A Dusk of Demons
“We cast off with the town asleep under the moon. The breeze was stiff and from its usual westerly quarter. It took some tacking to clear the bay, but after that we had a clear run. By the time moonlight began to fade into the glow of day, Sheriff’s was no more than a distant shadow, the other islands invisible behind it.
Joe produced bread and cheese and a flask of tea, which I tackled ravenously: Freedom put an edge on appetite. Paddy, her face gray in the pallid light, would not even drink. We were out in the deep of ocean, with a swell under us that had built up over uncountable sea miles. The moon and the last dimming stars soared and dropped as we rolled from crest to trough and back. She would do better to be sick, I thought, and get it over.
Joe looked at her too, and perhaps by way of distraction started talking about people on the mainland. He had not been there often and had always been glad to get away. I asked why.
“It ain’t easy to put words to it. They’re mostly civil but . . .
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