It was all so odd and unreal, she could not feel any sense of danger. She was marveling at this when a dun yellow cloth slid across the scene like a theater curtain. Her cry of surprise was echoed by several others nearby.

“It’s the Catnip! They’ve pulled alongside us!” was the call from above.

“Call out to them! Let them know they’re likely to be caught in the crossfire!” Miss Kitely called back.

“They’re saying nothing, but they’re keeping pace and giving us the wave.” Stallwrath sounded bewildered.

It was true. The little lighter with the yellow sail had slowed to hold its place between the Laurel Bower and the jetty where the Duke’s men leveled their muskets in vain. “Her mainsail is shaking, but they’re making no move to right her. I think . . . she’s shielding us from fire.”

From Mosca’s knothole she could see nothing but the yellow sail, but a minute later she heard gasps from a couple of the radicals at other spyholes.

“It’s the Peck o’ Clams,” cried Miss Kitely, “sails close-hauled to hide us, dragging anchor to slow her down to our pace. What are they doing?”

There was no answer to this question. All that Stallwrath could report as he crouched behind the safety of the coffeehouse chimney was that they were suddenly surrounded by a convoy of little boats, whose grimly smiling captains saluted them but offered no explanation. For the moment there was little danger of being shot, and as little chance of firing at their attackers on the bank. Everyone on the Bower quickly realized they could get on with the argument they’d been itching to have.

Miss Kitely was sure that if the Watermen knew what was happening, they would rush back to defend the Laurel Bower, then charge to the coast to stop the Birdcatchers. Everyone else thought that the Watermen were unlikely to accept the word of a huddle of outlaws against the word of a duke.

Goshawk wanted to send one of his men on a fast horse to the Locksmith troops waiting upstream, so that if everyone in the Laurel Bower perished, “the Duke would pay the price.” Everyone else thought this sounded extremely dangerous, and they were not at all keen on the bit about everyone in the coffeehouse dying.

Hopewood Pertellis suggested that he should borrow a little dinghy from the convoy and approach the shore under a flag of parley to explain everything “and stop all this foolishness.” Everyone else was very polite about this idea, then changed the subject completely.