“Okay,” said Artemis. “Now, I gwan to do one thing for you, if I can find dot fishermon buddy. Ask him for a fix on de wreck, and den I get it to you before Sundee. Den you don’t waste time, lookin’ for her. Don’t want to play around too long on de cruel ocean dis time of year. Hurricane time. Okay, Nathaniel. Mon de oars and take me ashore.”

He swung over the rail and lowered himself into the tender and sat in the stern. Out came his blustery laugh. “Feel like de Phay-row isself, mon!”

“Think of how you’d feel if you were skipper of this schooner,” said Nathaniel, fitting the oars into the locks.

“Oh, pretty fine. I sure do love a fine ship.”

“Yeah, I get that idea.” Nathaniel started to pull. “Double Eagle sails as pretty as she looks. If we get a beam wind Sunday, we’ll fly to the Tortugas.”

“Fore ’n’ after on a beam reach, dere nuttin’ sweeter on de sea.”

“She can do ten knots, ten and then some. Coming down the Keys, we overtook a steamer. You would have loved that, Mr. Lowe.”

“Suppose I would of.” Artemis leaned back against the transom, his arms spread and a hand on each gunwale. “What you gettin’ at?”

Nathaniel held the oars still.

“What if you guided us out to the wreck, after you talked to your buddy? Couldn’t offer you any money, and, hell, you dumped the last of our rum overboard. But Double Eagle would be yours for three days. Whatever you’d say would go.”

“Ha! Diss de first time I been made a cop’in by a boy. What is it, Nathaniel? You feel more sure of things with me dere? Got a livin’ to make, sponges to fish, and I spend enough of my days on de water.”

Nathaniel left it at that, and stroked across the dark harbor, in which the ships’ lights in the distance, miniature moons, cast wavering white reflections.

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