“Sit.” Stagg pointed with his free hand to the table bench.

Hawkwood did as he was told, making sure, as he sat down, that his legs were on the outside of the bench. The fact that there was no need to brace himself against the angle of the boat told him that Snake was either hove to, or as was more likely, turned into the wind, her sails slackened.

“What the hell is this, Stagg?”

“Cyrus, get the musket,” Stagg ordered.

Without speaking, the crewman who’d stuck his gun in Hawkwood’s face retrieved the weapon from beneath the blanket and passed it to his captain. Stagg transferred the pistol to his belt and hefted the long gun in his hand. He held the stock up to the lantern and squinted as he ran a broad thumb around the lock plate.

“Interestin’. It’s got the Harpers Ferry mark.” He looked at Lawrence. “Belonged to your father, Mr Jones, yes?”

“Indeed it did,” Lawrence said.

“Military-issue, too, I see,” Stagg continued in a conversational tone. “Your father a military man, then?”

Lawrence lifted his chin. “He was. Served with distinction.”

“Did he now?” Stagg said, tilting his head to one side. “That’s strange. Y’see they only started making these around ten years ago. Before that they all came from the Springfield armoury. Call me suspicious, but you ain’t in the first flush, Mr Jones, so your father would have to be gettin’ on a tad, or else he’s passed over. Either way, I’m thinkin’ it’s unlikely he’d ever have fired this beauty in anger.”

Hell and damnation, Hawkwood thought. Betrayed by a bloody musket? He took a deep breath, suspecting there was little to gain by feigning outrage. “What’s your point, Stagg?”

“I’m gettin’ to that.” Stagg laid the musket down at the end of the table and wagged an admonishing forefinger. “Y’know, from the moment we met I kept askin’ myself who the two of you might be. Not Smith and Jones, that’s for sure.”

“That didn’t seem to matter a whole hell of a lot when you took our sixty dollars,” Hawkwood said.

“Aye, well, that was then. This is now.”

“And you’ve had time to mull things over,” Hawkwood said drily.

Stagg snapped his fingers. “Exactly. Mostly, though, I’ve been thinkin’ about that toast you made. To private enterprise.”

“What about it?”

Stagg tugged an earlobe. “Got to thinkin’ it weren’t a bad rule. Figured I should embark on a little private enterprise of my own.”

“Glad I was able to help,” Hawkwood said. “But I thought that’s what you were already engaged in.”