“I know who is behind all this but I want you to say it loud,” Tirad says.

“What if I don’t?” the boatman replies smirking. Tirad kicks him in the face.

“Or I’ll throw you out into the sea!” he says and kicks the boatman again. The boatman spits out blood and then laughs.

“A poor third disciple stealing a boat and the Saviour coins! Running away to who knows where… I’m all yours. You can throw me out right now!” the boatman says with a snicker. Tirad kicks him in his planks. He kicks again and again as if he can’t stop himself. Narivan takes him off the boatman who is still trying to untie his hands. This time Narivan slaps him in the face. Dalia whispers something in Narivan’s ears. Tirad is raged. He doesn’t know whether the boatman’s words were in compliance to what Dalia has said or just a mere threatening. He can’t ignore the boatman. He is right. If Tirad throws him out now, he will be condemned as the boatman said. But he continues questioning him to hear Mart’s name from his mouth and the boatman avoids saying anything. Dalia goes to Tirad.

“If he gets to Oxan and claim that you stole his boat…” Dalia tries to ask her question but Narivan stops her.

“What if he doesn’t get to Oxan? Then who could prove anything? Huh?” Narivan asks. But Tirad doesn’t seem to have understood them. All he had done was to try and go back in time to save Hurmaz. He hasn’t done anything wrong! Of course, he needed money and a boat to get there…all in good faith and to stop a disaster. The Saviour coins are to be used in such emergencies relating to the matters of the Ship. He doesn’t know why he should be so scared? He can explain everything when he gets to Hurmaz and he will no doubt support him, punishing Mart for what he had done. But if Dalia was right to this point, could she be right about Hurmaz’s assassination? If so, he will have no one to support and believe in his good will.

“Tie him tightly… He shouldn’t escape now, we will take him with us where ever we go and we have to make sure he doesn’t speak out of his place,” Tirad says to Narivan. The boatman laughs again and with a kick from Tirad to his mouth, his teeth fall out bleeding. Tirad wants to beat him more but he feels Dalia’s soft hands on his shoulder. He is distracted and doesn’t pay attention to the boatman’s loosened ropes; turns towards Dalia whose hand is still on Tirad’s shoulder but her frightened eyes are fixed on Oxan. Tirad shockingly looks at the same view. All four passengers of the boat stare horrified at the two-finger joints line on the horizon – the Oxan cone’s tail – that is burning brightly in the darkness of the night.

The floating refugee harbour is on fire. A thick smoke rises from the flames of the burning wooden and plastic rags and mixes with the humid air making a dark cloud above the Oxan Island. Tirad feels that the moist breeze of the sea fills his nose with the smoke and the stench of roasted flesh of the bodies burning in agony. He feels he can hear their shouting, screaming and crying for help, as they burn alive, although it is not possible to hear them from here. But his senses seem to have sharpened. He can see the shadow of the old refugee woman unwilling to let go of her dead grandchild baby, choked to death in the smoke.