“Mine, come here,” Kennet called. “Someone I want you to meet.”

O’Hara passed Xandro to Astrid and stood up. As Minor walked over, hands in his pockets, his eyes went from Kennet to the stranger and again to Kennet.

Then back to O’Hara.

Please let this be a good idea, Kennet thought. At least not a terrible one.

“Hi,” Minor said. Cautiously. Almost questioning.

Kennet felt the air in the bar thin out as O’Hara took a deep breath. “Hi,” he said, like an answer.

“This is my brother, Minor,” Kennet said.

Minor glanced over. “I have a first name, you know.”

“You do?”

Minor flicked his eyes to the ceiling then extended a hand to O’Hara. “I’m Erik Fiskare.”

“Boyd O’Hara. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to be met.”

They kept shaking hands.

“A bit of what you need, nephew?” Major said, sliding a snifter across the bar. “Our guest brought it. He’s a man of good taste.”

Minor took the glass, raised it and drank, without a word.

“We got an hour or two before dinner,” Kennet said to O’Hara, “so how about we go out on the boat? Do the basic grand tour.”

“Take some cold beers,” Major said. “Have a floating cocktail hour. It’s the best kind.”

“Sounds terrific,” O’Hara said.

“Minor, you in?” Kennet said, feeling even more smug and accomplished by his brother’s blank, somewhat dazed expression.

“Sure,” he said, blinking. “Sure, I’m in.”

“Astrid?”

“Well…” she said slowly.

“Oh go on,” Marta said, reaching for Xandro. “It’s a beautiful day and we have company. Enjoy yourself.”

“Avanti,” Major said. “Go forth and revel.”

O’Hara shook out a cigarette. His hands patted shirt and trouser pockets and came up empty. “Erik, you got a light?”

The name was extraordinary in his voice. Soft, but sturdy. Like a well-worn leather jacket that hugged your back and draped your arms, but kept out the wind and cold.

Kennet barely breathed as Minor flicked his Zippo and held the flame out. The fine, golden hairs on his forearm were raised and trembling. The bar’s lamplight shone on the downy blond nape of his neck, every tiny filament sitting up and listening.

If he called me by name… If it sounded good in my ears and made the hair on my arms and neck stand up… He could be the one.

They took the Hildur and Kennet piloted the old sightseeing route, but left the narrative patter to Minor, who sat in the back with O’Hara. Astrid often turned back from the passenger seat to interject her own knowledge of the river and the islands.

“I taught her everything she knows,” Minor said.

“That’s why he has so little left,” Kennet said over his shoulder, and got promptly slugged.