The priest pushed us away from the church, handling the long wooden pole like it wasn’t more than a twig. I realized he was strong too, this skin-and-bone priest, that he was something mighty hidden in rags. We left the narrow path and drifted into open water as far as the eye could see. Big bonfires burning on the high ground, on any dry knee of sand and dirt that rose out of the water. From holes in the sack we saw boats with torches passing, Boss Authority’s men scanning the waters. The priest poled us right up next to a canoe with two mean-looking fellas in it. One of them had an eye patch and a long cruel scar across his throat. He spat in the water as our boat came near to him.

The priest stood up tall in the boat. He leapt from foot to foot, rocking us wildly, and for a minute I was scared we would tip.

“Repent!” cackled the priest, his voice gone high and wily. “Repent and be saved! Cast off the old man, the flesh, the sickness of spirit! Wash yourself in the blood, I say! Cover yourself in the mercy of the divine father! He is not angry with them who seek mercy, no, his loving kindness endureth forever. But woe to you, rich! Woe to you, greedy and unmerciful! Woe to you, liars and thieves! Woe to you who would defraud the widow and the orphan, who would lie to those in need!”

“Be quiet, you old psycho,” said the man with the eye patch. “We’re trying to work here.”

“But where will the mercy be for you, sir, when judgment comes?” said the priest.

“Only judgment comes from Boss Authority,” said the man, “and if you don’t hush your geezer old yapper, then I’ll have to shut you up myself.”

“Mercy!” cried the priest. He fell to the floor of the boat. “Mercy please, on an old man!” He covered his face and bowed his head, all meek and terrified. He tossed me and Tally a wink.

“Just get out of here already,” said the man. “We’re out hunting, and you don’t want to get in the way when we find what we’re looking for.”

“Be blessed!” hollered the priest. “Blessed be ye in the name of the Lord!”

And he poled us onward.

“I can’t tell if this guy’s crazy,” whispered Tally, “or if he’s some kind of genius.”

“What’s the difference, so long as we get safe to Marina’s?” I said.

The night had gone low-down and spooky after the storm. A slit of moon burned above us, and only the brightest stars, clouds skimming over them like ghosts. Here and there the bonfires cast their glow, and Boss Authority’s men swept through the swamp, silent and watchful, their torches a burning warning to us in our hiding. But no one bothered checking the priest’s boat, no one bothered with the skinny bald man ranting and hollering about salvation. I realized the priest was his own kind of hustler, the same as me and Tally, same as the magician, same as Pop. Maybe he was hustling for a better cause—the salvation of the world ain’t exactly something to shake your head at—but he was putting on a show all the same.