The next day he and Maggie dragged Peter’s sailboat from its hiding place. A large crack split the bottom chine of The Jupiter’s hull.

‘Damn. I’d forgotten how much damage the storm had done.’ Peter said as he examined the splintered plywood near the centerboard.

‘You won’t be able to fix it,’ Maggie said.

‘Have to.’ Peter hunted in the bushes. ‘I don’t want to spend days paddling.’ He found the spars from The Jupiter, the rolled sail, the centerboard and rudder.

‘And this thing is?’ Maggie said. She held up a red and black vest shaped object.

‘My life jacket.’

‘What’s that for?’

‘You wear it when you’re sailing. Helps you float.’ It bewildered Peter he had to tell her at all.

‘I thought you could swim?’

‘Sure. But what happens if I hit my head, or break a bone? Can’t swim then.’

‘Or if you sailed in a broken boat and it sank under you.’ Maggie said.

Sheesh. Everyone needs be careful on the water. Even wear helmets, some of them. Except that makes senses only on fast boats like catamarans or…

Peter froze as he had a thought.

‘The outrigger. It’s big enough for both of us.’

‘What?’ said Maggie. ‘So because your sailboat is busted we have to paddle a canoe to Zenska?’

‘No. We sail the outrigger.’

They dragged the pirate's outrigger from the creek and into the water.

‘I knew somehow we would end up paddling,’ said Maggie as they returned to Qhawana’s bay looking like a floating junkyard of spars, sail and gear.

‘You can’t think to take thing outside the reef. Surely?’ said Maggie.

‘I saw the slavers’ canoe do it,’ said Peter.

‘Yes. But that was bigger,’ said Maggie.

’Slavers?’ Qhawana said. He had left his basketweaving and now sidled up to them where he regarded the pile of alien equipment.

‘Not slavers… Nezhnakhevo — blackbirders,’ Qhawana said with a scowl. ‘They kidnap good people to force a ransom from their families. Evil creatures.’ Qhawana fell silent and contemplated the aluminum boom and mast.

‘This is wealth the like I have not seen before.’ Qhawana touched the metal of the mast in an almost reverential way.

Peter unrolled the Japanese oilskin tool kit. Qhawana starred as the stainless steel glinted in the sun even if it had seen better days. Peter worked to remove the mast’s base fixing from the broken hull.

The next day Peter had the mast stepped into the outrigger and held into position by three long steel cables. Qhawana studied progress without comment. It was as if the results astonished the old man but he did not wish to reveal his ignorance. In time Peter had the rest of the rigging installed and ready to test.

‘Shoot. I forgot to put the wind indicator on the top of the mast.’ Peter held a small wind vane, it was a black arrow with a red vane at one end like the tail of an airplane.

Breeze snatched it from Peter’s hand and dashed back and forth, trailing it in the wind. The imp sat some distance away where he watched the wind spin the vane left and right.

‘Breeze! Give that back.’

Pretty… Pretty… Wind...

‘Hey I need that. It has to go at the top of the mast so I know where the wind is coming from.’

Worry furrowed Peter’s face as Breeze held it up to the wind and ran around on his remaining three legs. Then in a rush the imp climbed hand over hand up the aluminum mast, the wind indicator jammed in his mouth. Once near the top of the mast the imp waved the wind vane about. The mast flexed but Peter’s construction was sound.

Peter’s mouth dropped open as Breeze slotted the wind indicator into the masthead and, almost before Peter knew, was on the ground gamboling about in excitement.

‘Wow. So you’re smarter than I thought,’ Peter grinned. ‘Thanks Breeze.’ Peter held his hand out as Breeze dashed past but the imp ignored him. Maggie slapped a low five on Peter’s hand.

‘Seems we have to be careful what we wish for with Breeze,’ she said.

On Breeze’s next circuit the imp jumped high and, with his palm stretched out, slapped Peter’s hand just as Maggie had. All the while he chittered in incoherent warbles, but Peter got the sense the imp agreed with Maggie.

