She did not address Argyle, did not look back. She strode to the gunwale—lithe and powerful and unbowed by all that had occurred—and backed onto the ladder. She carried her worldly goods, the same ones we’d found her with: a string bag and a gun.

Soon after, the boat was rowed away towards a ketch that belonged to the islanders. The rower had his head down, bent to the effort. Tarenorerer sat high in the bow of the little boat, over the dips of the oars, facing back at us. Her stare was unfocused: she was looking at me, or at Argyle, or the Moonbird or the water between us, or none of it.

~

Argyle and the lad prepared the Moonbird, after her longest layoff since we had left Sydney. They moved methodically about the deck, climbed the rigging once or twice to make adjustments, went below and returned. I stayed on the deck. Below would be too hard to bear, down among the memories, the evidence, of whom I loved and how. The captain’s cabin, taken over by Gideon and festooned with dead things. My father’s bed, and that small collection of his belongings that explained everything about what was left in his heart after the storm had passed through it. The hammocks of the poor Connollys. Young Neelanjan would have his choice of sleeping places.

Argyle issued instructions to the boy and me, avoiding the terminology I had heard him use with the others. The lad moved swiftly, intent on earning his place. I did what I could. When the master felt all was in readiness, Neelanjan went to the windlass and winched the anchor up. I watched over the bow as it returned from the clear green water, trailing a plume of white sand.

We followed the coast of Gun Carriage up to its northern tip then went about, running before a light northerly down the side of the island that was exposed to the open sea. Argyle was watching the shoals out to our east, a vast expanse of boiling ocean that admitted of no shape or logic. Ahead of us, a channel of calm water ran south-east towards the coast of Cape Barren Island. Argyle followed it until we were heading due east, away from the islands and into the blue. The rainclouds had attached themselves to Gun Carriage and Cape Barren, and out here was the sky from which they’d been torn, empty but for a handful of seabirds. For four hours we sailed like that, the morning peeling back as the land receded. Not a word passed between us.

My father lay shrouded at my feet and I whispered prayers over him and let the wind take them away.