Rapscallion (36 page)

Del led the way
into the stables. Two men were standing by the opening to the stall furthest
from the entrance doors. At the sound of footsteps, they looked round. One was
hunched, with thinning hair and short bandy legs. He wore a dark waistcoat and
a worn leather apron and was holding a lantern. His companion was taller and
leaner; his swept-back hair was silvery grey. So, too, was his beard, which was
short and neatly trimmed. With his blue eyes and lined features, he could have
passed for a distinguished lawyer or a benevolent uncle, had it not been for
his shortened left arm, which ended in a leather cup just below his elbow.

Del's gaze
shifted to the grey-bearded man. "Mr Pepper." His tone was
immediately deferential.

"Del,"
Pepper said. There was no warmth in the response.

Not so benevolent, after all,
Hawkwood
thought, and wondered who Pepper was and whether the severed limb indicated
that he'd served in the wars.

"Asa
brought them," Del said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

A spark of interest
showed in Pepper's blue eyes. He looked Hawkwood and Lasseur over.
"And the tubs?"

"They're
outside on the cart," Del responded nervously.

"Good, go
and help Asa unload. You can store them in the usual place."

Del nodded. He
still looked, Hawkwood thought, a little cowed. Studying Pepper, it wasn't hard
to see why. The man exuded menace, even though he'd barely moved a muscle. With
a look of relief and a sideways nod towards Hawkwood and Lasseur, Del departed,
robes flapping.

"Where's
that damned lantern, Thaddeus?"

The question
came from behind Pepper's back.

The mare was
standing,
legs straddled, in the centre of the stall, flanks
glistening with sweat. The distended belly told its own story. A stocky,
broad-shouldered man with close-cropped black hair and a dark beard, shirt
rolled back to his elbows, was gently stroking the mare's neck. He made no
acknowledgement of Hawkwood or Lasseur's presence.

The man with
Pepper stepped back into the stall and held the lantern high. The mare looked around.
Her soft brown eyes, caught by the candle flame, gleamed brightly. She shifted
restlessly, pawing the straw.

"She's
close," the dark-haired man said. He stepped away quickly. "Let's
give her some room."

Suddenly, as if
on cue, the mare braced herself and whickered softly as a stream of fluid
gushed from her rear opening and flowed down her hind legs, dampening the bed
of straw beneath. Abdominal muscles quivering and with her waters still
breaking, the mare sank heavily to her knees and rolled on to her side. The
rush of fluid seemed endless. Eventually, after what must have been the release
of several gallons, the flood ceased and the mare recovered her breath. Her
belly continued to undulate.

"The foal's
turning," the bearded man said.

The mare laid
her head on the straw, as if gathering strength. Then she raised her head and
whinnied softly. Her hindquarters roiled and a small bulge of white mucus
ballooned from beneath her tail. As the men watched, the balloon increased in
size, becoming elongated in the process. Within the expanding membrane a pair
of dark, stick-like objects could be seen. Hawkwood realized he was looking at
a pair of forelegs. The mare quietened, belly heaving. She pushed again. A
triangular shape appeared, resting on top of the legs. It was the foal's head.
The veined birth sac continued to stretch until, without warning, it ruptured
and a small hoof poked into view. The mare paused and then gave another heavy
push. Nothing happened. She tried again. There was still no movement.

"Come on,
girl," the dark-bearded man said coaxingly.

The mare
strained again. The foal's head and feet remained resolutely in place. The
dark-bearded man cursed under his breath.

"Looks like
she's stuck, Mr Morgan," the man holding the lantern said. "Should we
give her a hand?"

Morgan stared
down at the horse. His lips moved soundlessly. Hawkwood wondered if he was
praying.

The mare's hind
legs thrust weakly against the straw as she tried again to expel the foal. She
gave a small snuffle of distress and laid her head down.

Morgan stepped
into the stall. "Hold the light up."

