There was a long silence, filled with the sounds of crickets and frogs and the sough of wind through the trees and moss.

“So now you boys know my story,” Talmadge said, as though they had begged to hear it. He knocked his pipe against the leg of his chair and, noticing that his listeners were stifling yawns, asked if they were ready to turn in.

They nodded as one, and the reformed false prophet picked up the lantern and led them down a path to the dock, then bid them good night.

“What did you make of all that?” asked Nathaniel, pulling the oars. The waters were so black in the hour before moonrise that he seemed to be rowing through the middle of the night air.

“What I make of it is that we ought to go to Beaufort first thing in the morning,” Will said. “Bound to be a boatyard there where we can patch the old ship up for a decent price.”

“Let’s see what this Kincaid offers first.”

“All right, Natters. But let’s shove out of here soon as we can. This gunkhole is even weirder than I thought.”

The next afternoon, as the tide was ebbing and great blue herons, posing still as artists’ stuffed models, waited for the falling waters to expose schools of minnows to their quick, yellow eyes, a shabby little man poled his skiff across the flats to Double Eagle.

“Good day,” he called, tossing a line to Nathaniel. He was short and wiry, with a gray stubble on his jaw and a nose set off by a wart big as a bee sting. “Here to see about this busted boat you got. Gimme a hand aboard. Think I’m as young as you?”

“You’re Mr. Kincaid’s carpenter?”

“Nope. I’m Kincaid.”

Dressed in a patched shirt, greasy trousers held up by frayed braces, and a filthy straw hat, he looked more like an old swamp rat than the leading citizen of Snead’s Landing. He spat tobacco juice over the side and said:

“Our local village idiot tells me you’re from Maine and got caught in that blow day before yesterday.”

“You’re referring to Mr. Talmadge?”

“Who else? Tell you that yarn about him bein’ a prophet?”

“Yes, sir …”

“Tells that one to every stranger who comes by, which one look at our town ought to tell y’all that that ain’t exactly an everyday occurrence. Hope you don’t think we’re all like him. We ain’t got a mayor, but if we did, I’d be it, and I wouldn’t want folks to think we’re a bunch of ignorant fools here.”

Eager for the man’s goodwill, Nathaniel assured him, truthfully, that they thought no such thing.