Eason had never been in Althaea's bedroom before. When he woke up the next morning he looked round blearily. Wan white walls were hung with holographic posters, one of which gave the bed a panoramic view over rugged snowcapped mountains and a magical Bavarian castle. He turned over. Althaea was missing. Her ageing Animate Animal bear was on the floor along with the white silk negligée. Last night she hadn't quite dropped her reserve completely, but he was definitely making progress. And the seeds of rebellion against her witch mother had been firmly planted. Another pleasurable day at Charmaine.

He pulled on his jeans and went down to the kitchen. Althaea wasn't there either, which was unusual. She normally made breakfast for everyone.

He started opening cupboards, then he heard her screaming for help. Tiarella was already charging down the stairs as he rushed out of the back door. It sounded as though she was down at the jetty. He pounded along the path, wishing to Christ that the fluxpump wasn't back at his chalet. If that damn snake had run amok . . .

When Eason burst out of the trees, the scene he found was nothing like what he expected. Althaea was lying on the grass right on top of the coral wall, stretching out desperately. There was a wooden dinghy in the water, being tossed about by the current. It smacked into the coral wall with a nasty crunch. Althaea tried to grab the arm of the single occupant, but the dinghy twisted and surged backwards.

Eason ran forwards and threw himself down beside her. The dinghy had been holed on the vicious coral teeth surrounding the wall, and was sinking fast. Another swell rose, pitching it forward again. His synaptic web came on-line, calculating the approach vector and projecting the impact point. He shifted round fractionally, stretching out—

A wrist slapped into his waiting palm. He grabbed tight and pulled. The dinghy was dragged back, sharp spears of coral punching through the hull as it sank below the foam. Tiarella landed on the grass beside him with a hefty thump, reaching out to grasp the shoulder of the lad Eason was holding. Together, the three of them hauled him up over the top of the wall.

Eason blinked in surprise. It was Mullen.

«You idiot!» Tiarella yelled. «You could have been killed.» She flung her arms round the dazed lad. «Dear God, you could have been killed.»

«I'm sorry,» Mullen stammered. He was shaking badly. There was blood oozing from his palms.

Tiarella let go, as self-conscious as Althaea had ever been, then sniffed and wiped away what Eason swore were tears. «Yes. Well, OK. It's a tricky approach, you'll have to learn about the currents round the island.»

«Yes, miss,» Mullen said meekly.

Eason took one of the lad's hands and turned it over. The skin on the palm had been rubbed raw. «What happened?»

«It was the rowing. I'm not used to it.»

«Rowing? You mean you rowed here from Oliviera?»