though I'd be a liar if I said I was surprised. It's a damned shame. I had high expectations for you two. Now I'm three men down.' He shook his head. 'It'll be interesting to hear what Captain Lasseur's compatriots say when I give them the news. Maybe I should let them deal with you, Captain, the same way they do on the hulks. Know how they punish traitors on the prison ships? It's not pretty. They use needles and gunpowder to tattoo the words I betrayed my brothers on the forehead. They tell me there's a severe amount of discomfort. Still, let's not jump the gun.' Morgan smiled mirthlessly and turned to Del and his companion. 'Either of them so much as farts - shoot him.'

Croker didn't look happy with that proviso. 'Can't we kill them, anyway?'

'Not yet. We'll find a use for them later. Maybe give the dogs a run if Captain Lasseur's friends don't care to pass sentence. That'll be after Cephus and I have a few words with Officer Hawkwood, of course.'

'I'd like to be in on that,' Croker said.

'Don't look so disappointed, Jack, my boy. If you behave yourself, you'll get your chance. All in good time. For now, Thaddeus has just put clean straw down and it'd be a pity to mess it up. Besides, it'll disturb the horses and we've spooked them enough as it is. I don't want the mare panicking and stepping on that foal, not after the trouble I've been through.'

To Hawkwood, Morgan said, 'Gave you a bit of a fright, did we?'

Croker sneered. 'Smells like he's soiled his breeches.'

Hawkwood shook his head. 'Not me. That'll be Del. I've known sweeter-perfumed middens. I thought you said he wasn't allowed inside?'

Del wrinkled his nose. 'What's he on about?'

'Your boss thinks you smell,' Hawkwood said. He eyed the pistol in Del's hand. Getting the weapon wouldn't be that hard, but Croker was too eager and Del's companion looked useful and Hawkwood wasn't prepared to gamble with the odds. There was Pepper, too, to contend with and Pepper was the unknown quantity. Not to mention the girl; she'd proved her worth by killing Jilks. Hawkwood wondered how she'd done it. He recalled the pistols on the sideboard.

'Ignore him, Del,' Morgan said wearily. 'He thinks he's being funny.'

'Ain't me,' Del said, looking pained. 'It's the bloody paint. How many times do I have to tell you?'

'You're not wearing any paint,' Hawkwood said.

'Ha, bleedin' ha,' Del said, though he still looked doubtful. He turned to Morgan for instructions. 'Where d'you want them?'

'Out of my sight. Take Sol; put them in one of the cellars. Let them stew for a while. Jack, you go with them. There's safety in numbers. Don't give either of them an inch - I mean it. Soon as they're locked away, Del, I want you back watching the road. Better send word to Asa Higgs, too. Use one of the carrier birds. Tell him there's a burial that needs arranging.' He looked at Hawkwood and Lasseur. 'Possibly three.'

Morgan tossed Pepper his spent pistol and turned to the girl. 'Esther, you get Jilks's bay back in her stable before it gets light. Make sure you rub her down. We don't want her looking like she's been ridden hard. Once you've done that, give it till morning, then make out you just found him. Not too tearful; just enough to make it look good. You know the drill. If you go now, you should just make it. Thaddeus'll give you a hand to saddle up.'

The girl nodded.

'Good,' Morgan said. 'You all know what to do.'

Croker picked up a lantern. 'All right; move your arses.' He pointed the muzzle of his pistol at Hawkwood's cheek. 'Just give me an excuse.'

'Enough, Jack,' Morgan said. 'You'll get your chance.'

Croker looked as if he couldn't wait that long.

Sol, carrying a lantern of his own, led the way out of the stables, across the yard and down a series of steps into a dank, vault-like passage beneath the foundations of yet another outbuilding from the ancient priory complex.

Croker halted them outside a closed door and withdrew the bolt. He pulled the door open and gestured Hawkwood into the room. Hawkwood was halfway through the doorway when Croker's boot slammed into the back of his calf, folding his leg and pitching him on to the hard stone floor.

'Watch the Frog,' Croker snarled and launched his boot towards Hawkwood's groin. Hawkwood twisted aside, leaving his thigh to catch the brunt of the strike. It was still hard enough to make him cry out with the pain. Two more kicks in quick succession found their mark before Croker stepped away; finally heeding Sol's warning that their employer was unlikely to be happy if the bastard pegged out before he'd been questioned.

Holding up the light, he gazed down at Hawkwood, his eyes black with hate. 'You're a dead man,' he said.

He turned. 'Get the other one in here.'

Del pushed Lasseur forward and Croker exited the cellar. Lasseur had barely enough time to move to Hawkwood's side before the door was slammed shut behind him, leaving him cocooned in darkness, with only Hawkwood's ragged breathing for company.

It was several minutes before the pain subsided and Hawkwood was able to sit up. He did so gingerly, thankful that Croker had aimed for his lower torso. None of the kicks had landed on the previous wounds sustained from the duel in the hulk.

He couldn't see a thing. The interior of the cellar was as dark as a tomb.

'Matthew?' Lasseur's disembodied voice came out of the blackness.

'Still here,' Hawkwood said.

He felt a hand on his arm. 'Are you hurt?'

'I'll live.'

'I should quote Charbonneau. What was it he used to say? 'The Lord loves an optimist'?'

Ignoring the pain in his belly and his thigh, Hawkwood got to his feet and heard Lasseur do the same. He reached out and took hold of Lasseur's sleeve. 'The door's to our left, yes?'

Lasseur thought for a second. 'Yes.'

'Let's make sure,' Hawkwood said. 'Back up until we reach the wall.'

It took five paces before their spines touched the cold stone.

'Now, what?' Lasseur asked, intrigued.

Leaning flat against the wall, Hawkwood took his bearings, picturing in his mind the things he'd seen in the cellar before the door closed and the light vanished. Croker's keen desire to inflict punishment had provided him with valuable seconds in which to take stock of his surroundings, the dimensions of the room and some of the