“Where? The islands? Well do not, in God’s name, tell me which one. I want to know nothing of where you are headed. Go for them if you must, but you would be wise not to spend a single night in any house where he might have good reason to look for you. Not till you hear they’ve strung him up in the Grassmarket.”

“He has already had ten days,” said Emily.

The master heard the catch in her voice; he moved to comfort her. “He would need to find a boat first,” he said. “And this weather will slow him down. And there are many islands to search.”

“He does not need to search them all,” she said. She stood, her hands in front of her, open, steadying herself. “Take me upstairs, John. I will dress while you find Mr. Rizzo.” She turned to where she thought the master was but missing him addressed the window, the world in its mist of rain. “I am sorry for what you have suffered,” she said.

“Likewise,” said the master.

“And I,” said Lacroix, who knew he must now make an offer, that the offer would be futile, would be refused. “Is there some way, any way, I might assist you?”

“You mean money, I think, but unless you have an eye in your pocket you are of no use to me. I do not know what kind of man you are. Nor do I know what else there is to this story. In truth I do not feel I understand much more than I did. But for this lady’s sake I’ll give you some counsel. Should you meet with Henderson, here, on the islands, anywhere at all, you must not hesitate. I remember what you carried with you on the Jenny and I do not mean the fiddle. I suggest you keep it with you and keep it ready. You will have one chance. If you fail to take it . . . ”

“I understand,” said Lacroix.

“Yes,” said the master, who seemed suddenly to have lost his powers, to have fallen in on himself and some sharp dream of trouble, “but I wonder if you do.”

FIVE

18

The weather had come up on them. The air had thickened, the sea and sky were colourless reflections of each other, the wind small, the afternoon sun a lustreless silver. The sailors—two men of savage appearance, distinguishable only by one being slightly shorter, slightly more savage-looking than the other—no longer sang or spoke as they had at setting out. They were silent. They nosed the air like hounds.