No, he would not have been, thought Nathaniel, as Artemis paused to wet his lips with rum. Salvage and lives. Greed and duty—the coals that fueled the boiler of his father’s ambition. The two didn’t mix, in most cases, but he must have found in the wrecker’s trade a calling that allowed them to be burned together.

“De money part now,” Artemis resumed, while the first evening stars appeared. “We make it our business to know what a ship is carrying if we can, and de rumor got started in town dot de Annisquam carryin’ dese candle holders, no little ones like for a house, but great big ones long as a man is tall and gold clear through, seven of ’em, de tale went—it come from de ship’s second mate, talkin’ drunk de night before she left—and dey is bound for Vera Cruz, o’er to Mexico, for a church dere.”

“Paschal candles, for Easter,” Drew interrupted.

“Whatever dey called, dey big and gold and we all thinkin’ what dot gwan to fetch at a salvage auction, if it come to dot. De Lord God Jehovah forgive me, but when we set out, I was prayin’ for dot ship to hit de rocks, and I bet everybody else was, too, maybe even Cop’in Cy hisself, even if he wasn’t dot kind. Say dere, Will, poss me dot rum gimme.”

Will handed him the bottle, and he refreshed his cup.

“De gale was a sweetie pie, tell you dot. We run into it in Rebecca Passage, east of de Tortugas, and we got to ride it out. Wasn’t long before I was prayin’ to de Lord God Jehovah to save dis nigger’s ass. Come to find out later dot when de storm poss o’er Key West, de navy people’s gauges said de wind hit eighty mile an hour. Dere was a turtlin’ schooner, hundred-and-twenty-footer, picked up clear outta de harbor and set down on Front Street. Small trees on de eye-lond got pulled out de ground like my Euphy pulls pins out her pin cushion, and dere was coconuts ripped from de palms and shot t’rough windas like dey was cannonballs, and out at sea, where we was, de seas looked to me high as de customs house yonder.