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They slowed when they heard voices, and approached more cautiously, alert for guards. The barge had been sailed back to the wharf, and was moored again. This time it had been secured with three ropes, each tied with care. Everyone was on board, and the boisterous nature of the conversation suggested that they were celebrating their imminent departure with a drink.

‘I thought it would be more difficult to manoeuvre the thing back,’ muttered Bartholomew bitterly. ‘I should not have bothered.’

‘On the contrary,’ Tulyet whispered back. ‘It kept them busy while we spoke to Cook.’

They inched forward again, then climbed aboard. There was more light this time, as lamps were lit in the cabin. A crack in the door revealed the soldiers lounging in an attitude of ease, legs stretched in front of them and beakers in their hands. Inge was perched uncomfortably on a pile of rope near two sailors, one of whom wore a cap and was obviously in charge. Then Norys began to sing. The others joined in the chorus, although Inge remained silent.

‘It is lower in the water than it was earlier,’ whispered Bartholomew.

‘Of course it is,’ Tulyet murmured back. ‘They have loaded it with more stolen goods.’

‘I doubt Dallingridge’s feet made that much difference, which means they have miscalculated what it can carry. I believe it is sinking!’

‘That is wishful thinking, Matt. The crew will know their business. Now stay here and keep watch while I reconnoitre. We need something to give us an edge when we attack.’

‘Attack?’ gulped Bartholomew. ‘I hardly think–’

But Tulyet had gone. Bartholomew glanced along the barge in agitation. Then he narrowed his eyes. Just moments ago, the deck had been the same height as the pier, but now it was a finger’s width lower. He was right – it was going down!

‘The villains!’ muttered Tulyet when he returned. ‘Wilson’s lid, Stanmore’s tomb, lead from Gonville, Holty’s pinnacles, bits of scaffolding, brass plates, boxes of nails … I cannot believe how much they have filched. Perhaps you are right to wonder if the boat is overloaded.’

‘It is overloaded,’ Bartholomew whispered back fiercely. ‘Now help me.’

He hurried to the nearest bollard, and began the tortuous business of unshipping a rope that was tight, frozen hard and slippery with snow. It was far more difficult than it had been earlier, and Tulyet swore under his breath as he wrestled with the second. Both stopped in alarm when the singing ceased abruptly, but there was a hoot of laughter from Norys, and the racket started up again.

Bartholomew and Tulyet exchanged an agonised glance and returned to their labours. Tulyet’s rope came free first, and Bartholomew’s plopped into the water shortly after. They worked together on the third. Then Inge opened the cabin door and peered out into the swirling flakes. Bartholomew and Tulyet crouched down in alarm, waiting for the howl that would tell them they had been spotted. But there was a click, and they looked up to see the door closed again. Frantically now, they wrestled with the last rope. There was a splash as it fell.

They retreated to the shadows to watch. At first, nothing happened. Was it too heavy to drift now it was loaded with Dallingridge’s feet and nine passengers? Or grounded, perhaps? But then it began to move, slowly at first, then faster as it was caught by the current. The singing faltered into silence, after which came voices raised in fright. It was difficult to make out words, but it seemed that water was seeping into the cabin.

‘We are unshipped again,’ howled the captain, hurtling out of the cabin to peer over the side in horror. ‘It must have been your barber – I told you to go and find out what was taking him so long. Now we are going down, and I cannot swim!’

‘These manmade channels are not very deep,’ said Inge. ‘Do not worry. We shall wade–’

‘This is not a manmade channel,’ shrieked the captain, his voice shrill with terror. ‘It is a natural one. And it is deep – four fathoms at least.’

‘Then hoist the sails,’ snapped Inge, alarmed at last. ‘Take us back towards the pier, like you did the first time.’

All was a whirl of activity, but fright turned the captain and his crewman clumsy, and the soldiers made matters worse by trying to help. They got in the way, and hauled too roughly on the wrong ropes. The barge eased ever further from the shore, and then the lamps winked out in the cabin as they were doused by inrushing water. Three soldiers promptly leapt overboard in panic. Only one bobbed to the surface.

‘This is your fault,’ screamed the captain at Inge. ‘I told you that she could not take the last few pieces. But, oh, no, you had to have the lot. Well, your greed has killed us all!’

‘We risked our lives to get those things,’ snarled Inge. ‘They are too valuable to–’

He broke off with a yelp as the vessel listed violently, hurling him against a rail. Tulyet emerged from the trees and went to stand on the pier, sword in his hand.

‘Surrender, and we will help you to safety,’ he bellowed. ‘Or stay where you are and die.’

‘We surrender!’ howled Norys. ‘Please, Sheriff, sir! Help us!’

Inge released a petrified shriek as the barge began to roll. Two more soldiers toppled into the water, along with the crewman. Inge was left clinging to the foremast.

‘Here!’ Bartholomew had found a coil of a rope on the pier, and he threw it towards the stricken vessel. ‘Catch it and–’

But the barge tilted even further, and the captain disappeared with a wail of terror. There was a faint white splash where he hit the water, and then he was gone. Bartholomew reeled the empty rope back quickly, and tossed it out again.

‘Grab it!’ hollered Tulyet. ‘Hurry, or the boat will take you with it when it goes.’

It was not the right thing to say to panicky men. Frantically, Inge seized the rope and began to wrap it around himself, but Norys leapt forward with a roar of rage and wrested it from him. There was a brief tussle, which Norys appeared to win. But the rope was caught under the bell, and he could not pull it free. There was a muffled rumble as the cargo shifted, and the barge jerked savagely to port. Water fountained up all around it, and then it slid out of sight. The rope tore through Bartholomew’s hands.

He could see heads bobbing in the black, ice-frosted water, and looked around desperately for something else to throw. There was nothing, but a coracle was tethered nearby, an unwieldy craft that threatened to tip him into the river when he jumped into it.

He paddled out as fast as he could, and reached a half-submerged body. It was the captain, eyes closed in death. Bartholomew grabbed the crewman next, but the fellow kicked and thrashed so frantically that it was impossible to haul him aboard. He was lost when one of his flailing feet struck the coracle and sent it spinning away – by the time Bartholomew had sculled back again, there was no sign of him.

Meanwhile, two soldiers had reached him. They clung to the side, so determined to be rescued first that they began to punch each other away. The resulting fracas saw them both disappear, and although Bartholomew fished about with his paddle for several minutes in the hope that one would grasp it, neither did. He looked around wildly, wondering if they had been caught by the current and pulled downstream, but the water there was black, glassy and empty.

‘Come to this bank,’ Tulyet was yelling, and Bartholomew glanced around to see three soldiers staggering unsteadily up the opposite one. ‘You will die over there – there is no shelter.’

Then Bartholomew heard a muffled groan, and turned to see Norys floating nearby. He managed to pull him halfway into the little craft, and rowed for all he was worth to the dock, where Tulyet was waiting to help. But Norys had been knifed, probably by Inge during the tussle for the rope, and he did not live long, despite Bartholomew’s best efforts.