If you knew my template, you would not ask that question, she says.

She boosts her remote-viewing powers and her flight speed as high as they will go, and telekinesis for good measure. She sights on the river, extending her sense of physical space until she understands the boatman's route.

Then she flies.

Left alone on the dock, a white falcon screams. But not for long. Sherlock is moving fast.

He spreads his speckled wings protectively over Shell Bell's smew.