Working on the principle that the best lies are the ones closest to the truth, he had told John Snell that he was going to meet his brother, but kept vague about the details. John hadn’t pressed him, offering instead, in lieu of final wages, to fill the Sparrowhawk’s fuel tank. Ben had driven her to the boatyard in the afternoon after his shift, and John had given him a map as a goodbye present. Back at the Sparrowhawk’s mooring, Ben had worked out the route they should take—along the canal network to join the Thames in London, then along the Thames Estuary all the way to the sea, round the Kent coast and out across the Channel to Calais. It was a lot more sea than Ben had anticipated, and he didn’t like the look of the Thames either, which grew wider and wider as it snaked through London to the mouth of its estuary beyond. There would be tides to contend with, both on the sea and on the river … and there would be currents, and other boats, big ones, cargo ships and military vessels, which could mow down the little Sparrowhawk and cut her in half without even noticing …

And then there were the people who might come after them—Clara, the Netherburys and Albert Skinner. Of these, the most immediate danger was from Albert Skinner. Ben did his calculations again: Albert wasn’t due back in Barton until Wednesday. By then, the Sparrowhawk should have reached London, where the waterways were so busy she would just disappear.

Ben hoped …

It was an awful lot to think about—the physical danger, the risk of getting caught. But if they didn’t go, Ben might lose everything—Elsie, the Sparrowhawk, all hope of finding Sam.

Pitched against this, Albert Skinner and the Thames and even the Channel were nothing.

Ben was ready.

Lotti arrived just after dark, bent almost double under her enormous rucksack. Federico greeted her ecstatically, and she laughed as she made a fuss over him, but when she looked up Ben saw that she had been crying again.

“What’s happened?” he asked. “Is it your uncle?”

“No, no! He’s gone, thank goodness. It’s just … oh, I know Barton’s not what it was, but I’m a little bit sad to leave, you know? Because I don’t know when I’ll see it again. You’re so lucky, Ben, to be able to run away and take home with you.”

Ben was dumbstruck. He had never thought of this before.

“Well,” he said, a little diffidently because it felt like a very big thing to say, “the Sparrowhawk’s your home now too.”

There was a brief, awkward pause in which they both felt suddenly overwhelmed by the enormity of what they were about to do.

“Your hair …” said Ben.

“Do you like it?” Lotti ran her hands over her shorn locks.