‘I … you see,’ trembled Cusper, ‘I … took the wrong one. Was in a hurry. Shouldn’t have been. Wrong. Wrong. Oh, stupid. I … names … those ugly names … not good with … looking for a girl, I said, in the orphanage … with red hair …’

As he stammered his explanation, his head held low, sweat on brow, he gestured to someone behind him and then a girl stepped forward, one not in a serving Iremongers’ togs at all but in the old orphanage uniform with a leather cap upon her head. It was her, of course. I’d know her anywhere and instantly. The bully from the orphanage, the one I fought with, the one who said it wasn’t right that there were two redheads, the one I bit, the one that scratched, her, her, that one for whom I’d always have to look over my shoulders. That one. I never knew her name.

So it wasn’t supposed to be me all along, I’m not an Iremonger. I’m not Iremonger at all, never have been, never will. Not a drop. Mother wasn’t, she wasn’t at all. I shouldn’t have come. They made a mistake. The other redhead was an Iremonger. Well she would be, wouldn’t she, let’s face it. Iremonger through and through that one.

‘I’ll find her! I’ll point her out,’ she said. ‘Let me! Let me! I’m the one to do it.’

‘Be silent!’ shrieked Piggott. ‘It will be done, and swiftly too. Minimum of fuss. Never been an un-Iremonger in Heap House, never meant to be one all the way out here, spreading disease. Family here. Family only. Intimate. Come now, deary, come now, my chick, step out. Come to Claar. Which one are you?’

I couldn’t go back, not back out there. The door was locked behind me. I couldn’t go forward. There were all those Iremongers waiting for me and some of them were keeping one hand behind their backs – what were they holding there? – whatever it was that they held wasn’t good, I was certain of that.

‘Take your helmets off!’ said Piggott.

‘Excuse me,’ said the Captain.

‘Do it now!’ called the one with the whistle.

‘Come on, girlie, come on now; step out, let’s see you.’

‘My ears!’ cried Idwid.

‘Please excuse me,’ said the Captain, ‘they cannot hear you. They cannot hear through the helmets. They don’t know what’s being asked.’

‘Then get their helmets from them, man! Now!’

‘The anchors will do it! The anchors are the swiftest. Each knows its leather so well. They’re all so different, you see, the helmets are, particular –’

‘I don’t want a lecture, I want the helmets off!’ bellowed the butler.

‘Come here, child, come to Claar, I’ll have you. I mean to have you.’