‘Imps can be dangerous enemies,’ said Qhawana. ‘Do not encourage it.’

‘Yeah. I get that impression. He could be a pain in the arse I think.’

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Qhawana cocked his head as if trying to understand Peter. ‘Devious and deadly more like,’ the old man said. ‘I have no notion of where this one came from, but if you fear it so little I would welcome you to drive it away.’

Breeze had tired of his dashing victory laps and now studied the two teens with uncertain eyes. Peter squatted and locked eyes with Breeze.

‘Thanks Breeze. I appreciate what you did. Very helpful. You’re a good friend.’

Good… Happy… Fun…

Peter and Maggie laughed at that but Peter noticed that Qhawana had not joined in. Instead the old man seemed sadder than ever.

‘This feather talisman?’ Peter said as pulled it from his neck where it lay under his wetsuit. ‘Given to me by one of the kidnapped… blackbirded victims. They knew you?’

Qhawana studied it for a long while before he sighed. ‘And I them,’ he said. ‘Zaj’quetza is from a... prominent family. That she was blackbirded means that power has shifted in the Empire. It is a strange turn of events. More reason to stay here. Where it is safe.’

Maggie and Peter stared at each other. It had not occurred to Peter to understand more of this world. Just that he wanted to go home.

‘But there is nothing to be done. That is of a world we are no longer a part of.’ Qhawana wandered back to his basket weaving.

Peter and Maggie stood amongst the scattered pieces of kit from Peter’s past life and hung their heads. Breeze took up the halyard connected to the top of the outrigger’s new mast and running fast leapt up and around the outrigger. As he ran the rope pulled him outwards in a looping arc, the sail was tugged up by the rope until it was half up the mast. Breeze spun on the other end. Then he let go and flew in the air to land tumbling and rolling across the sand in a chittering warble of delight. The two could not help but smile.

‘Come on. Let’s get our new outrigger on the water,’ Peter said.

Maggie pushed the outrigger canoe through the warm shallows of the lagoon as Peter tested the steering. After a bit of adjustment Peter had lashed a rudder post to the outrigger spar and hung the old rudder from it — not in line with the main hull, but close to it.

Peter pulled the sail in, looked to windward, studied the sail where the red star emblem shone bright in the tropical sun.

‘Let go,’ he yelled out. And he was off.

An eruption of water sprayed him as something crashed onto the boat.

‘Breeze! Don’t want to miss the fun do you?’ Peter said.

Breeze glared at Peter and turned his back in a sulk.

‘Sorry Breeze. I’m not going far this time.’

But all explanations were forgotten as the wind gusted and the canoe picked up speed. The narrow hull rocked, pushed the outrigger spar down into a spray of water. Peter trimmed the sail to ease the pressure.

‘Let’s see how you tack.’

He pushed the tiller away from him and brought the bow of the canoe into the wind, and the sail swung over. Breeze let out a startled squawk and jumped back to Peter. The wind tipped the canoe and the outrigger spar rose into the air. Water poured into the main hull as Peter leaned out to counter the wind. He released the sail and the outrigger slapped to the water with a bang. Breeze held tight to the outrigger spar but Peter fell into the water. He kept a hold of the mainsheet rope as the canoe slowed and turned into the wind with his weight in the water.

‘Well that’s not going to work.’

He climbed back aboard. Breeze gave Peter his smiling face and an approximation of a human laugh.

Peter got the boat moving again, and found that if he sat out on the outrigger spar he could lean out further and keep everything more level. Unlike his old sailboat, any lean caused by the wind was going to be bad.

On the opposite tack, with the outrigger float on the downwind side, the boat stayed on a more even angle. The outrigger sailed, but better in one direction than the other.

Back ashore, Qhawana and Maggie helped pull the canoe up onto land.

