The sailors, most of whom appeared to be mermen, were making a great show of looking busy. Keep at it, boys. I waited until most of their backs were turned then, inhaling deeply, threw myself forward, legs and arms akimbo. My fingers only just caught the edge of a porthole and my body slammed into the side of the ship a moment later. There was a heavy clunk which had my insides stiffening in alarm. I hung there for several seconds, trying to keep my grip secure. I hadn’t expected the porthole to be so slimy, which in hindsight was remarkably stupid of me, and it wasn’t easy to cling on. Eventually a few shouts carried over by the helpful wind reached my ears. The sailors’ attention was focused on the other side of the ship. I didn’t need to worry.

The ship’s hull might have been slippery but it was also obviously used to far deeper waters than these. There were enough barnacles which, if I didn’t allow my toes to linger on them for too long, could provide the grip I required. I craned my neck to judge my route then, knowing I wouldn’t be able to hang onto the rim of the porthole for much longer, leapt up. The second I hit the deck I rolled, using the steel containers crammed along the side to conceal myself from alert eyes. The ship heaved in the water. It was no wonder I usually chose to stick to dry land; even within the safety of the harbour, the waves were enough to make my stomach rise into my throat.

I pressed myself against the container’s side, not just to keep myself from being spotted but also because it was reassuringly solid. Edging along, I peered round the corner. There was an open door leading into the blackness of the ship’s hold.

I was in unknown territory. Under normal circumstances I sneaked into buildings, and modern architectural design, especially when it came to interiors, tended to be much of a muchness. Even without floor plans, it didn’t take much common sense to understand layouts and locations. But, beyond the fact that icebergs were to be avoided at all costs, I knew next to nothing about ships.Perhaps if I just wandered in yelling ‘Ahoy me hearties!’ I’d be alright.

Before I could dart inside, the Sidhe noble reappeared. He had a long thin nose, which spoke of some ancient Roman heritage, and piercing eyes. I didn’t recognise him so he wasn’t the Carnegie Clan Chieftain, despite his regal bearing.

‘It all needs to go to the Cruaich immediately,’ he said in a cultured tone, referring to the seat of Sidhe power where Aifric Moncrieffe ruled as Steward.

One of the mermen cleared his throat. ‘There’s been a heavy snowfall…’

‘I don’t care,’ the Sidhe snapped. ‘We can’t afford prying eyes seeing what we have.’