Federico, having leaped, missed his landing. For a split second, he clawed onto the edge of the lock with his front paws, scrabbling frantically with his back legs against the wall. It seemed as if he would slide back into the water and either be crushed between the wall and the Sparrowhawk, or drowned, or both. Then, with an impressive display of agility, he heaved himself up and over the edge of the lock. For a moment he stood still, getting his bearings. From the tiller of the Sparrowhawk, Lotti yelled at him to stay. Ignoring her, he raced away, past the Marianne, past the lock and flung himself into the canal at the ducks.

The ducks took off, as ducks always do.

And Federico … Federico tried to swim, but the water was being sucked toward the lock, dragging him under. Federico fought, managed to surface, was pulled under again, and once more fought his way back up. He was pulled a third time, and now he was tired …

On the bank, people were shouting. Federico caught a glimpse of the girl with the baby, the man from the Marianne … And Lotti! His Lotti, screaming at him from the Sparrowhawk, and Ben running toward him …

There was a splash, too heavy for Lotti. A splash and a deep voice swearing at him, using words Federico had only ever heard before from Malachy Campbell, and there was a sort of metal pole and a net and, as the crews of half a dozen narrowboats cheered, he was lifted out of the canal like a fish, and deposited shivering and dripping on the bank.

The lock gates opened, the Marianne and the Sparrowhawk came out. The Marianne went on her way, her crew waving. A shaking Lotti pulled the Sparrowhawk alongside the bank a safe distance from the lock and waited for Ben to help her moor up.

“So much for being inconspicuous,” he hissed as he arrived.

“It’s not my fault!” she protested.

“I told you to watch out for him!” said Ben, but Lotti was already running back to the towpath where Federico, with a shocking lack of gratitude, was shaking water all over his rescuer. With a cry, Lotti scooped the little dog into her arms.

The man who had rescued Federico was called Frank. He was the skipper of the Secret Starling, about forty years old, completely bald under his flat cap and dressed in an ancient patched jacket. He was also wet to his waist, and very cross.

“Lucky for you I keep a fishing net on the Starling,” he snarled at Lotti. “Lucky me and my brother Jim skipped our lunch earlier and stopped for a bite before moving on. Lucky Jim heard you scream, and is softer’n me and said we should help.”