He walked one of the streets, trying to whet his recollection as to where to find the dauntless man who had previously carried him over the water. Cats scattered, and an empty tonic bottle rolled over the mismatched cobbles, seeming to follow him. He finally noticed a door that felt familiar, right on the edge of town. A lantern hung on the porch, casting tepid light over a peeling red door. Yes, there had been a red door, Jack recalled. And a knocker made from brass, shaped like an octopus. This was the fearless sailor’s house.

Jack had once stood in this very place, and he nearly saw his past self—a scrawny, windswept boy, scowling to hide the tears in his eyes.

“Follow me, lad,” the sailor had said after docking his boat, leading Jack up the steps to the red door. It was the dead of night and bitterly cold. Quite the mainland welcome. “You’ll sleep here, and then come morning you’ll take the coach south to the university.”

Jack nodded, but he hadn’t slept that night. He had laid down on the floor of the sailor’s house, wrapped in his plaid, and closed his eyes. All he could think of was the isle. The moon thistles would soon bloom, and he hated his mother for sending him away.

Somehow, he had grown from that agonizing moment, putting down roots in a foreign place. Although truth be told, he still felt scrawny and angry at his mother.

He ascended the rickety porch stairs, hair tangling across his eyes. He was hungry, and his patience was thin, even if he was knocking at midnight. He clanged the brass octopus on the door, again and again. He didn’t relent, not until he heard a curse through the wood, and the sound of locks turning. A man cracked open the door and squinted at him.

“What do you want?”

At once, Jack knew this wasn’t the sailor he sought. This man was too young, although the elements had already carved their influence on his face. A fisherman, most likely, by the smell of oysters, smoke, and cheap ale that spilled from his house.

“I’m looking for a sailor to carry me to Cadence,” said Jack. “One lived here years ago and bore me from the isle to the mainland.”

“That would be my father,” the fisherman replied harshly. “And he’s dead, so he can’t take you.” He made to shut the door, but Jack set his foot down, catching the wood.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Can you guide me?”

The man’s bloodshot eyes widened; he hacked up a laugh. “To Cadence? No, no I can’t.”

“Are you afraid?”