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Jack pointed to a particularly busy area: Devonport, the Royal Navy docks.
    Somehow Captain Pilway chose among the various waterways, and soon the river narrowed. There were low hills on either side, a patchwork of fields and woods, with occasional villages and quays. The sun rose in a sky streaked with pink and crimson clouds, turning the water the colour of blood. They passed Spanish Steps, then the river divided again and narrowed still further.
    Steep, wooded cliffs alternated with wide beds of reeds, yellow tipped with green, as they followed the twisting Tamar upstream, the rising tide fighting and overcoming the opposing current.
    “Nothing much to see till we reach Halton Quay,” grunted Captain Day. He rose to his feet and stretched. His hair caught the sun’s low rays and Octavia saw that it was flame-red, fading to straw at the temples. “I’ll try for a couple of hours of sleep before we arrive."
    Warm in the sun, Octavia drowsed.
    She was roused by a shout. There was a tiny chapel on the left bank, a few cottages, and some extraordinary stone structures, square and solid-looking, with huge half arches at the base.
    Tom was pointing at a washing line hung with clothes. It looked quite unremarkable except, perhaps, for a scarlet petticoat at one end.
    Red Jack yawned, rubbed his eyes, and sat up. He made his way forward and sat down beside Octavia.
    “Halton Quay,” he said. “That spectacular garment is a sign. According to whereabouts on the line it hangs, it even tells who is watching and where. That’s a Riding Officer, I believe, at Cotehele Quay. I don’t work this way myself, so I’m not certain of the code."
    “A Riding Officer?” she asked.
    “That is what the Customs call their inland excisemen.”
    “So the petticoat is a warning! What are those extraordinary arches?”
    “Limekilns. We’re carrying limestone now, in the hold there.” In the well amidships huge baskets of broken rock were neatly stacked. “Throw limestone and coal in the kiln, fire it, and out comes quicklime. It’s used as a fertiliser. Excuse me, ma’am, I’d best go lend a hand.”
    The crew of the River Queen had pulled a pile of sails off the mysterious barrels from the Seamew. With Red Jack’s assistance, they slung them from the bulwarks then, at a sign from Captain Pilway, pulled on a couple of knots and let the whole string of a dozen or more slide into the river.
    Brandy, thought Octavia. They must be sorry to lose so much.
    Captain Day returned to her side, grinning.
    “They’ll pull ‘em up with grapples some day when the red flag’s not flying,” he explained. “The rest of the stuff’s small enough to hide where no Riding Officer will find it. But I’ve a little something here for a pretty young lady, if you’ve somewhere about yourself to conceal it.”
    She blushed as he handed her a small, flat package, wrapped in oilcloth.
    “There is an inside pocket in my cloak,” she said. “Will that do?”
    “Aye, they’ll not search a guest of the Edgcumbes. Another bend or two of this confounded snaky river and we’ll be there. Give me the open sea any day.”
    He lent her a huge paw as she struggled to stand. Stiff from her awkward position, she still ached in every joint after four jolting days on the stage. She stowed the package in her pocket, and felt for the comb she kept there.
    It was gone. It had probably fallen out when Captain Pilway had lifted her aboard, but at least her heavy purse was still there. Tiredly she pushed a few loose curls behind her ears. She would not have been able to do much without a mirror anyway.
    Red Jack was standing in the bow, gazing upstream. She picked her way forward to join him. They were passing a tributary stream on the left, half hidden in reeds. Beyond it, dead ahead as the river curved right, was a flat stretch of bank with three stone quays and a number of buildings, including more huge limekilns with smoke rising from their tops.
    “Cotehele!”