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beckoning noises. The ship slowed a little to stabilize in the flowing stream of the river, and the policeguy maneuvered his little boat up to the great crimson hull. He made fast to the bottom of the ladder and began to climb up.
    Charlie, watching for his opportunity, knew exactly what he was going to do. The moment the coast was clear, he was going to board this ship. It was so beautiful, so exciting. What kind of people could be on board? Who would own such a vessel? He had never seen anything so tempting in his life, and he had to find out about it.
    Something was going on up on the deck. He couldn’t see clearly because the little riverboat was tied up against the ship’s crimson side and the deck was way above him, but he could hear shouting, and scuffling, and suddenly—a great splash.
    He looked to where the sound had been.
    There was the riverpoliceguy, closer to the river than he would have cared to be: i.e., in it. He was splashing and struggling and trying to catch his breath, which is hard with your boots on when you’ve been thrown overboard.
    “Sorry, fella!” came a hoarse cry from overhead, and then the tempo of the ship picked up, the music suddenly stopped, and the ship began to cruise swiftly, like a fighting swan, on down the river—leaving the riverpoliceguy in its wake, and pulling his little boat along beside her almost as if it had been completely forgotten. Which perhaps it had.
    Charlie, sitting alone in the little boat’s cabin, being dragged at considerable speed to who knows where, couldn’t say a word.
     
    Several miles upstream, Rafi and Troy were standing by Mr. Ubsworth’s stall on the riverside. Troy was panting and drooling. He’d run all the way, following Charlie’s scent. Rafi had followed him in the long silver car, and was looking cool and pale. He was staring at Troy, his lip twisted.
    “You stupid animal,” he said, quite calmly to start with. “You stuuuupid animal. This is not the kid, it’s a fish-stall. Didn’t you get a decent sniff of him yesterday in the car? What do you think I feed you for, you plackett! It’s not for the charm of your company, it’s for your nose! And if your nose can’t tell the difference between a boy and a plate of fish, you’re not worth your keep! Are you? So pig off! Go on!” He picked up a stick and jerked it in Troy’s face.
    Troy, whining, his tongue flobbering, went to the edge of the water and ran up and down.
    Mr. Ubsworth observed and said nothing.
    “You been here all morning?” Rafi said to him.
    “Aye,” said Mr. Ubsworth, rinsing a sparrowfish in his bucket.
    “Did you see a boy? Brown boy, shavehead, about so high, with a bag?”
    Mr. Ubsworth looked up. “No,” he said mildly. “You the first boy I seen today.”
    Rafi stared at him. He didn’t like being called a boy. “If he comes back this way . . .” he said.
    Mr. Ubsworth was back to his fishes’ bellies, cleaning out red and blue innards from silvery streaks of eel in the cold water. The heat from his grill shimmered on the air. “Grilled eel sandwich?” he said.
    “Of course not,” said Rafi. “If he comes back—”
    “Ain’t been no boy here,” said Mr. Ubsworth again.
    Rafi stood for a moment, his head down. He was angry.
    Suddenly he threw the stick viciously at his dog, then turned on his heel, his jacket flying. He jumped in the car and went home.
    Troy lollopped tiredly after the car, his tail down. It was a long way home.
    Mr. Ubsworth looked up. He liked lads to have better manners.

CHAPTER 6

    C harlie wasn’t worried at all about leaving the riverpoliceguy in the middle of the river. Surely riverpoliceguys could swim. He was, however, hungry. He opened each of the two little lockers in the cabin: a half-eaten box of crackers and some tea and sugar cubes and chocolate. He ate three crackers and put the rest in his bag. He pocketed the tea and the chocolate and the box of sugar cubes too—well, the policeguy wouldn’t need