Pandora tilted her head to one side and saw the hefty figure of Mr. Hardy approaching. He was dressed in his heavy seafaring jacket, dun-colored breeches and knee-high leather boots. He was carrying something else in his hands, too. Clothes. He placed them on the ground beside her and strolled over to where the basket still lay after its bumpy landing the night before. From a sack inside, he pulled out a crusty loaf of bread, a slab of cheese and a flask of brandy. Pandora ran her fingers over the warm, woolly garments. They were simple, hard-wearing clothes: a short bum-freezer jacket, a linen shirt and a pair of loose-fitting trousers, like those any sailor might wear. He had even remembered to include a pair of stout leather shoes. “Where did you get them?” she asked sleepily. The man sliced himself a wedge of cheese. “I bought ’em good and proper from a man I know in Dolittle Alley,” he said. “Traded one of my best instruments for ’em, too. Now get dressed. We’ve much to do.”
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