Across the street from the sniper’s roof, a lone figure stood out in the open, wind whipping the trailing sleeves and full skirt of her dazzlingly white robe. She held up a long golden horn, like an angel’s trumpet, the source of the blaring alarm.

“Like something out of an old painting!” I exclaimed.

“That’s gotta be her!” Breakers whirled on this new target.

“No!” ordered Daniel, pushing the rifle down and aside.

“What? Why?”

“Listen!”

Ahead of us, from his boat mid-convoy, Rousseau was ducking falling debris and shouting, “Go! Go! Let them have it! They’re hungry! Let them have it!”

Packs of Stormies had two small rafts cut loose and rolling in the swell. Others leaped into the water to swim the rafts away to be pillaged. But new boats had joined the fray, muscling in from the side streets, their crews sweeping attackers off the decks of the Tommy power boats and the larger rafts, urging the cleared boats upriver, away from the rain of junk and bodies.

I recognized the hard-faced woman at the lead boat’s helm. “The Empire patrols! They found us!”

Seconds later, a matching boat pulled even with her on the far side of the convoy, and I caught the bright yellow of Will Dubowski’s slicker. In tandem, and another pair behind, they worked along the length of the convoy, evicting yowling Stormies and hauling wounded or spilled Joes, Smiths, and Tommys on board. But they honored Rousseau’s directive and didn’t chase after the two small rafts. The angel on the roof blew her horn, and the junk rain stopped. The Stormies converged on their plunder, a tangle of naked bodies tearing at the ropes and protective covering.

“Whatever’s on those rafts,” Daniel remarked. “I hope it’s edible.”

“So much for God’s Island,” I said.

“Oh, they’ll regroup. But by then, we’ll be ready for them. And maybe they’ll remember that we gave them a bit of a break.” He glanced up at the white-robed priestess as we drifted by underneath. “But ain’t she something?”

The four Empire boats powered past us, turned around, and started back up along the convoy in a last sweep of survivors. Will sent us a quick thumbs up as he glided by.

“Have you seen Zephyr?” I yelled across to him.

He glanced back with a nod and gestured upriver. I waved my relief and thanks.

But when he drew level with Tom Doyle, several boats ahead of us, the two of them just stared at each other. Doyle’s back was rigid, his face blank. Will kept pace for a moment, then shook his head and moved on.

Daniel laughed softly. “Be a while before Tom can admit to himself that Empire Will just saved his butt.”

“And ours, most likely.”

“Most likely.” He headed for the cabin to get Melville going again.