“Figured you might say that,” Stagg responded, awarding himself a knowing smile. “If’n I were in your shoes, I’d try the same thing. But all things considered, I reckon we’ll pass. Not that I don’t trust you, of course, as officers and gentlemen – even if you are wanted for killin’ two of New York’s finest. But we’ve just rounded Caution Point; Plattsburg’s no more’n twelve miles off our port bow. Come late morning, you’ll be the army’s problem an’ we’ll be bound for St Johns. That way, everyone’s happy.”

“Except us,” Hawkwood pointed out.

Stagg shrugged. “True, but I don’t plan on losin’ any sleep over that.”

“Enough of the talking, Remus. Let’s see what they’ve got.”

Lawrence fixed the speaker with a steady gaze, though when he spoke it was with cold menace. “If I were you, my friend, I’d be careful what you wish for.”

Before the crewman could formulate a reply, Stagg raised his pistol and aimed it at Hawkwood. “Talkin’s over. You first. What’ll it be?”

Hawkwood stared about the cabin and took a deep, calming breath. Then, reaching inside his coat, he said resignedly, “Doesn’t look as though we’ve much choice, does it?”

“There you go,” Stagg said, a grin forming. “You know it makes sen—”

The word died in Stagg’s throat as in one fluid move Hawkwood drew out the pistol he’d cocked when rising from his cot, and shot Stagg through the right eye.

The sound of the gun was incredibly loud. Stagg’s head snapped back. Blood and brains splattered the bulkhead behind him. The pistol he’d been holding clattered to the deck.

Lawrence was already rising, going for the man at his shoulder. Hawkwood jerked aside as the second armed crewman threw up his pistol only to discover as he tried to fire off a shot that he’d failed to cock it.

Amateur, Hawkwood thought as he came off the bench and swept his spent pistol towards the smuggler’s gun hand. The barrel slammed into the wrist as the other pistol discharged. The blow was enough to distract the smuggler’s aim. The ball grazed Hawkwood’s shoulder and struck the lantern, snuffing out the candle and plunging the cabin into darkness.

Attempting to adjust his eyes to the sudden gloom, Hawkwood launched a foot strike at the crewman’s groin. He felt his boot connect and as the man collapsed, he transferred the pistol to his left hand and turned to face the last crew member who was plunging towards him, arm drawn back.