The Hawk (9 page)

'Very well, sir. If you would very kindly write your
name . . .' Dipping quill pen in ink, and offering the pen to
Rennie.

Rennie wrote his name. The clerk scattered powder from
the pounce box, and summoned a boy to carry Rennie's bag.
'Second floor, back, last room on the left. Sharp now.'

Rennie followed the boy.

'Good God, it's Rennie, ain't it! William Rennie!'

In dread Rennie pretended not to hear, but felt his arm
grasped from behind, and was obliged to turn. He saw a tall,
confident sea officer, in dress coat, his dark hair greying
at the temples, and recognized him. Captain Richard
Langton RN.

'Langton. I did not know it was you, else I – '

'Are you with the fleet? What is your ship?'

'Nay, I am on the beach. I am only here privately, you
know, a private visit.'

'On the beach? You? That is damned bad luck.' With
genuine sympathy, although of course he had already known
that Rennie was without a commission, from the List.

'And you, Langton? Have you still got
Tamar
?' Contriving
to be polite.

'Nay, I have not, I have got the
Hanover
, seventy-four.'

'A ship of the line, hey? That is well, that is well. My
congratulations. You deserve it.'

'I don't know that I do, you know.' A laugh. 'But I have got
her, anyway.'

Rennie sensed that Captain Langton was about to invite
him to the ship, and quickly:

'Will you forgive me if I go to my room, Langton? I am
rather tired. A long journey.'

'In course, m'dear fellow. Perhaps we could meet
tomorrow? I am ashore nearly every day, even to sleep, since
we have not yet had our sailing instructions. Or we could dine
aboard . . .'

'By all means.' Rennie nodded and smiled, and left it at
that. He was pleased to have seen his old friend, but convivial
dinners, naval reminiscences, &c., were not what he could at
present welcome. He would find an excuse, and make it. The
only person he wished to see was James Hayter, and
tomorrow he would – discreetly – seek him out.

He climbed the stairs.

'Thank you.' He gave a coin to the boy who had carried his
bag to the door of the room.

The boy touched his forehead, and said: 'Does you wish
the maid to turn down your bed, sir?'

'No no, thank you. I shall rest quiet through the afternoon,
lying on the covers.'

'Was you wishing her to turn it down – later?'

Had the boy smirked at him? Had the scut winked, good
God? Rennie peered at him, and detected nothing untoward.
Perhaps he had mistook the boy's expression, in the dim light
of the passage. Perhaps he had misinterpreted the boy's
questions.

'Later? Nay, I think not. I am used to a seafaring life, you
know, and am able to manage such things for myself.'

'As you like, sir.'

'I may perhaps wish to dine in my room. I will ring.'

'Will I say so downstair, sir? That you wishes to dine?'

Rennie saw now that what he had thought was a wink was
a little twitch of one side of the boy's face, brought on by
earnest enquiry.

'Thank you, I will ring.' He gave the boy another silver
penny, and went in. Presently he lay down.

When he woke, his valise still strapped up on the floor
where he had left it, it was already nearly dark. Until a minute
had passed he did not know where he was. For those sixty
seconds he lay in utter confusion, looking at the dim square
of the window, snuffing the smell of candle wax and hearing
from below the scraping of hooves on cobbles.

'What is this place?' Muttered aloud. 'Where the devil
am I?'

He sat up, and saw his valise, and remembered. He reached
for the candle-holder on the cabinet, and was about to strike
a light when there came a sharp tapping at his door.

'Captain Rennie!' A man's voice.

Who could know his whereabouts? Who knew he was at
Portsmouth, leave alone in this hotel? An agent of Sir Robert
Greer's? But how? Surely Langton had not –

'Captain Rennie!' The rat-tat-tat repeated.

'Who – who is it?'

'May I speak to you please, sir?'

'Oh. Yes. – Yes, about my dinner.' Swinging numb legs off
the bed, stumbling pins and needles to the door, shoeless. He
opened the door – and was confronted by a pistol and a
masked face. The pistol was cocked with a menacing click,
the sharpened flint poised in the dim light of the passage.

'Step back, if y'please.' The voice lowered, and now with a
sharp edge.

Rennie stepped back, slipped on one of his cast-off shoes,
and nearly fell. At once the pistol was thrust at his head, as his
assailant followed him into the room, and:

'None of that! No sudden, artful movement, or I will take
your life!'

