‘He’s gone. Blackbeard found him. My son was alive, and now he’s . . .’

‘What happened?’ He rose, fear flooding through him. Blackbeard had found Davey?

‘The imposter. The fake Forest. He was working for Blackbeard.’

Mackerel shook his head. ‘No. No! We were sure he wasn’t . . .’

‘There’s only one way to get Davey back. Blackbeard wants the ice Shelby cooked. You and I have to deliver it to him. In exchange. Right now.’

‘Okay. Okay, what do I do?’

‘You cannot, on any condition, tell another soul. If you do, Davey’s dead. Not even Ahab. Do I have your word?’ Her voice was watery and full of pain. ‘Promise me, Mackenzie.’

He’d been a small boy the last time she’d called him Mackenzie.

‘What do I need to do?’ he said again.

Mackenzie met Ivy at the entrance to the marina. He was dressed in a silk shirt, expensive slacks. He let his gold chain hang on his chest, top buttons undone, glinting in the sun.

‘Well,’ said Ivy, squinting. She wore a pantsuit he’d never seen her in before and a red headscarf. Almost like an old-timey aviator. ‘You certainly look the part.’

Yes, he did. And he hated it.

He forced himself to smile.

‘Blackbeard is sending someone to pick us up from the end of the third pier.’ She held out her arm. ‘Let’s go, Mackenzie.’

Arm in arm, tripping over his bad leg, he let her lead him. He expected her to berate him, or tease him for losing his footing, but all she did was clutch him tighter.

He caught sight of a speedboat headed towards the end of the pier. It pulled in and he climbed down into it, helping Ivy find her feet as she stepped aboard. He didn’t recognise the driver, but the driver recognised Ivy.

‘Thank you, dear,’ she said to the driver, in her normal manner. ‘Take us where we need to go.’

She sat down beside Mackenzie, pulling his hand into hers. ‘Thank you. Together, we’ll save Davey.’

His heart swelled.

And then . . . slowly, like a balloon with a small leak, deflated.

This was what he’d always wanted. His mother, affectionate, valuing him. And he, riding in to save Davey.

So why did it feel so wrong?

They dipped through the waves, Ivy’s headscarf flapping in the wind, the driver shooting glances back at them. They followed the coast until they came to a quiet bay, where the driver pulled them up alongside a large cray-fishing barge. Mackenzie instantly set about memorising identifying features – its rusted-red colour, the tyres tied in a line right at water-level, and especially the name: Margot’s Revenge.

A big man with a beanie and two gold chains was waiting for them at the top of the ladder, with two more rough-looking men beside him. ‘Hello, Mrs Dempsey. I see you’ve got something for us?’