The Lepus pursued the ghost ferry a long way, through the English Channel and down the Thames Estuary. No one noticed either ship steal into Canary Wharf and if they had, they would have paid scant attention. Vessels came and went. Visitors gawped and took photographs. The Lepus tucked in at Heron Quay and watched. The Wabbit was puzzled. "Where can they land the ghosts?" Captain Jenny strode up and down the bridge and laughed. "I think I know. They'll go to 'Arbour Quay." "There's nothing there," said the Wabbit. "Exactly," said Jenny, "But it looks good on paper." "I saw the illustrations," grinned the Wabbit. A train passed overhead. Metal screeched and the bridge rumbled. Jenny spoke to the engine room. "Slow ahead." Quietly they followed. The ghost ferry ignored all obstacles. It simply shimmered and passed through them. The Wabbit squinted and made out a vast plain of mud bordered by a provisional quay, just wood and tyres. The ghostly ferry shuddered to a halt. The Wabbit heard it bump against wood. The quay groaned. The tyres squealed. Mist rose from the ferry's deck. Then - one by one - containers materialised, lifted and settled on the quay, stacking up like a block of apartments. Now they heard the ferry's engines. Its propellor threshed. The bow swung out and it started to turn. "What do we do now?" murmured the Wabbit. "We wait," said Jenny ...
