“Hey,” Gaspard had said. “You live in thees end of world? Huh? You can tell me about it?”

Konstantin shook his head miserably. “I’ve been banished,” he said in neatly clipped English with just the trace of an accent. “I’m being punished.”

“Me also,” said Gaspard. “Except I have done notheeng wrong. Notheeng! ”

He marched up to the tiny brass bar and rang its heavy ship’s bell, which was really only for decoration, as the barman’s face made perfectly clear as he straightened up from the shelf where he’d been putting glasses away. Gaspard had made several questions about the wine, none of which the young barman could understand or answer, then pointed at one bottle and took the whole thing. After seeing Konstantin looking increasingly miserable, he grabbed another glass and bade him sit down and tell him the whole sorry story, fueled with the terrible wine, which didn’t taste quite so bad by the time they got halfway down the bottle.

The long and short of it was, by the time the boat churned into Mure Town, as the sun was falling over the horizon and the gleam of bigger ships was the only light to be seen, both of them were a) great friends and b) completely roaring drunk.

FINTAN WAS STRICKEN as they arrived.

“Voilà!” yelled Gaspard, turning into the wind, where hail had started and spiked into the face like daggers. “Welcome to hell, non ?”

Konstantin lurched off the ferry, the difference in the motion between sea and land and the frankly rough wine having a predictable effect. As Isla watched him, horrified, he wobbled over the gangplank and threw up heavily over the side.

“Oh Christ,” said Fintan.

Chapter 10

G aspard kept up a constant slew of loud questions as they walked to Fintan’s Land Rover, Isla silent by his side. Konstantin had come via some kind of client of Joel’s, and Fintan was utterly dismayed. What kind of young lad got drunk on his way to his first job?

And Gaspard was looking like he was hell-bent on proving why he couldn’t get a job anywhere except at the tail end of nowhere, because nobody wanted to work in the islands, and nobody wanted to work for him. Fintan felt bitterer than the acidic wine sloshing in the men’s stomachs. This whole enterprise—Colton’s pride and joy, the dream of his life—was going to fail. Fintan was going to fall flat on his face.

“So you have cellar?”

“You can’t stay here if you drink,” Fintan said steadily.

“I ’ave not ’ad one seengle drink on this soil!” protested Gaspard noisily. “Not one! It was my final celebration of life as a free man.”

“This isn’t prison,” said Fintan gruffly.

“Oh yes, yes it is, actually,” said the young man, who up until now had been very green and quiet. Suddenly he straightened up and shouted, out of nowhere, “Stop!!”

Assuming he was going to be sick again, Fintan did so. And immediately, Konstantin turned and started running toward the boat, which was filling up, ready for the return crossing.