“Good afternoon,” they muttered, and in his mind Ben saw the Sparrowhawk in the hands of a stranger, Elsie in a dog pound, the metal beds of an orphanage dormitory, while Lotti felt her uncle’s slap and imagined Federico in chains …

“I have come to ask you,” said Albert Skinner, “why you are not in school.”

Later he would remember this moment, when Lotti and Ben’s expressions changed from guilt to relief, before descending into protest. He would tell himself that that was the moment when he should have known they were a force to be reckoned with. But the relief, though enormous, was only fleeting and very quickly gave way to a level of protest he had not expected.

“What do you mean, school?” Lotti cried.

If Albert was startled by Lotti’s appearance, barefoot and dressed in a pair of rolled-up overalls stolen from Aunt Vera’s jumble pile, he did not let it distract him. “School means school,” he said. “I don’t know how else to put it. Everyone knows what school is. Children go to it to learn, until they are fourteen. I am telling you about it because it’s the law.”

“You’re wrong,” said Lotti. “School ends when you’re twelve. My uncle specifically told me so.”

“It’s a new law,” said Albert. “And I am never wrong.”

“But that’s a terrible law!”

Albert was conscious, as so many people were on first meeting Lotti, of an incipient headache.

“It doesn’t matter if you think the law is terrible,” he said. “You can’t change it. I am just here to tell you …”

He paused. Federico, hearing Lotti’s agitation, was howling in sympathy from Nathan’s workshop.

“What is that?” asked Albert.

“It’s nothing,” said Lotti. “I mean, it’s a dog. My dog. He’s ill.”

“Do you want to go to him?”

“Not really.”

“Right.” Albert hesitated. “Well, as I was saying …”

“I can’t go to school.” Ben, who had been staring at Albert in shocked silence, finally spoke. “I have a job. I need the money. I have to repair the Sparrowhawk. For when my brother gets back,” he added quickly.

“About that,” said Albert. “I was wondering when …”

“I can’t go to school either,” Lotti cut in firmly. “For many reasons, not least because school is hateful. It’s all very well for the government to make these laws, but they don’t have to live them.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to talk to your parents about that,” said Albert.

“They’re dead,” snapped Lotti, and was savagely pleased to see Albert flush.

Ben had been thinking hard. “Clara would have said if I had to go to school.”

“Who,” asked Lotti, “is Clara?”