“I have no watch,” said Calley. He reached into his pockets. His right hand touched the brass case, the little painting; his left skimmed one of the items he had taken from Medina’s coat before making the coat into a shroud, weighting it with stones and rolling the Spaniard into the sea. He took the item out and showed it. It was Medina’s uniform collar badge, a sabre crossed with a palm branch, brass. Medina must have carried it to prove what he was in the event they were taken. To prove he was a soldier. As if that would have helped.

“Now that’s a curious piece,” said the pedlar. “It could almost be a lady’s brooch. I know a man clever with his hands who could put a pin on the back of it. Pin and clasp. Very well. This and five shillings gets you the candle and lantern.”

“That’s fucking steep,” said Calley.

“You could always go to the other fella,” said the pedlar. “See what he’ll offer you.”

Calley paid. Five shillings left him with only two but there was no time to haggle. No time even to thrash the man.

“You should take off your boots,” said the pedlar.

“Don’t worry about my boots,” said Calley. “Point the way with your stick.”

The pedlar raised the stick, held it out. “Halfway across,” he said, “you’ll begin to see where you’re going to. But don’t stop, don’t change your course even if you hear the water. Keep going, straight as an arrow.”

Calley put his knapsack on his back, picked up his new lantern. “Why did you come here?” he said. “There’s no one here.”

“You were here,” said the pedlar.

Calley began to walk. Dry sand, damp sand. Then sand and weed and pools of water, not deep. For the first few minutes he knew he would be able to run back to the beach. After that he would be a man committed. The air was cooler out here, colder. It was like walking into a cave. Then he stopped. He turned a careful one hundred and eighty degrees until he was facing the path he had just walked.

“You are doing grand,” called the pedlar. “But it’s not wise to stop out there.”

“I’m looking for someone,” said Calley. “On the islands somewhere. English. Army officer. Lovall or Lacroix. Plays a fiddle. You know him?”

“English? The only English I know are in a house two days’ walking from where you’re stood. Two sisters and a brother. But now that I think of it they may have a man staying with them. A visitor. Came to the island on the back of a cow, they say. Might he be your officer?”