Matthew saw Devane sweep aside his cloak to secure the pistol on a hook that hung from a belt at his waist. “Put a pair of oars in the locks and start rowing,” Devane said, motioning toward two pair of weatherbeaten sticks that lay in the bottom of the boat.

The locks, Matthew saw, were pieces of wood carved into U-shapes to steady the oars. He fixed the oars in position and then, settling himself upon the plank seat toward the stern, he began rowing them out of the protected harbor. It was not an easy task, and he was gratified when Devane took the remaining two oars and positioned them in a second set of locks amidships, then sat down on the other plank facing toward the bow. He began to row along with Matthew and the little craft cut through the waves, but about a hundred yards out was where the rougher water began. Matthew reasoned it was going to be very unkind to the Pig’s Snout and its passengers.

After a few more strokes Matthew asked, “Did you really have to shoot him?”

“You know better than to pose that question.”

“Maybe I do. But … did you?”

“Look at this craft. This was the most seaworthy boat in the harbor … which is not saying much. But if it wasn’t this boat, we were finished. Is that answer enough for you? And for certain I would have shot that big bastard in the head. So you saved one life today. Congratulate yourself and keep rowing.”

“It seemed extreme,” Matthew said, keeping to the point he wished to hammer.

“Extreme,” Devane repeated, as if he’d bitten into a lemon. “You’re a dreamer, aren’t you? Live in your own fantasy world. Well … those people were one axe swing away from rushing us and ending your dream to save that girl’s mind. Anyway, I did the little bastard a favor.”

“Did you? How so?”

“He was the only one with enough courage to come at me. If he survives—and even if he loses his leg—they’ll take care of him and his family. Not that I give a shit, but they’ll probably elect him mayor. So you see … I did a good deed today, too.”

“I would clap my appreciation,” said Matthew, “but I’m rowing.”

“Yes, and put more of your back into it, I want to clear the headland before my next birthday.”

The headland—the jutting cliffs on either side that protected the cove of Adderlane’s harbor—was cleared in about fifteen minutes, which Matthew decided was not within the scope of Devane’s day of birth. “Pull in your oars and let drift!” Devane commanded, as he did the same. Then: “Move up to the bow and stay out of my way.”

Matthew obeyed without question, getting past the other man as best he could. Waves had begun to rock the craft. Devane hoisted the sail and secured it, and then he settled himself in the stern in a position where he was able to control the motion of the sail’s boom with a line and also keep a hand on the tiller behind him.