Chapter 4: Salvage

On the fifth morning I got as far as the boat.

By then I had worked out the gap in their habits.

Magnus went up to the lamp at dusk and slept the least.

Ansel went to the library after breakfast.

Rook went out on the water before light and came back by nine.

The stone dock lay unwatched from five to nine, with the skiff tied at the foot of it.

I went down the stair in my coat and boots, my father's pencil in my pocket.

I eased the oak door open into a gray wet dawn.

The skiff sat at the dock.

A man was in it, bailing with a bucket and humming.

"Morning, Miss Pinkham," Rook said.

I stopped on the top step.

"You're supposed to be out on the water."

"I am on the water," he said.

"Look."

He gestured at the skiff, which rode the swell and slapped softly against the pilings.

A thermos sat beside him, and a coil of line, and a pair of wet boots set neatly on the thwart.

"I've been waiting for you since five," he said.

"I told them you'd be down by six.

"Ansel bet seven.

"Magnus didn't bet."

"You were waiting for me to try to steal your boat."

"I was waiting for you to try to steal it.

"Then I could say no, and take you out in it anyway."

He grinned up at me.

"Come on.

"I'm not going to stop you."

I stood where I was.

It was a trap, and I knew it, and I could not see the shape.

"Why?"

"Because you've been in that room four days and nobody's asked you what you'd like to do," he said.

"I'm asking."

I looked at the open water.

I looked at him.

He held out a hand, and when I didn't take it he lowered it and shrugged and went back to bailing.

I went down the steps and got into the boat on my own.