Ward had been worried that the moon, which was half full, would be out, making him visible from both the ship and the island. However, at dusk an army of cloud had marched in from the southwest, eating up the stars and turning the moon into a hazy corona. The only real light now came from the lighthouse. It reached out over the sea like an arm, as if to take hold of the ship, then raced away over the island. Another stroke of luck. Jaggles, Ward knew, would be occupied with manning the lighthouse tonight.

Still, he was uneasy.

Stealing the boat had been risky. Rowing it to Devil's Island had been riskier still. But the attraction had been too powerful. As the ship had drawn closer to the island he had grown more and more anxious. It was not the island that drew him, but the bag hidden under the cellar floor. His precious books.

He rowed into the channel separating the two islands and the lighthouse dropped out of sight, though its beam periodically lit the bottoms of the clouds, like distant lightning. The sea was calmer here. The boat skimmed across the water, the splash of the oars and rattle of the locks carrying through the night.

By the time he had pulled the boat up the beach, over the soft sand and into the tall grass, his arms were numb and heavy, his back a stiff wooden board, and his hands burned with blisters. The boat was only partially hidden in the grass, and he knew it would be visible in daylight. He wasn't planning to stay on the island that long though. If all went to plan he would be back on the ship within the hour. He tried not to think about the journey back. He would have to wear gloves tomorrow; if not, Nick would notice his raw hands, then there would be questions. At least the weather was cold, so the gloves wouldn't seem suspicious.

Ward had made no plans beyond getting back to the ship with the bag and hiding the evidence of his night mission. He had a notion that he might make his way back to Bareheep somehow. Or he could accompany Nick on his journey north. It was of no consequence. All that mattered was getting the bag.

He had pulled into the cove adjacent the one where Jaggles' shack stood, and now he set off up the rocky slope to the ridge that separated the two coves. But for the faint pulse of the lighthouse on the bellies of the clouds, and the yellow smudge of the moon, all was dark. Ward knew these tracks well though. He could have found his way blindfolded.

He reached the top of the ridge and looked down at the shack. It was dark. He heard only the waves crumbling against the shore, the murmur of sleepy gulls, and the distant sedated roar from the seaward side of the island. His arms were covered in a light sheen of sweat from his climb, and he shivered as a light breeze off the ocean swept over the ridge. He started down the track.

At the bottom he stopped and peered through the undergrowth. The storehouse was a grey, incorporeal shape in the darkness. The old Ward would have left the cover of the bushes straight away. But he remained where he was for a good five minutes, watching and listening. His year with the Scowerers had taught him much. He would never make a good thief, for his heart was not in it, but he had learned the art of moving about unseen, and learned it well.

Ward had never intended to accompany Nick on his journey, and he had not understood why Nick was so adamant that he should. What possible help could he be on such a mission? Ward had some idea why Nick was going. The State and the Brotherhood had become concerned about a growing threat in the North of the world. Details were scant. Sailors spoke of a great city inhabited by giants, who wielded weapons of unusual power, and sailed to war on ships made of metal forged in cyclopean foundries. Nick had become obsessed with the subject, directing the greater part of his powers into learning more. He believed they had a shared interest: overthrowing the Brotherhood. It was clear he wanted to reach out to these enemies and make a deal, or at least offer them information.

Ward was roped into assisting Nick with these plans. Nick's enthusiasm was infectious, and it was hard not to succumb to the romance of the blank spaces on the old maps, the half-remembered stories of lands where dwelt fantastic people and creatures of legend, those distant latitudes where the stars were strange and the maps ended. Still, Ward had turned down Nick's insistent offers to accompany him. It had been six months since he had woken the Sleepers that day at the Derricks. He had found friends, and built a new life. Why would he want to leave?

Then, the dreams had come.

Welcome back to Devil's Island. Enjoy your stay. Don't forget to vote, comment, and say hello to the friendly lighthouse-keeper.