Rapscallion

Lasseur grinned. 'By boat.'

' What?' Hawkwood felt another brief twinge.

Lasseur laid his hand on Hawkwood's arm. His face was full of concern. 'How much do you remember?'

'I saw you shoot Del. After that. . . not a damned thing. What do you mean, 'by boat'?'

'It's a long story. Do you remember me carrying you to the river?'

'No.'

Lasseur had left him on the bank while he returned for Del's body, hauling it to the edge of the water in the hope of putting the hounds off the scent. The ruse had worked, but it had been a close thing. Daubing their faces with mud, Lasseur had dragged Hawkwood into the reeds moments before the dogs burst from the trees.

Lasseur frowned at the memory. 'I could hear them baying and the men searching. I didn't know if you were alive or dead beside me. I waited until the searchers moved off, then pulled you ashore; still breathing, thank God. And that's when I saw the boat. It was almost submerged. When I found the oars beneath it I thought I was seeing things, and when I examined the hull and realized it was sound, I couldn't believe it. I think the owner must have sunk it deliberately so people wouldn't think it was worth stealing. Fortunately for us, it was.

'I could still hear the dogs, but they were heading downriver. Morgan's men must have assumed we'd try to get to the coast. I knew we needed to go in the opposite direction, so I raised the boat and took us upstream. It was easier than carrying you across country. Del's body was still there when we left. I heard them say they were going to send the gravedigger to pick it up later.' He looked at the expression on Hawkwood's face. 'What is it?'

'I was going to ask you why we came here, but something tells me that would be a stupid question.'

'We were close; I knew we would be safe here and the Widow Flynn might have some means of treating your wound. I was right. She's the one who's been looking after you with her medicines and broth.'

Which explained the bitter taste on my tongue, Hawkwood thought. To Lasseur, he said, 'Don't think I'm not grateful, but are you sure those were the only reasons?' Then, for the first time, he noticed the privateer's clothes. 'I don't recall you wearing that shirt before.'

Lasseur smiled. 'I'm happy to see your head wound has not robbed you of your powers of deduction. You're right; like you, I am the happy beneficiary of the Flynn family slop chest.'

'It's a good fit,' Hawkwood observed laconically. 'You know, our being here places her at serious risk. If Morgan finds out she's harbouring us, it will go badly for her.'

Lasseur's face grew immediately serious. 'I know that, my friend. Believe me; I know that only too well.'

Hawkwood watched the worry lines on Lasseur's face deepen. 'And how the devil did you find your way back here? Higgs transported us at night.'

Lasseur's features lightened. 'I'm a sailor, Matthew. Did you think I was sleeping when the gravedigger took us to the Haunt? I was reading the stars. It was a clear night, remember? I knew the course we were taking. I knew where and when we crossed the river, and I knew the farm was upstream. In daylight, it was simple. Some day, you must let me teach you the finer points of celestial navigation!'

'And no one saw us?'

'Not to my knowledge. Though, if our pursuers hadn't had the dogs it might have been different. I might not have heard them coming. All I can say is that the gods must have been with us.' Lasseur straightened. 'Thomas Gadd knows Jess has taken us in, by the way. He helped me get you upstairs. 1 le also took the boat back downstream. We've been here ever since.'

The room was warm but Hawkwood suddenly felt a cold chill on his back. 'What do you mean; ever since? How long have we been here?'

Lasseur hesitated. Something moved behind his eyes. 'You've been confined to your bed for just over twenty-four hours.'

It took a moment for Hawkwood to absorb the shock. 'What?' Then his mind did the calculation and he started to push the sheet back. 'Jesus!'

Lasseur's eyes widened in alarm. He placed a hand on Hawkwood's chest. 'What are you doing?'

Hawkwood thrust Lasseur's hand aside. 'I have to get a message to the authorities! I've got to warn them about the attack on the Admiral's residency! It's tomorrow night!'

Lasseur grasped his arm. 'Wait! Tom Gadd told me that Morgan's men are still searching for us. There's a price on our heads. If either of us sets foot off the farm there's a risk we'll be seen. Besides,' Lasseur added urgently, 'look at you! You're in no fit state to go anywhere.'

'I'll take my chances.' Hawkwood pushed Lasseur's hand away once more, swung his legs round and placed his feet on the floor. 'Where are my bloody clothes?'

Lasseur's eyes flickered to the wardrobe.

Hawkwood stood up. The room swam before his eyes. 1 le sat down again, quickly.

Lasseur threw up his hands in despair. 'You see? You can hardly walk. You need to recover your strength.'

'There's no time for that!' Hawkwood looked towards the window. It was like looking through a gauze veil. 'What the hell is the time?'

'It's late; nearly six. Are you hungry? You've eaten nothing solid for a while.'

'No, I'm not bloody hungry!' Hawkwood pushed himself off the bed again. The room tilted dramatically, but only for a moment or two before returning to its true axis. He took a deep breath, crossed unevenly to the wardrobe and discovered his jacket, shirt, breeches and underclothes suspended from hooks and hangers. He leant on the wardrobe door and studied them. They were suspiciously clean, considering they'd been immersed in a river, and certainly when compared to how he remembered them from the day before, following their breakneck run through the woods.

He pulled the clothes out, took off the nightshirt, and began to dress. He bent down and picked up his boots. Light-headed, he sat on the end of the bed and attempted to pull on his right boot. The knife, he saw, was still in place. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and almost didn't recognize the unshaven individual staring back at him. He had to admit he'd looked in better health. He turned away and found that Lasseur was watching him with a look of worry on his face. When he made no offer to help, Hawkwood guessed the privateer was trying to make a point.

Lasseur tried again. 'Matthew, listen to me. You're not thinking properly. Morgan won't go through with the raid on the gold anyway. Not at this late stage. He daren't. If he hasn't tracked us down, he has no way of knowing if you were able to get word to your people. For all he knows, the army's going to be there waiting for him. He'll only go ahead with the theft if he can silence us first, and then only if he has time to spare. You're more likely to prevent the attack by remaining here and keeping him guessing. That way we'll all be safe.'

 'We won't ever be safe! Not from Morgan. We've damaged him too deeply. He'll be angry at losing face.' Hawkwood reached for his other boot. 'I have to do this. The bastard's that bloody cocky, I wouldn't put it past him to still go through with it. In which case, I've no choice. It's my duty to try and stop him.'

Lasseur sighed. 'Then I ask you for one favour. At least wait until sunset before you leave. You'll reduce the risk of being observed while you're still close to the farm.'

Hawkwood shook his head. 'I can't do that. I'll be careful, but I can't wait until dark. I have to get to Barham while it's still light.'

'Barham?' Lasseur frowned. 'What is Barham? And why do you need to be there before dark? I don't understand.'

'It's an Admiralty telegraph station.'

Hawkwood had been briefed on the telegraph by Ludd, in case he needed to take advantage of it. The Admiralty had devised the system to allow it to communicate directly with its bases around the south coast. It consisted of a line of shutter stations placed on high ground across the country. Each station consisted of a large rectangular frame comprised of six shutters arranged vertically in two columns of three. The shutters could be