Once she began to take on water, the Sparrowhawk’s end was fast. There was just time for Sam to bring her to the bank. Clara held fast to the mooring lines while Elsie and Federico ran up and down the shoreline and the others salvaged all they could—the puppies in their crate, the splintered robin and the kingfisher, Nathan’s books … rucksacks, clothes, the three tin mugs … Clara was struggling to keep the Sparrowhawk alongside the riverbank. Sam jumped ashore to help her, and Ben tore about the cabins alone, panicking, seizing what he could … a box of paints, a frying pan, a pillow, a blanket … passing them up through the cabin hatch to Lotti on deck as all the time his mind shrieked at him that this couldn’t be true, this couldn’t be happening …

“Ben! Lotti!” Sam shouted. “You have to get off! You have to get off now!”

For the last time, Ben and Lotti leaped from the deck onto the bank. Then, with an awful groan, the dear Sparrowhawk, where for nine years Ben had felt safe and loved, which had carried him and Lotti so bravely on their quest to find Sam—the Sparrowhawk disappeared underwater.

For almost a full minute no one but the barking dogs made a sound.

Damp, bedraggled, their shoes and clothes dripping muddy river water, Lotti and Ben stood clutching each other.

“It’s my fault,” said Lotti at last in a strangled voice. “If I hadn’t wanted to come here, if I hadn’t been in such a hurry …”

“No, no, no,” whispered Ben. “It’s my fault. I’m the one who said she could make it …”

“It’s nobody’s fault,” murmured Sam. “The old girl broke doing what she’s always done, rescuing people. It’s what she was best at.”

“Poor Sparrowhawk.” Clara swallowed a sob. “Poor, brave Sparrowhawk.”

The sun, which had disappeared behind a cloud, came out again, glinting on the water, and everyone’s behavior shifted. Only Federico remained where he was, absolutely still, watching the spot where the Sparrowhawk had gone down, as if expecting it at any moment to break through the water and reappear. Elsie left the shoreline to return to her puppies. Sam and Clara began to gather the rescued items from the shore. Lotti and Ben let go of each other to help. In due course, they would mourn the Sparrowhawk fully, and think about what came next. For now, her loss was too much to process. It was only possible to think about what they should do this minute, and in the minutes which followed.

From the road behind them came a rumbling sound, loud and intrusive, but they ignored it.

Lotti said, in a tiny voice, “Maybe my grandmother will let us all stay with her. How far is it now to Armande?”

Ben, his voice equally small, said, “About a mile.”

“We can walk it,” sighed Clara, but nobody moved.