The slate was where he’d left it – hidden behind the wardrobe in his room. He retrieved it and mutely handed it to Ahab, who studied the writing on it, face unreadable.

They left the door open, heading out into the humming wind.

Forest lay awake on the hard bed of his room in the Mermaid’s Darling, listening to Davey’s snores.

No. He thought he could sleep, but he needed to solve the mystery of the boy in the boatshed. He needed to be sure.

But when he slipped out of bed and moved to the door, he found that it was locked. From the outside.

He scurried to the window and looked out – far too high to jump.

‘This is a fire hazard,’ he muttered to himself. ‘He can’t just lock us in here . . .’

Davey’s snoring ebbed, and a second later his bedside lamp lit up the room.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Just looking out the window. Can’t sleep.’

Davey frowned, then fiddled with something under his pillow before lying back down.

Ah, not locked in then . . . Davey has a key.

Forest looked out at the sea, his chin resting on the windowsill. The Black Wind beat against the glass.

Who is the boy in the boatshed?

He tried to remember their first meeting. The details were hazy in his mind.

It had been in the backyard of the broken-down house on Sutton Place. Forest had had a different name then. He’d had several over his lifetime – that was one of the things the Witch had taught him.

There were a number of adults staying in that house, but only one of them cared for him like she was his mother – he called her the Witch. He’d stumbled into her life straight out of the bush, somewhere far away from that house, half-starved and close to death. She’d nursed him back to health, and showed him the wonders of her potions.

He was old enough now to know that her potions were actually drugs, but as a young kid, searching for safety, he’d taken everything she’d given him – and been grateful for the oblivion they brought. In return, she’d taught him how to retrieve her drugs and make sure the money was right, how to cut a sad figure while panhandling, how to trick addicts into handing over their money or their drugs using the shell-speaking con . . .

She’d taught him other things, too – ways to hide and protect himself from the world, just like she had done. When bad people came to her beach shack, looking for him, she’d hidden him under the deck and sent them on their way empty-handed. After that they’d left that house behind and fled to Hobart.