"So I said to myself: Handel, what a lovely day for a spot of fishing, down by the river, alone." Snapper said, placing a slight emphasis on the last word.

"Sorry, we didn't know you were fishing," Carmen said.

"News to me," Mildew said, and skipped a rock across the water.

"That's not helping," Snapper said.

"Did you see it but? That was seven or I'm a apple pie." She took a bite out of a piece of the same viand she had culled from Snapper's fishing creel.

"I don't care if it was seven hundred. You're scaring the fish away."

Carmen and Ward had gone first to Snapper's house. Finding nobody home, they had wandered around his estate hoping to stumble upon him, and found him on his private jetty on the banks of the Yar. To their surprise, Mildew and Slops were there too.

Snapper was in full angling regalia. The bottom of his pants had been rolled up to the knees, revealing smooth white legs and feet; the pants were held up by straps that fastened over the shoulders. The shirt underneath was of a cream-coloured fabric decorated with a pattern of fleur-de-lys and blotchy old stains, rolled up to the elbows, and buttoned up at the neck, around which a smaller ruff than usual, perhaps one specifically designed for the angling sports, gave additional protection. A torpin hat, hung about with hooks and flies and other items of hardware, provided shade.

The hat swivelled from Ward and Carmen, to Mildew and Slops, made a hmmmph sound, then directed itself out over the water, where a bright red float bobbed. The rod Snapper was using looked like a toy in his hands. The reel was ancient, and bore the Snapper coat of arms.

Grim sidled over to inspect Snapper's creel. Leif and Fidelma were nosing about the undergrowth around the jetty. Carmen saw Ward's eyes go to the dore from time to time. Grim was probably no danger to Fidelma now she was back in Ward's possession, but there were other predators along the river: feral fels, the occasional sea eyr coasting in from the bay, the carnivorous sackbills with their gigantic mouths, and although it wasn't yet summer, serpents.

"What're you doing here?" Mildew said.

"Had to ask Snapper something," Ward replied.

"What if Snapper doesn't want to be asked?" the Hat said. "What if Snapper would rather stay out of trouble?"

"It was only once," Carmen said.

"But you're beginning to make a habit of it."

"It's okay, we don't blame you," Mildew said. "You know, spilling the beans about us that time – it's all water under the duck's back. We're not vindicative like that."

"That's preposterous," Snapper spluttered. "And defamatory."

"It's only defamation if it's not true," Slops said suddenly.

Mildew gave him a surprised look, then turned back to Snapper. "What gerbil-boy said."

"Why are you here?" Carmen said to Mildew.

Slops opened his mouth, but a sharp look from Mildew appeared to close it again. "Ent we allowed to come visit our old mate Snapper?" she said.

"One cannot hope to catch fish in these conditions," proclaimed the Hat.

A stook rose out of the brown water before them, a wriggling fish in its beak. "He isn't having any trouble," Carmen said.

"He is not distracted," observed the Hat.

Fish or no fish, it was a glorious day. After the previous night's rain the water was like chocolate, and the river had swollen up the banks until it sucked at the jetty's underside. A big branch hung about with slimy black weeds went coasting by out in the middle of the river. The brackish water gave off a rimey salt smell, but the stink of guano was stronger, for the jetty was a favourite haunt of stooks and other waterfowl. The air was cold but the sun was warm – the first warmth of spring, and Carmen felt she was waking from a long sleep. It had been a bitter winter. Her parents had not been able to afford enough coal to keep the house warm, their thin clothes couldn't ward off the chill that had set into the house, and they had, one by one, fallen ill.

Comment, vote, or do neither: it's all water under the duck's back to me.