The wagon gave a jolt and moved forward. Gus crouched lower, praying the guard would not see the hole and decide to investigate. It seemed he did not, because the wagon continued to bump over the cobbles, and Gus turned his thought to the next problem. He was inside the dockyard, but soon the crate would be opened so the guns could be loaded on board and he would be exposed. Was there any chance he might be able to make a run for it? And even if he got away, where could he hide next? How was he going to get on board the ship? He was no nearer to finding an answer when the wagon came to a halt and he heard the voices of men calling instructions to each other. The light increased as the tarpaulin was dragged off, then the crate rocked and vibrated and suddenly jolted upwards.

Gus clung to the barrel of one of the guns as it tilted and then righted itself and he realised that the whole thing was being craned aboard. For a few seconds he swung in mid-air and then he felt himself descending. Darkness fell again as the crate was lowered into the hold, and there was another, harder jolt. It had reached the bottom and different voices echoed round him.

‘Eh, Joe, this one’s split.’

‘Never mind that. Nowt to do with us. Get it unroped before they start yelling for the next one.’

Gus heard the ropes being pulled off and then the men’s footsteps, sounding oddly metallic, as they moved away.

Someone shouted from above, ‘That’s the last one, boys. Come on up.’

Gus wriggled to the hole and cautiously put his head out. His crate was on top of another one, and all around him other crates were piled one on another. Above him was a square of light, the hatch through which he had descended, and hanging from it a rope ladder.

The stevedores who had manhandled the crates into position were climbing up it, one after another. Gus realised with a shock that once they were all out, the hatch covers would be replaced and he would be incarcerated in total darkness. After that, the hatches would not be opened until the ship reached its destination, which might be weeks, even months ahead. Panic seized him. Whatever happened, he could not stay where he was. He crawled through the hole and let himself down to the deck. Through his fear he registered the reason for the odd sound of the men’s boots. The deck was metal. He had heard of steel ships, but never understood how they could float. He ran to the bottom of the ladder and grabbed hold of it and began to haul himself upwards, grateful for the first time for the past months of Captain Thomas’s discipline, which had developed in him the necessary muscles to do it.