Pip liked the little lift bridge best when it was busy. That was when the deck boards clicked, the ropes creaked, and there were always tiny things to notice near the rails. So she hurried along the wharf with her button pouch bumping at her belt, hoping to spot a shiny scrap before the bread cart rolled by and before the fishmongers started complaining about the smell of warm fish and melting ice.
But when Pip reached the bridge, she stopped short.
The little lift bridge was stuck halfway up, tilted like a surprised mouth. On one side sat a cart of fresh bread, all round loaves wrapped in cloth. On the other side waited the fishmongers’ ice, packed in a low wooden tub and already beginning to shine with wetness. Neither could cross. The bridge keeper tugged at a rope. Elara, with her striped scarf and bright cheeks, was speaking very fast to anyone who would listen. Mina, small and sharp-eyed, was peering under the bridge planks as if the answer might be hiding there.
Pip could see it now: the bread cart and the ice were trapped by the same jam, and everyone was looking at the bridge as if it had forgotten how to move.
She fingered her pouch and glanced at a glint near the rails. It could be a useful scrap. It could also be the thing that explained the jam. Pip had only a moment to decide which to chase first.
What happens next?
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