He asked directions from a boy carrying a cage of goldfinches. Fifteen minutes later he found the Jenny alongside a stone jetty, much larger ships tied fore and aft of her. She was, at a guess, no more than a quarter the size of the ship he had sailed in to Lisbon. Two masts, a high prow, her deck cluttered with ropes and gear and stores. Certainly you would not get much cavalry inside the Jenny.

On the jetty beside her, a crane on small iron wheels was hoisting wooden crates, the ropes hauled by a pair of blinkered horses, sad-looking creatures, their ribs showing through dull hides. Overseeing the work, and giving out at frequent intervals the order “Careful there!”, was a broad-backed man in a short black jacket, his head bare, his hair, what was left of it, curled around his ears and the collar of his jacket, some strands dark still, most of it grey.

Lacroix approached him and said he was looking for the master of the Jenny.

“You have found him,” said the other, his attention on the hooking of a crate. When the hook was snug, the horses were walked until the rope tautened.

“I am your passenger for Glasgow. I hope William Swann told you to expect me?”

The man nodded. The crate was at rest between gravity and the strength of the horses. Then it began to rise.

“What are you loading?”

“Glass.”

On the deck, the crew eased the crate towards them by means of a trailing rope. The horses stopped. They had the burden of what they couldn’t see. Then they were walked slowly backwards, and the crate descended into a nest of arms.

“You have dunnage?” asked the master, looking at Lacroix for the first time.

“Just what I carry.”

“What’s in there?” He pointed.

“A violin. A fiddle.”

“I don’t much care for music at sea,” said the master, though something in his face made it hard to know how serious he was.

“We should agree on a price,” said Lacroix.

“To Glasgow it is five.”

“It is . . . ?”

“Five.”

“Pounds?”

“Guineas. You have a servant with you?”

“No.”

“Then you have a cabin to yourself. You will eat with the crew. If you want liquor you must speak to the cook and pay him by the bottle. You will not give drink to any of the crew.”

Lacroix nodded. He had caught most of this, not all. “You wish for the money now?”

“It can come later.”

“And when should I board?”

“Wait over in the Star there. I’ll send for you when we’re ready.”

“My luggage?”

“Leave it where you are. We will bring it on when we have the leisure.”

“It will be safe here?”

“Why?” said the master. “Do you not trust sailors?”