As the lantern
was raised, Morgan squatted down and positioned
himself
behind the mare's hindquarters. Moving the tail out of the way, he took hold of
the foal's forelegs, just above the fetlock joints. "All right, girl,
let's give it another try." Bracing himself, he pulled gently on the
foal's legs.

As if sensing
that assistance was at hand, the mare, head still lowered, pushed again. Morgan
increased his grip and angled the foal's legs towards the mare's hocks. The
mare strained once more. Morgan's arm muscles tightened.

Suddenly, the
mare's flanks rippled. Morgan continued his steady pull. A pair of narrow
shoulders eased into view. The mare heaved again and Morgan let go. Seconds
later, the foal lay in a glistening wet heap.

Tenderly, Morgan
cleared the membrane away from the foal's mouth and nostrils. The foal's head
lifted and Morgan grunted with satisfaction. Taking care not to sever the
umbilical cord, Morgan eased the foal around to where the mare could see it. He
stood up and, by the time he'd moved out of the way, the foal had rolled
upright. The mare got to her knees and then to her feet and nuzzled her
newborn, licking away the rest of the birth sac.

Morgan wiped his
hands with some dry straw and looked round. "Captains Hooper and Lasseur,
I presume? Welcome,
gentlemen
; good to meet you. I'm
Ezekiel Morgan."

Hawkwood guessed
that Morgan and Pepper were of similar age. From Pepper's grey hair and the
light dusting down the laughter lines either side of Morgan's jaw, he doubted
either of them would see fifty again, though they did not have the deportment
of old men. When they stood side by side, the difference in height was even
more apparent. Morgan's head was level with Pepper's shoulders. In the lantern
light, Morgan's eyes - dark, deep set, intelligent and watchful - were the
brightest.

Morgan tossed
the used straw aside.
"My apologies for not giving your
arrival my full attention.
As you see, I'd a rather pressing matter to
attend to." Morgan held out his hand. His grip was firm and still slightly
damp. Hawkwood could feel the calluses. "You've met my associate, Cephus
Pepper?" Morgan indicated the grey-haired man.

Pepper did not
extend his hand but instead held Hawkwood's gaze for several seconds before
giving a curt nod.

Morgan cocked
his head. "You've had quite a journey. The Warden incident gave us some
concern. We weren't expecting an affray."

"Neither
were we," Hawkwood said. "How many men did you lose?"

"None,
fortunately; though we had three wounded."

"We saw
Isaac go down," Lasseur said.

Morgan nodded.
"He was lucky. The ball took him in the shoulder, but there's no permanent
damage."

"And the
attackers?"
Hawkwood said. "Were they after us or the contraband?"

Morgan threw
Hawkwood a wry look. "It's all right, Captain. You can rest easy. It was
the goods they were after, not you. Someone tipped them the nod. My people are
making enquiries. When we find out who it was, they'll be dealt with."
Morgan cocked his head on one side. "Gideon said it was a close-run thing.
You only just made it into the boat."

Hawkwood
shrugged.
"Better to be damp than dead.
What
about the Revenue? Did they lose anyone? There was a lot of shooting. There
looked to be some dragoons with them."

Morgan frowned.
"Three Revenue men wounded and one dragoon dead. There was a horse killed,
too, which was a bloody shame." He glanced over to the stall. "Good
mounts are hard to come by."

So are good dragoons,
Hawkwood
thought.
"You had reinforcements on the cliff."

"We always
have reinforcements. It pays to be
cautious,
Jessie
Flynn looked after you all right?"

Hawkwood nodded.
"No complaints there. We could have done without the ambush on the way
here, though. It nearly gave your man Higgs a heart attack."

A flicker of
alarm moved across the bearded face and then understanding dawned. "Ah,
you mean our phantom friars. I'll admit they're a mite crude, but they do the
trick. Gave you a bit of a fright, did they?"

"Only the
smell of them."

"That'll be
our Del. Fragrant, ain't he?"

"Not the
paint, then," Hawkwood said.

The corner of
Morgan's mouth lifted. "No. The paint's made with putrefied horse piss.
It's what makes it glow. But it doesn't hold the smell. That was all Del. It's
why we like to keep him out in the fresh air, away from the house."

