It was my fault that Niloch was bearing down on the Bitch, my fault that when he caught up, he’d sink Riprash’s ship and take the survivors into slavery. It was up to me to help save them, or all this hopefulness about redemption was just noise.

Then, as I paced, I suddenly remembered what Riprash had said about throwing the owner of the pistols I was wearing overboard, and that gave me an idea—a crazy, hopeless one, but I wasn’t in a position to be picky—so I went to ask Walter about supplies we might have on board. I found my former co-worker standing at the starboard rail watching the Widow’s lights slowly grow closer.

“Riprash says Niloch’s the worst kind of demon,” said Walter quietly.

“There’s a kind that’s worse than the others?”

“He said Niloch’s the sort who wants to make a name for himself, but he’s basically mediocre. Mediocre—that’s my word, not Riprash’s. He said, ‘useless.’ He says it’s the ambitious, stupid ones who make the most trouble.”

“Not just here, either,” I said, thinking of Kephas. “Still can’t remember anything about what happened?”

Walker shrugged. He didn’t meet my eye. “Sorry. I do know you, though, Bobby. It took me awhile, but I remember you now. I think you treated me square.”

“We were friends,” I told him. “That’s how I always saw it. Do you remember anything else? The Compasses?”

He rubbed his wrinkled little face. “Not really. I mean, I know it was a place and that I used to go there. I sort of remember it was a place where people laughed and . . . sang?”

“Not so much singing as putting money in the jukebox and shouting along,” I said. “But, yeah. More or less.”

“I think . . . I think I remember Heaven, too.” He spoke slowly, as if wanting to be certain of what he said. “At least, that’s what it seems like. Beautiful, bright light. Someone talking to me. A sweet, sweet voice.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Heaven. But you can’t remember anything else?”

“No.” He was frustrated, almost tearful. “No, but it’s important. I know it’s important.”