Rapscallion. James McGee

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      “Captain Ludd and I have discussed the matter. Based on our discussion, I believe you’re the officer best suited to the task.”

      “And what task would that be, sir … exactly?”

      James Read smiled grimly. “We’re sending you to the hulks.”

      

      The Chief Magistrate’s expression was stern. “We’ve got prisoners of war spread right around the country, from Somerset to Edinburgh. Fortunately for us, the new prison in Maidstone is ideally situated for our purposes. It’s been used as a holding pen for prisoners prior to their transfer to the Medway and Thames hulks. You’ll begin your sentence there. From Maidstone you’ll be transported to the prison ship Rapacious. She’s lying off Sheerness. Better you arrive on the hulk within a consignment of prisoners rather than alone. There’s no reason to suppose anyone will question your credentials, but it should give you an opportunity to form liaisons with some of your fellow internees before embarkation.”

      It was interesting, Hawkwood mused, that the Chief Magistrate had used the word sentence rather than assignment. Perhaps it had been a slip of the tongue. Then again, he thought, maybe not.

      “Your mission is several fold,” Read said. “Firstly, you are to investigate how these escapes have been achieved –”

      “You mean you don’t know?” Hawkwood cut in, staring at Ludd.

      Ludd shifted uncomfortably. “We know Rapacious has lost four prisoners in the past six weeks. The trouble is, we don’t know the exact time the losses took place. We can assume the other prisoners concealed the escapes from the ship’s crew, possibly by manipulating the roll count. Without knowing the precise times of the escapes we haven’t been able to pin down how they were achieved, whether it was a spur-of-the-moment thing based on a lapse in our procedures or if the escapes were planned and executed over a period of time. All we know is that Rapacious is missing four men. What makes it more interesting is that there have been similar losses from some of the other Medway-based ships. We’re also missing a couple who broke their paroles.”

      “How many in total?” Hawkwood asked.

      “Ten unaccounted for.”

      “Over how long a period?”

      “Two months,” Ludd said.

      “As I was saying …” James Read spoke into the pregnant silence which followed Ludd’s admission. “You are also to determine whether the escapers have received outside assistance. Captain Ludd is of the opinion that they have.”

      “Based on what?” Hawkwood said.

      “Based on the fact that we haven’t managed to track any of the buggers down,” Ludd said.

      “Explain.”

      Ludd sighed. “Escapes are nothing new. Some are spontaneous; the sudden recognition of an opportunity presenting itself: a door left unlocked, a careless guard looking the other way during a working party, that sort of thing. They generally involve a prisoner acting on his own. Nine times out of ten, he’s rounded up quickly, usually because he’s cold and wet and he can’t find food or clothing, he’s no idea where he is and he daren’t ask directions because he can’t speak the language. They don’t last long. Many end up turning themselves in voluntarily – and not just to the military. They’ve even surrendered to people in the street. But when it’s more than one, when two or three at a time have made a run for it, that suggests they’ve devised a plan, hoarded food and spare clothing, maybe bribed a guard to sell them a map so they know how far it is to the coast, and where they can steal a boat. Even so, not many make it. All it takes is one careless word; someone overhears them speaking Frog or talking English with an accent and the game’s up. But these recent escapes, they’ve been different.”

      “How so?”

      “As I said, we weren’t able to pick up their trail.”

      “Which means what?”

      “In my book, it means someone’s definitely helping them.”

      “Like who?”

      “That’s what we sent Masterson and Sark to find out.”

      “What do you think?”

      “My own theory? Free traders, most likely.”

      “Smugglers?”

      “My guess is that they’re passing the escapers down the line to the coast. They’ve got the routes all set up, they’ve got the men and the boats.”

      “That, Hawkwood, is the third part of your assignment,” Read said. “If there is an organized escape route, I want it disrupted, preferably disbanded.”

      “It might explain why your Lieutenant Masterson was found in the Swale,” Hawkwood said. “Could be he was thrown from a vessel.”

      “Could be,” Ludd agreed. “I’d deem it a personal favour if, along the way, you could find out what happened to my men. If they were done away with, I’d prefer to be told.”

      “If free traders are involved, it won’t be easy,” Hawkwood pointed out. “They’re a law unto themselves. Anyone going in and asking questions is sure to make their ears prick up. It’s more than likely they’ll see me coming a mile away.”

      Ludd and Read exchanged glances.

      “Quite so,” James Read said quietly. “But in this case they’re going to be looking in the wrong direction.”

      “Hindsight’s a wonderful thing,” Ludd said. “Our mistake was sending Masterson and Sark through the front door. They were competent men, but they were naval officers first and landsmen second. In this situation they were out of their depth, no pun intended. We might just as well have dispatched a marching band to accompany them. Masterson’s brief was to try and infiltrate the smuggling organizations. We thought the best way for him to do that was to have him pose as a former seaman looking for work and to make it clear he wasn’t too bothered whether the work was legal or not. Trouble is, the smuggling fraternity’s too closely knit. My feeling is he ended up asking the wrong people the wrong questions – and that Sark made the same mistake.”

      “You can take the man out of the navy but you can’t take the navy out of the man,” Hawkwood said.

      “Something like that,” Ludd agreed unhappily.

      “You, on the other hand, will not be quite so obvious,” James Read said. “We hope.”

      “You mean I’ll be using the tradesman’s entrance,” Hawkwood said.

      The corner of Read’s mouth twitched. “Providing we can manufacture a suitable history for you.” The Chief Magistrate paused. “My initial thought was that you should pass yourself off as a French officer, but I’m not sure that’s entirely practical. While I appreciate that your knowledge of the language is considerable, could you maintain the deception for any length of time? Captain Ludd and I have discussed the matter and we believe the current crisis with the United States has provided us with the perfect solution. You will pass yourself off as an American volunteer.”

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