"You make
paint from horse piss?" Lasseur said.

Another wry
smile formed between the bearded lips. "Not personally. I employ people
for that. Don't ask me how they do it.
Some kind of fancy chymical
process."
Morgan fell silent and then said, "I understand the
two of you caused quite a rumpus before you left."

Lasseur's head
came up.

He knows about Seth Tyler
was the thought
that speared its way into Hawkwood's brain. Lasseur, he knew, would be thinking
the same thing, though the privateer's face betrayed no outward emotion.

How
had the man found out? Had Tyler told him?

And then he
heard Morgan say, "Lucky we got you out before they transferred you,"
and realized that Morgan was referring to the events aboard
Rapacious.

Hawkwood let out
a slow, inaudible breath. As he did so he wondered how Morgan knew what had
occurred on the hulk. The man obviously had a good intelligence system in
place.

"You
shouldn't believe all you hear," Lasseur
said,
his
expression neutral.

Morgan's head
lifted. "Oh, I don't, Captain, but you really mustn't underestimate
yourself." He looked at Hawkwood. "I've a mind to offer you the same
advice, Captain Hooper, but, if you'll forgive the impertinence, modesty's not
a trait I'd associate with you Americans, judging by the ones I've come
across."

"Met many
of us, have you?" Hawkwood asked.

"There've
been a few. And I have to say I've always found them refreshingly honest in the
promotion of their own abilities. Not sure if it's self-confidence or sheer
bloody arrogance, but it's a damned powerful quality either way. Won you your
revolution
and
forged a damned country.
Can't argue with
that."

"We just
don't like anyone else telling us what to do," Hawkwood said.

Morgan's dark
eyes flashed. "Ha! Did you hear that, Cephus? We'll make a free trader out
of him yet!"

Pepper said
nothing. It was becoming clear that Morgan's lieutenant was a man of few words.

"How's our
new arrival doing, Thaddeus?" Morgan addressed his groom, who was still
watching over the mare and her foal, seemingly oblivious to the exchange going
on behind his back.

"Very
nicely, Mr Morgan.
Afterbirth's on its way."

"Good. Keep
your eye on her." Morgan turned back.

"Why are we
here?" Hawkwood asked.

The question
seemed to catch Morgan off guard. Pepper's eyes narrowed.

Morgan showed
his teeth again. "By God, there's no beating about the bush with you,
Captain Hooper, is there? No matter, I like a straight talker. You're here
because I've a proposition for you."

Lasseur frowned.
"What sort of proposition?"

"If all
goes well, a damned profitable one."

"What about
our passage to France?" Hawkwood asked.

"Don't
worry,
you'll both be delivered safe and sound as promised, only
with a little extra something to remember us by."

"And what
might that be?"

Morgan looked as
if he was still mildly amused by Hawkwood's directness. "All in good time,
Captain." He drew a watch from his waistcoat pocket and consulted the
dial. "It's too late to go into details now. I still have work to do here
and I'm sure you've both had a long day. Why don't I let you get some rest and
we can talk again in the morning? I'll explain everything then; saves me having
to do it twice. How does that sit with you?"

Do we have a choice in the matter?
Hawkwood
thought and wondered what Morgan had meant by the comment about doing it twice.

Before either of
them had a chance to reply, Morgan gave a satisfied
nod.
"Then it's settled. Cephus'll show you to your cell. It's all right,
Captain," Morgan added, chuckling at Lasseur's expression of alarm.
"Just my little jest.
You're quite safe. You'll find no
gaolers here." Morgan turned away and then paused, as if he'd just
remembered something. "I'd advise
you,
however,
while you're at liberty to move around, it'd be best if you didn't stray too
far. As you saw earlier, I do have men patrolling the outer walls and, having
gone to all the trouble of getting you this far, it'd be a damned shame if you
wandered off and one of my lads put a ball through your brain because he
thought you were trespassing."