man had come from the tavern’s back door to whisper in his ear. A raucous cheer sounded from behind the door. The cheers had been sounding ever since Sharpe had arrived in the tavern and he had pretended not to hear them. Now he ignored the young man who tipped a stream of coins into the clerk’s leather bag, then gave Hocking a pile of grubby paper slips that vanished into the big man’s pocket. ‘Business,’ Hocking said gruffly.
‘In Lewes,’ Sharpe said, ‘the parish offers three pounds to anyone who will take an orphan out of the workhouse.’
‘If I had such cash, Major, I could strip Brewhouse Lane of the little bastards in five minutes.’ Hocking chuckled. ‘For a pound apiece! A pound! But we ain’t a rich parish. We ain’t Lewes. We ain’t got the funds to palm the little bastards off onto others. No, we relies on others paying us!’ He sank half the ale, then gave Sharpe a suspicious look. ‘So what does you want, Major?’
‘Drummer boys,’ Sharpe said. The 95th did not employ drummer boys, but he doubted Jem Hocking understood that.
‘Drummer boys,’ Hocking said. ‘I’ve got lads that could beat a drum. They ain’t much good for anything, but they can beat a drum. But why come to me for them, Major? Why not go to Lewes? Why not get three pounds with every lad?’
‘Because the Lewes Board of Visitors won’t let the boys go to be soldiers.’
‘They won’t?’ Hocking could not hide his astonishment.
‘There are women on the Board,’ Sharpe said.
‘Ah, women!’ Hocking exclaimed. He shook his head in exasperation and despair. ‘They’ll be the end of common sense, women will. There are none on our Board, I warrant you that. Women!’
‘And the Canterbury Board insists the boys go before a magistrate,’ Sharpe said.
‘Canterbury?’ Hocking was confused.
‘We have a second battalion at Canterbury,’ Sharpe explained, ‘and we could get the boys from there, only the magistrates interfere.’
Hocking was still confused. ‘Why wouldn’t the bloody magistrates want boys to be soldiers?’
‘The boys die,’ Sharpe said, ‘they die like bloody flies. You have to understand, Mister Hocking, that the Rifles are the troops nearest the enemy. Under their noses, we are, and the boys have to serve as cartridge carriers when they ain’t drumming. Back and forth, they are, and somehow they seem to be targets. Bang, bang. Always killing boys, we are. Mind you, if they live, it’s a fine life. They can become Chosen Men!’
‘A rare opportunity,’ Hocking said, believing every word of Sharpe’s nonsense. ‘And I can assure you, Major, there’ll be no interference from Boards or magistrates here. None! You can take my word for it.’ He poured himself more ale. ‘So what are we talking about here?’
Sharpe leaned back, pretending to think. ‘Two battalions?’ he suggested. ‘Twenty companies? Say we lose four boys a year to the enemy and another six die of fever or manage to grow up? Ten lads a year? They have to be eleven years old, or near enough to pass.’
‘Ten boys a year?’ Hocking managed to hide his enthusiasm. ‘And you’d pay?’
‘The army will pay, Mister Hocking.’
‘Aye, but how much? How much?’
‘Two pounds apiece,’ Sharpe said. He was amazed at his own glibness. He had dreamed of this revenge, plotting it in his imagination without ever thinking he would actually work it, yet now the lines were slipping off his tongue with convincing ease.
Hocking stuffed a clay pipe with tobacco as he considered the offer. Twenty pounds a year was a fine sum, but a little too obvious. A little too tidy. He drew a candle towards him and lit the pipe. ‘The magistrates will want paying,’ he observed.
‘You said there’d be no trouble from magistrates,’ Sharpe objected.
‘That’s because they’ll be paid,’ Hocking pointed out, ‘and there’ll be other costs, Major, other costs. Always are other costs.’ He blew a stream of smoke at the ceiling. ‘Have you talked to your Colonel about this?’
‘I wouldn’t be here otherwise.’
Hocking nodded. Which meant Sharpe had negotiated a price with the Colonel and Hocking was damned sure it was not two pounds a boy. Five pounds, more like, with the Colonel creaming a pair off the top and Sharpe taking a single. ‘Four pounds,’ Hocking said.
‘Four!’
‘I don’t need you, Major,’ Hocking said. ‘I’ve got chimney sweeps who like my lads, and those that don’t sweep chimneys can shovel up the pure.’ He meant they could collect dog turds that they delivered to the city’s tanners who used the faeces to cure leather. ‘Some boys go to sea,’ Hocking said grandly, ‘some sweep chimneys, some scoop shit, some dies, and the rest go to the gallows. They’re all scum, Major, but they’re my scum, and if you wants them then you pays my price. And you will, you will.’
‘I will, why?’
‘Because, Major, you don’t need to come to Wapping to get boys. You can find lads anywhere, magistrates or no magistrates.’ Hocking turned his shrewd eyes on Sharpe. ‘No, Major, you came to me on purpose.’
‘I came to you for drummer boys,’ Sharpe said, ‘and no awkward magistrates and no one caring that so many die.’
Hocking still stared at him. ‘Go on,’ he said.
Sharpe hesitated, then seemed to make up his mind. ‘And girls,’ he said.
‘Ah.’ Hocking half smiled. He understood weakness and greed and Sharpe, at last, was making sense.
‘We hear –’ Sharpe began.
‘Who’s we?’
‘The Colonel and me.’
‘And who told you?’ Hocking asked fiercely.
‘No one told me,’ Sharpe said, ‘but someone told the Colonel. He sent me.’
Hocking leaned back and pulled at his bushy side whiskers as he considered the answer. He found it plausible and nodded. ‘Your Colonel likes ’em young, eh?’
‘We both do,’ Sharpe said, ‘young and untouched.’
Hocking nodded again. ‘The boys will be four pounds apiece and the girls ten a time.’
Sharpe pretended to consider the price, then shrugged. ‘I want a taste tonight.’
‘Girl or boy?’ Hocking leered.
‘Girl,’ Sharpe said.
‘You’ve got the money?’
Sharpe patted his pack which stood on the sawdust-strewn floor. ‘Guineas,’ he said.
Another cheer sounded behind the back door and Hocking jerked his head in that direction. ‘I’ve got business in there, Major, and it’ll