'I – I slipped.' Fearfully, still a little dazed by sleep. 'What
d'y'want of me? My purse?'

'Not your purse, nothing at all – excepting intelligence.'

'Who are you? Do you come from – '

'I will ask. You will answer.' The pistol steady. 'You mind
me?'

'Very well. If I can answer . . .'

'You will. Sit on the bed.'

Rennie did so, and wished that he had a pistol handy, or his
sword. His pistols were in his coat, hanging over the chair in
the corner, and his sword was at home in Norfolk.

'Answer me straight out. Where is Lieutenant Hayter?
Does he come to you tonight?'

'Eh? Tonight?' Trying to place the voice, of an educated
man. He could not.

'Well?'

'Lieutenant Hayter, so far as I'm aware, is attached to the
Channel Fleet. You had better ask at the Port Admiral's
office, I expect.'

'He ain't attached to the fleet, Captain Rennie, as you
know well. He is attached to you.'

'Attached to me? You are grossly misinformed, sir. He is
not.'

The pistol thrust into Rennie's throat. He flinched. 'Do
not prevaricate, Captain Rennie. I do not care about your life.
I will take it in a breath, if you do not assist me.'

Rennie smelled burned powder. The pistol had been fired
not long since, and the smell chilled him.

'I – I will try to assist you, if I am able. But you are mistook
about me. I know nothing of Lieutenant Hayter's whereabouts.
I am come to Portsmouth as a private visitor.'

'Private visitor!' With contempt. 'Is that what they call it,
in London? Is that what they have told you to say?'

'In London? Who in London?'

'How many cutters are under your command?'

'Eh? Good God, I am not commissioned. No cutters at all.
None.'

A jerk of the muzzle against Rennie's larynx. He coughed,
beginning to choke.

'I will ask you again. How many cutters, and where do they
lie?'

'How can I answer . . . cehhgh . . . when you stop my
wind . . . ?'

The pistol was withdrawn an inch, and Rennie got his
breath, his mind whirling. He opened his mouth to speak.

Rap-rap-rap. 'Captain Rennie, sir?' The boy's voice.

Rennie's masked assailant brought a finger up, a warning
finger, and whispered: 'Send him away.'

Rap-rap-rap. 'Captain Rennie, is you awake, sir?'

Rennie,
sotto voce
: 'It is my dinner. He will not go away until
I have took in the tray.'

A savage whisper: 'Send him away!' The pistol brushed
Rennie's ear.

'Will you leave the tray outside the door? Thank you.'
Rennie, calling.

'I ain't got no tray, sir. I has come to arst what you will like
for your dinner.'

'There is a confusion,' whispered Rennie. 'He has not
brought me what I ordered. I must go to the door, or he will
persist . . .'

'Very well, but do not open the door wider than a crack.
Say you ain't hungry. Send him away.' The muzzle of the
pistol again flicked at Rennie's ear. 'Remember, I do not care
about your life.'

Rennie cautiously slipped off the bed, and moved to the
door, aware always of the pistol pointed at his head from
behind. He opened the door two inches, and saw the boy
waiting in the subdued glow of a candle.

'I – I have decided . . .' Jerking his eyes in a frantic sideways
glance, several times, in an attempt to alert the boy to his
predicament. '. . . erm, I have decided that I ain't desperate
hungry, after all.' More jerking movements of his eyes, and
his eyebrows up and down.

'Not hungry, sir?' The boy peered at him, puzzled by
Rennie's demeanour, and lifted the candle-holder.

'Nay, I am very tired . . . desperate tired.' The eyes.

The boy's face twitched, and he frowned a little. 'As you
like, sir . . .'

'Here, I will give you a penny for your trouble.' Rennie
fumbled in his fob pocket, and felt the pistol at the back of his
neck. 'Oh . . . I have not got any money about me. I am most
desperate sorry.' Again the eyes. He closed the door.

The glow of the candle under the door faded as the boy
went away. Rennie turned back into the room, and tried to
make out his assailant's size. He was not a large man, but
looked wiry strong, thought Rennie. Could he distract the
fellow, wrench the pistol from his grasp, and turn the weapon
on him? The masked man seemed to read his thoughts, even
in near darkness.

'Do not think of attack, Captain Rennie.' With quiet
menace. 'Not while I have this cocked in my hand.' He
motioned Rennie to return to the bed. Rennie obeyed.

