Authors: James McGee
Legs clanking,
the men started to climb from the longboat on to the raft.
"Shift
yourselves!" The guards continued to use their weapons to herd the men
along the walkway. Movement was difficult due to the shackles, but the guards
made no allowance for the restraints.
"Lively now!
Christ, you buggers stink!"
The insults
rained down thick and fast, and while it was doubtful many of the men shuffling
along the grating could understand the harsh words, the tone of voice and the
poking and prodding made it clear what was required of them.
Slowly, in
single file, the men clinked their way up the ship's side.
"Keep
moving, damn your eyes!"
Hawkwood stepped
from the stairs on to the pulpit, Lasseur at his shoulder. A jam had formed in
the enclosed space. Both men stared down into the belly of the ship. Lasseur
recoiled. Then the Frenchman leaned forward so that his mouth was close to
Hawkwood's ear. His face was set in a grimace.
"Welcome to
Hell," he said.
I should have
bloody known
,
Hawkwood thought.
Ezra Twigg's
face should have given the game away. Hawkwood wondered why he hadn't picked up
the signals. The little clerk's head had been cast down when Hawkwood entered
the ante-room in reply to the Chief Magistrate's summons. Normally, Twigg would
have looked up from his scribbling and passed some pithy comment about the
marks on the floor left by Hawkwood's boot heels, but this time Twigg had
barely acknowledged the Runner's arrival. All he'd done was look up quickly,
murmur, "They're waiting for you," and return to his paperwork. The
omens hadn't been good. Hawkwood chided himself for not being more observant.
Though he had absorbed the warning that the Chief Magistrate had
company.
As Hawkwood
entered the office, James Read stepped away from the tall window. It was
mid-morning and sunlight pierced the room. Hawkwood wondered why the Chief
Magistrate, a man who made no secret of his dislike for cold weather, looked so
pensive. Given his usual disconsolate manner when confronted with inclement
skies, he should, by rights, have been dancing across the carpet.
The second man
looked around. He was heavy-set, with short, sandy hair, a broad face and a web
of red veins radiating across his cheeks. He was dressed in the uniform of a
naval officer and clearly suffered from the 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.
"I refer to
the art of subterfuge, Hawkwood; the ability to blend into the background -
most useful when dealing with the criminal classes, as you
have
so ably demonstrated on a number of occasions."
Hawkwood waited
for the axe to fall.
"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."