They turned for the companionway, only to find their route blocked.

“Back so soon, Mr Renner?” Lawrence quipped.

The first officer touched his forehead in salute. “Captain Winans conveys his compliments, gentlemen, but he wishes to speak with you.”

“Does he?” Lawrence smiled. “Did he say what it’s concerning?”

Renner looked apologetic. “Sorry, sir, can’t help you there. I’m afraid steamboat captains are often cut from the same cloth as generals. They tend not to confide in the lower ranks.”

Lawrence chuckled and clapped Renner on the shoulder. “The lad’s a quick learner. Very well, Mr Renner, on the basis that it’s got to be a damned sight drier down there than it is up here, we’re with you!”

As they went down the ladder and made their way aft, Hawkwood was again struck by how much headroom there was below deck compared to other more conventional craft. Aboard Vermont there was no need to adopt a Simian crouch, an occupational hazard common to every sailing vessel Hawkwood had ever been on. Here, you could walk upright without ducking to avoid overhead beams. And with the interior bulkheads painted a uniform white, the steamboat seemed unnaturally roomy compared to a ship of the line, despite its modest dimensions.

As for the cacophony of creaks and groans and the calling of hands to their stations – sounds common to all vessels under sail – they were non-existent. Instead, there was only the all-pervasive rumble of the paddlewheels pushing her through the water, a constant reminder that Vermont’s progress was due to artificial contrivance rather than nature’s whim.

The smells were markedly different, too. This vessel was free of the rank odours associated with mildewed timbers or the press of humanity in a confined space. Instead, the over-riding aromas were of grease and burning pinewood.

Arriving outside the captain’s cabin, Renner knocked and waited for a reply.

“Enter!”

Renner opened the door and led them in before moving aside. Captain Winans was standing by his chart table, hands clasped behind his back. He gave a taciturn nod.

“Thank you, Mr Renner. You may carry on.”

“Aye, sir.”

Renner left, closing the door behind him.

As traps went, Hawkwood had to admit that Winans had laid his rather well. Though, if the cabin door had opened outwards instead of inwards it might not have worked. As the door swung back it acted as a screen, masking the uniformed figure who was standing silently behind it. It was only as Renner pulled the door shut that Hawkwood caught the human form at the edge of his eye and turned. As Winans brought the pistol out from behind his back, the blue-coated figure limped into full view.

Eyes dark with fury, his own pistol pointing at Hawkwood’s head, Major Harlan Quade spoke in a voice strumming with rage.

“You black-hearted son of a bitch! I’ve a mind to shoot you where you stand, so help me!”