That night it had rained, and I’d left the buccaneer’s tarnished copper pan out for this very reason. As I drank away my thirst, the ground trembled, but it had become a bit like my aunt’s complaints: happening so often I hardly noticed it.

I hauled the boat up and out with the rope I’d found. I knew better than to stumble into sea lion territory again and dragged it sideways along the smooth rock until I reached the flamingo mud flats beyond. It was difficult to keep to my feet here and I slipped over more than once in the black mud, Farthing hooting each time and nudging me. Having the small lizard there kept my spirits up, even though, in the light of day, the ancient boat seemed a mean thing and I was fearful it wouldn’t float at all.

Eventually I reached the shoreline, shoulders burning with effort.

The water was shallow and without rocks. I waded out and the boat lifted. Afloat. I sat inside it and a few tiny spouts of water jumped from the seams, with one little fountain wide enough to give me serious worry. Any sailor would eye it with disgust, especially without a ship’s swain to do a day’s work on it. I imagined how Robbins would grimace at the sight of it; he’d probably give me a gentle cuff around the ear for even suggesting it was seaworthy. Its seams needed filling or it wouldn’t float for long. If I was forced to bail out constantly, I’d not be able to row and would be going nowhere.

I climbed out and looked at Farthing as I tugged on my neckerchief trying to think of a solution. In the high sun, the lizard’s eyes glowed metal-bright. I scratched my back where the mud had cracked and the wounds were crusting over underneath. It didn’t feel too bad.

The animals on this island used what they had. What did I have? The buccaneer’s boat, rope, knife, and pan. Mr. Darwin’s eyeglass, the clothes on my back …

Forgetting something?

Of course! Scratch and my block of rosin in the case. Rosin was pine resin, waxy and waterproof.

I hauled the boat up the mud and onto the dry lava field. The timber would dry quickly in the midday heat and then I’d fix it as best I could. The ground shifted with a deep groan. Farthing lifted on her hind legs. I’d not seen her do that before and I laughed until I saw she was sniffing in the direction of the volcano.

She was right—there was an awful bad smell, like when the ship’s cook had burned an ostrich egg that was going to be the captain’s breakfast. The volcano was spitting and smoking.

Then Farthing released a call that was more growl than hoot and raced off in the direction of the volcano so fast her legs were a blur. I searched the sky for the dragon, remembering the last time she’d run off like this she’d been leading me to safety in the lava tube. But there was no dark shape in the sky.