“Buggers say it’ll cost a rupee to reach the ship, sir,” Hopper explained, “then they get halfway and triple the price, and if they don’t get it they’ll row back to the quay. Our boys do the same thing when they pick passengers up at Deal to row them out to the Downs.” He tugged on a rudder line to skirt the two boats.

Sharpe saw that Lord William Hale, his wife and a young man were the passengers in the leading boat, while two servants and a pile of luggage were crammed into the second. Lord William was speaking angrily with a grinning Indian who seemed unmoved by his lordship’s ire.

“His bloody lordship will just have to pay up,” Hopper said, “or else get rowed ashore.”

“Take us close,” Sharpe said.

Hopper glanced at him, then shrugged as if to suggest that it was none of his business if Sharpe wanted to make a fool of himself. “Ease oars!” he shouted and the crew lifted their dripping blades from the water to let the barge glide on until it was within a few feet of the stranded boats. “Back water!” Hopper snapped and the oars dipped again to bring the elegant boat to a stop.

Sharpe stood. “You have trouble, my lord?”

Lord William frowned at Sharpe, but said nothing, while his wife managed to suggest that an even more noxious stench than the others in the harbor had somehow approached her delicate nostrils. She just stared sternward, ignoring the Indian crew, her husband and Sharpe. It was the third passenger, the young man who was dressed as soberly as a curate, who stood and explained their trouble. “They won’t move,” he complained.

“Be quiet, Braithwaite, be quiet and sit down,” his lordship snapped, disdaining Sharpe’s assistance.

Not that Sharpe wanted to help Lord William, but his wife was another matter and it was for her benefit that Sharpe drew his pistol and cocked the flint. “Row on!” he ordered the Indian, who answered by spitting overboard.