There were no street lamps. The moon was the only source of illumination. It hung in the sky like a pearl pendant, throwing shadows into the alleyways and casting the hills in coal-black silhouettes as, collars raised, Hawkwood and Lawrence headed for the harbour. There weren’t many people around. The few that were paid them no attention. The only moment of apprehension occurred when Lawrence let out a warning hiss: “Eyes right!”

Hawkwood tensed as three men in what were clearly military uniforms emerged from a darkened alleyway and crossed the street a few yards ahead of them. The men glanced briefly in their direction but did not linger. Hawkwood released his breath.

“Well, that just took ten years off my life,” Lawrence muttered as he watched the trio fade into the night.

They walked on, their senses heightened, but there were no more surprises. Turning the next corner, they found themselves at the edge of the moonlit basin looking out on to a row of spindly wooden landings against which vessels of various configurations were berthed. A few craft showed lights, but most were in shadow.

The odour coming off the Snake’s tar-painted hull was detectable long before she came into view. It was that as much as her appearance that told them they had the right vessel.

A small, single-masted sloop perhaps forty to fifty feet in length and berthed well away from prying eyes, she had, presumably, been deemed too insignificant to be commandeered by the military. Or maybe it was the smell that had put them off.

“Christ!” Lawrence whispered. “I’ve seen better looking night-soil barges.”

Barely discernible in faded lettering across her transom was the legend Snake. And indeed there was something undeniably sinister in the way her blackened timbers seemed to overlap like scales.

There didn’t appear to be any sign of life aboard, but as Hawkwood and Lawrence drew closer a face appeared over the port gunwale and a sinewy figure rose into view from a hatchway amidships.

“Lookin’ for somethin’?” The enquiry carried no warmth.

“Here to see Captain Stagg,” Hawkwood said. “We’re expected.”

The figure stared at them for several seconds before turning and disappearing from view.

A couple of seconds later it was back.

“Best come this way then.”

They climbed aboard.

In the course of his research into the best route homeward, Hawkwood had learned that the ban on trade with Canada had led to an increase in cross-border smuggling. Being familiar with the smuggling brotherhood of the Kent coast, he was willing to wager that the free-traders active in Vermont and New York State would be similarly inclined when it came to laying patriotism aside in favour of lining their own pockets.