Gerald realised Lucy had taken the hint, for she dragged her betrothed towards the door. The floor was planked with oak, and covered with iron staples, hooks, and ringbolts, with heavy chains attached to them. She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. “I’m really very sorry. Borne along by the current, Darrell was instantly at the boat's side. I could not become an Oracle.
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