“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 toward 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 feces to cure leather. “Some boys go to sea,” Hocking said grandly, “some sweep chimneys, some scoop shit, some die, 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.”