'Would it not be easier if we had a light?' he ventured.

'It would not, thank you. Now I will like – '

'What if the boy should return? What then? He is – '

'I will ask. You will answer. Do not make me iterate that
instruction.' The mask began to slip on his face, and he
adjusted it with a gloved hand. 'You will tell me, please,
where you are to meet Lieutenant Hayter. Here, or aboard
his vessel?'

Rennie was silent a moment, then cleared his throat. 'Sir –
I have no wish to disappoint you, when you hold a loaded
pistol at my head. But I must earnestly insist, you are under a
misapprehension. Please!' As the pistol was once again thrust
into his face. 'For God's sake, now. Will y'not listen to me. If
you have come from Sir Robert Greer, then I – '

'Sir Robert Who-is-he?' Withdrawing the muzzle a
fraction.

'Sir Robert Greer . . . ? You do not know him?'

'I have never heard the name. Do not attempt to distract
me, I warn you.' Again thrusting the pistol.

Rennie had had more than enough of this bullying,
hectoring nonsense, and he took a deep, quiet breath.

'Well? Where d'you meet Lieutenant Hayter! Tell me!'

'I am, I fear, unable to help you at all.' Deliberately meek,
deliberately defensive, with a little shrug – to provoke his
opponent. He succeeded. The muzzle of the pistol was
advanced towards Rennie's chin, and in that moment Rennie
thrust up a hand, grasped the muzzle and wrenched it aside,
and kicked with all his strength into the fellow's crotch. Felt
his foot connect, and heard a gasp of pain. Rennie continued
the wrenching motion, and felt the pistol loosen in the
other's grip, and come into his position. He wrenched it free,
reversed its direction, and as his erstwhile assailant sank to his
knees with a groan, pointed it down at his head.

'Take off that bloody mask!'

A groan. Rennie reached down, and tore the mask off. The
man collapsed on the floor, and lay doubled up, his face
hidden. Another groan.

'Aye, I am glad it is painful, you damned blackguard. Only
let me find my shoes, and I will repeat it. Show me your face!'

But the hapless man gave a retch, writhed over and fell on
his back in a dead faint. Rennie stood over him a moment,
then put the pistol on the cabinet, struck a light and lit his
candle. He held the candle over the prostrate figure, and
examined the face. He saw a clean-shaven man, evenfeatured,
of about thirty years. A man unknown to him.

Presently the man coughed, turned his head a little,
coughed again, and came to himself. His face contorted with
pain, and he clutched at his testicles.

'Now then . . .' Rennie leaned over him. 'Who the devil are
you, hey?'

The man sucked in a breath, stared up at Rennie, and was
silently defiant.

'Why have you come here? Why d'you ask me these
questions about Lieutenant Hayter? Who sent you?'

The man turned his head away, and attempted to sit up.

'Stay down on the floor, damn you.' Rennie aimed the
pistol. 'Stay there, and answer me.'

The man coughed, appeared to sag with pain, then leapt to
his feet and flung himself at Rennie, knocking him off
balance. Rennie fell back against the bed, and the man swung
a fierce blow at his head with his clenched fist. Rennie rolled
away, pushed himself off the bed, and as the man came at him
again, fiercely, and caught him a blow to the neck, Rennie
smashed the barrel of the pistol as hard as he could into the
man's arm, then across the side of his head. The flintlock
broke and skidded across the floor, and powder from the pan
scattered. The man gave a coughing grunt, slumped, his head
bouncing off the side of the bed, and fell prostrate and
senseless.

'Damned wretch . . .' Rennie got his breath, and dropped
the pistol on the cabinet.

Rennie summoned the boy, gave him a shilling, and required
him to find two strong men – porters or stable hands – and
bring them to the room.

'Say to them that they will be handsome rewarded, in gold.'

The two men came, stable hands from the yard behind, and
Rennie explained:

'This fellow attempted to rob me at pistol point.' Stepping
aside to allow them to see the prostrate figure. 'I have overpowered
him, but I need to have him took out of the hotel. I
do not want the runners informed, nor the magistrate. I am
here privately, and I want no upset, nor attention drawn to
me. You have me?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Aye, sir.'

'He is to be took away concealed in a cart, or a barrow –
whatever means you have to hand – and left at a place far from
here. I will in course make it worth your while. A golden
guinea.'