At Queen Square she smells it, seeping in through the ventilation system, a spicy, acrid taint on the air, the sky a sinister pinkish hue. There are sirens now too and the whump of a helicopter. Alex is driving round, looking for somewhere to park, finally giving up and pulling the van in beside a parked car. They both leap out and, not stopping to lock up, rush across the wide green space of the square in the direction of Redcliffe Bridge. The smell is terrible, the air scraping at the throat and thick on the lungs. At the top of the bridge there are already police cars stationed and a group of uniformed officers is diverting the traffic, whilst others tape off the area to secure it. At the far, eastern end of the bridge, a police van blocks entry to traffic and there is a line of people strung along the barrier that side whose bodies appear to be turned to the east. Lights are being set up but they’re not on yet. On the inside of the barrier Honor can just see the twirling lights of fire engines. From where she is standing on Welsh Back there is too much billowing smoke to make out the source of the fire but it appears to be somewhere on the water. She thinks of the brazier and the circle of bodies warming themselves beside it. Her head ticking, she surges forward towards the police cordon.

A policewoman holds out her hands to stop her.

‘No one on the bridge, I’m afraid.’

‘Is the fire by the tents?’ Honor is bent over, trying to catch her breath.

‘I believe it’s on one of the boats.’

Oh God, Honor thinks, remembering the back panel of the wood stove on the Halcyon Days. Why hadn’t she fixed it?

‘We have… We live on one of the narrowboats. My daughter…’

Alex has caught up now. ‘Is everyone safely on shore?’

‘Impossible to say at the moment, sir,’ the policewoman says. Holding up a hand to answer her radio, then turning back to Alex and Honor, she says, ‘I’m sorry, this is an ongoing situation. I’m under instructions to keep everyone here until further notice.’ She leans into her radio again and straightening herself to full height says, ‘The information I’m getting is that the affected boat is called Hal’s Days?’

‘Halcyon – that’s ours! That’s our boat. My daughter…!’

Honor feels herself surge forward and then trip. Alex’s hands are on her, pulling her back.

‘Honor, they won’t let you go.’

She feels herself struggling but it’s hopeless.

‘It’s OK,’ he says, talking into her ear. ‘It’s OK. I want you to promise to stay here on the bridge.’