‘I’m getting the hang of it,’ Peter said as he flopped onto the sand. ‘And Breeze was almost helpful.’

‘He was? I just saw him leaping about from side to side.’ said Maggie.

‘Yeah.’ Peter smiled. ‘But with a purpose. Helping to balance. He learns fast.’

‘When he wants to,’ Maggie said.

‘I think he’s just not keen to get wet.’

It took the rest of the day for Peter to work out how to make the small outrigger more seaworthy. Qhawana took some convincing to let Peter to let him take the outrigger float off Berg’s canoe and put it on the outrigger. He even helped a little and gave him tools to open holes and cord to lash things together.

The outrigger now looked like a trimaran with one large hull and the two side floats. These both kept the outrigger stable, and created space on the outrigger platforms. But importantly the tri-hull outrigger worked well enough to carry his old sailboat’s sail without leaning over too much. Breeze paid close attention to all this progress even if he was no help.

‘Where is Zenska island?’ Peter said that evening as they finished their meal. ‘Is it close? Which direction is it?’

Qhawana stood and began to clear away the remains of their meal. ‘I do not know. I am no sailor.’

‘What?’ Peter stared at the old man.

‘I can paddle a canoe over the lagoon.’ Qhawana sighed. ‘But that is all.’

‘How did you get here then?’ Maggie said.

‘Skyship. As a passenger I know nothing of navigation,’ Qhawana said.

‘Marvelous,’ said Peter. He dropped his eating bowl on the ground with a clatter. ‘So what was the point in fixing up the outrigger? Why didn’t you stop us if you can’t point us in the right direction?’

‘I was curious… your contraption is interesting. I want it to work.’ Qhawana began to walk away with the platters. ‘Just not for you to sail off into danger.’

‘Do you have a map?’ Peter said.

‘Why would I have a map?’ Qhawana snorted over his shoulder. ‘I stay here, with my prisoner.’

‘Did Berg have a map?’ said Peter.

‘No. Why would a…’

‘Why would a prisoner need a map?’ said Maggie.

‘That is the truth of it.’ Qhawana turned and glared at them. ‘Yes.’

‘Where are Berg’s things?’ Peter said.

‘I can not permit…’

‘He’s not here… he’s gone,’ Peter said. Maggie laid a hand on his arm to calm him. ‘Can you at least let me look?’

‘There is no harm. Is there Qhawana?’ Maggie said. ‘In just looking.’

Qhawana said nothing more and instead went into the stone house. Maggie and Peter followed. In one of the two sleeping rooms a large wooden chest lay open.

‘I did search,’ said Qhawana. ‘There’s nothing.’

‘Oh,’ Maggie said. She stood beside the old man and stared down at the chest.

Peter went through the items, including artwork, carved wooden figures, and sheafs of paper covered with drawings. But no map.

‘The tunnel storage rooms?’ said Maggie.

The old man did not seem to hear. ‘Get the outrigger up and out of the water and secured,’ he said. ‘This time of year storms can come up all of a sudden.’

‘Yeah. Tell me about it,’ said Peter.

Qhawana gazed at him in puzzlement. Peter held his hand up. ‘Yeah… we speak weird where I come from. Get over it.’

Maggie laughed. ‘He means he knows about the storms, he’s experienced it… and you need not bother about the strange way he speaks.’

‘Hey,’ said Peter. ‘I don’t need a translator.’

‘Peter,’ Maggie said. ‘You speak in a way strange even to me. But I can deal… as you say. Qhawana though…’

The old man grunted and returned to the fire where he began to toast some bananas. ‘These will be ready once you’ve pulled the boat up.’

Peter hoped these bananas were sweet and not the starchy ones Qhawana seemed to like so much.

‘At least the old man is not quite so much of an unhelpful grump now,’ Peter said to Maggie as they walked towards the beach.

‘No. He’s a prisoner here as much as we were. As much as Berg ever was.’

‘I wonder if he understands that now?’ Peter said.