It was true, the canal did feel different. Fields and villages were giving way to small towns, the lovely quiet waterways were growing more crowded. The crews of the boats they met were less inclined to chat but had an air of urgency about them as they hurried toward the capital, eager to offload their cargo and reload again before the day was done. Little by little, the sense of urgency communicated itself to Ben and Lotti, even Jim. Only Frank and Federico remained the same, one impassive at the helm of the Starling, the other inquisitive at the bow of the Sparrowhawk.

At midday, they stopped briefly for lunch. Rather than watch hopefully for scraps as was her usual habit, Elsie lay on her side in the shade, breathing heavily.

“Look how swollen her belly is,” said Ben. “Should I take her to a vet? How much would it cost?”

“A lot.” Frank narrowed his eyes as he looked at Elsie.

“Never mind the dog for a minute,” said Jim. “Me and Frank, we’ve been thinking. We’ll be coming into Brentford this evening, so you two’ll be wanting to catch the morning tide.”

“What tide?” asked Lotti.

“The one on the Thames, Charlie,” growled Frank.

“Oh yes,” said Lotti, avoiding his eye. “I forgot about that.”

“God give me strength,” sighed Frank. “You are going to drown.”

“We’ll be unloading at Brentford Basin,” said Jim, ignoring his brother. “And we was going to turn back, but what we’re thinking is we’ll see you on to the Thames first. Ben, you’re first class at the tiller and Charlie, you’ve got a lot better, but the Thames is something different. You’ll be heading east toward the sea, which means you got to cut right across the river to get in the right lane, and the current’ll be fearsome. But all you got to do, Ben, is follow us and do exactly what we do. We’ll see you as far as Limehouse. After that, you’re on your own. Happy?”

“Yes!” Ben swallowed, feeling daunted. “Very happy.”

They woke Elsie, climbed aboard again and pressed on. Ben and Lotti’s hearts beat fast, their breath was short, their palms were damp.

London!

The approach down to Brentford was steep, with eight locks over less than a mile, and the canal was busy. It was slow going, and hard work, and until they moored alongside the Starling in the crowded basin, Lotti and Ben paid little attention to their surroundings. When they finally looked up, they felt confused. They had been vaguely expecting packed streets, giant warehouses, throngs of smartly dressed people. They saw only a basin crowded with narrowboats, a boatyard, a handful of pubs and chandlers.

“It looks like any old town,” said Ben.