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flakes had still managed find a way through chinks of sky to settle on the ground.
    Jem thrust his hands into his pockets and walked quickly, his head buried deep in the folds of his scarf. Despite the chill, the city streets were filled with noise and bustle. Carts and carriages rocked past on the frozen ruts, ragged street vendors called out their wares and knots of red-faced merchants warmed their hands at braziers set up on every corner.
    Jem thought about buying himself a ha’penny bag of roast chestnuts just so that he could hold something hot. In fact, he was just about to pay a smut-faced boy tending a street griddle when he realised that he didn’t know the toll.
    Even if he could get across London Bridge, the thought of not having enough money to get back again – and safely away from Cazalon – chilled his blood more than the biting February wind.
    At the bottom of Foster Lane he turned left into Cheapside, the vast black bulk of St Paul’s now looming at his back. Slipping and sliding at every step, he pushed his way through the crowds. As he passed a group of rowdy soldiers outside a tavern he remembered Ann’s words again. If what she had said was true, his father could be right here in the city and he’d never know it.
    He stopped for a moment and stared. Sensing the boy’s interest one of the men turned and grinned.
    “Fancy yerself a soldier, do yer, longshanks?” The man took a step back and made a play of assessing him. “Well, you’ve got the height and build for it, lad – and that looks like a good sword arm there.”
    The soldier winked and turned back to his comrades. Jem felt his frozen cheeks flush with unaccustomed pleasure. No one had said anything like that before. If his father really was alive perhaps he’d be proud of him? Perhaps he’d teach him how to ride, how to handle a sword – all the things Jem secretly longed to do.
    As he crunched on his way, Jem was so lost in thought that he was suddenly surprised to find himself on the banks of the Thames. He’d passed through the maze of stinking alleyways that led down to the river without even noticing where he was.
    Jem pushed through the crowds towards the entrance to London Bridge, where a mass of laden carts and people jostled to cross over to the south side of the river. The air here was thick with smoke from all the fires in the crooked houses and shops that straddled the bridge.
    It was already past noon. The city bells had rung out the hour not long ago.
    “
I’m down here
.”
    A familiar voice sounded in Jem’s head. He turned to scan the surging crowd around him.
    “
Not there – I’m down
here.
Look to your left. I’m on the river
.”
    Jem jostled his way over to the edge of the Thames and saw Tolly standing on the ice just below.
    The dark-skinned boy grinned and waved. Today he was wearing a thick chequered cloak and he was alone. Cleo was nowhere to be seen. Jem felt a pang of disappointment.
    “
Monkeys don’t like snow!
” Tolly’s voice rangout in Jem’s head. It sounded slightly scornful. “
Don’t waste your pennies when you can walk on water. It’s perfectly safe. The Thames has been frozen for weeks now. Look
…’
    Tolly stamped hard on the ice then gestured behind him. Hundreds of people were actually standing on the now-solid river. More than that, the ice was covered with stalls, tents, huts and even small fires.
    Jem scrambled across a low stone parapet and down the slippery slope to join his friend.
    “
How much have you got there?
” asked Tolly.
    Jem was about to answer out loud but decided to follow Tolly’s lead and be silent. He grinned and simply opened the palm of his gloved hand to reveal the coins given to him by the duchess.
    “
Excellent
,” came the reply. “
There’s something over here I want to see. Come on
.”
    Tolly led the way as they skittered across the ice to a ring of people gathered midway across the river. The crowd were standing behind a rope barrier