beach and all their belongings beside it. Murray had brought a load of things down with the tractor.
“Just remember,” he said. “There’s nothing there that can hurt you. There’s no beasties or monsters. You’ll see nothing at night you don’t see in the day.”
“Oh, yes we will,” said Alastair. He was eight years old; his birthday had passed just a month before. He didn’t wear glasses yet, but he squinted a lot. “The auklets aren’t there in the daytime, Dad. The rock beetles only come out in the night.”
“Well, you know what I mean,” said Murray. “Don’t be scared just because it’s dark.”
“I won’t!” cried Squid. She remembers now the way she said it, the way Murray smiled when she put her hand against her hip. “I’ve got this!” she said, and touched the knife in its leather pouch. “And if anything comes after us I’ll slash it into bits!”
“Good girl!” said Murray. “And you’ve got your life jackets too?”
Alastair nodded.
“Then I’ll be off,” said Murray.
“Dad,” Alastair called after him. “You won’t be worried, will you?”
“Of course not,” he said. “You’re on your own, the pair of you. The best thing a parent can do for a child is—”
“Really, nothing at all!” cried Alastair and Squid together.
Murray beamed. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, and went off on the tractor.
They loaded the boat with all their gear. They filled it so full they had to wait for the tide to come in and float it off the beach. Alastair sat ready at the oars, sweeping them over the sand now and then as the water filled in around them. “Get out and push,” he said.
There was nothing she wouldn’t do for Alastair.
She turns from the bed at the sound of squeaking floors. Tatiana is there, her thumb in her mouth, a finger crooked over her nose.
“Hey,” says Squid. “I thought you were sleeping.”
The child stares at her with huge, wondering eyes.
“Lonely?” No answer. “You want to sleep in here? You want to lie down beside Mom?”
Squid pats the afghan, but Tatiana comes only as far as Alastair’s mat. She plops to the floor on the braided rope, falling backward with her knees stiff. Her thumb pops from her mouth like a cork, but she puts it back, blinks at Squid, then settles down on her side.
“There you go. I used to lie there myself sometimes.” Squid goes back to the map, holding it nearly flat, staring at the drawings Alastair made—the landforms—as though by turning them sideways she might see the islands rising from the paper sea.
The big one sprawls across the middle, every curve of beach precisely drawn. The outer islands are just the same, but only on the sides that face the big one. At the time, they were moons, with just one face familiar, and all the rest a mystery. The backs of them, on the map, are sketched in faint and cautious lines.
He climbed the tower to draw it. Of course she went with him, to pass him the pencils and eraser as he commanded, to call out the bearings from the handheld compass that he couldn’t quite read when it was right before his eyes. They drew a world with the tower right at the center.
“When we finish this,” said Alastair, “we’ll go exploring, and we’ll discover the islands. We’ll name them, every one.”
“Why don’t we name them from here?” she asked.
“You have to land on them to name them,” he said. “That’s the way it works.”
“Then why do we need a map?” she said.
“So we know where we’re going.”
It didn’t make sense to her. Only Alastair could understand. He had the map held down on a clipboard that he leaned against the railing. His tongue came out from his mouth as he drew.
“Take a bearing,” he said, “on that island there.”
“Which one?”
He pointed. “That one, Squid.”
“You mean North Island?”
“Oh, Jiminy, Squid,” he said, sounding just like Murray. “It’s not called North Island. Not until we get
“Just remember,” he said. “There’s nothing there that can hurt you. There’s no beasties or monsters. You’ll see nothing at night you don’t see in the day.”
“Oh, yes we will,” said Alastair. He was eight years old; his birthday had passed just a month before. He didn’t wear glasses yet, but he squinted a lot. “The auklets aren’t there in the daytime, Dad. The rock beetles only come out in the night.”
“Well, you know what I mean,” said Murray. “Don’t be scared just because it’s dark.”
“I won’t!” cried Squid. She remembers now the way she said it, the way Murray smiled when she put her hand against her hip. “I’ve got this!” she said, and touched the knife in its leather pouch. “And if anything comes after us I’ll slash it into bits!”
“Good girl!” said Murray. “And you’ve got your life jackets too?”
Alastair nodded.
“Then I’ll be off,” said Murray.
“Dad,” Alastair called after him. “You won’t be worried, will you?”
“Of course not,” he said. “You’re on your own, the pair of you. The best thing a parent can do for a child is—”
“Really, nothing at all!” cried Alastair and Squid together.
Murray beamed. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, and went off on the tractor.
They loaded the boat with all their gear. They filled it so full they had to wait for the tide to come in and float it off the beach. Alastair sat ready at the oars, sweeping them over the sand now and then as the water filled in around them. “Get out and push,” he said.
There was nothing she wouldn’t do for Alastair.
She turns from the bed at the sound of squeaking floors. Tatiana is there, her thumb in her mouth, a finger crooked over her nose.
“Hey,” says Squid. “I thought you were sleeping.”
The child stares at her with huge, wondering eyes.
“Lonely?” No answer. “You want to sleep in here? You want to lie down beside Mom?”
Squid pats the afghan, but Tatiana comes only as far as Alastair’s mat. She plops to the floor on the braided rope, falling backward with her knees stiff. Her thumb pops from her mouth like a cork, but she puts it back, blinks at Squid, then settles down on her side.
“There you go. I used to lie there myself sometimes.” Squid goes back to the map, holding it nearly flat, staring at the drawings Alastair made—the landforms—as though by turning them sideways she might see the islands rising from the paper sea.
The big one sprawls across the middle, every curve of beach precisely drawn. The outer islands are just the same, but only on the sides that face the big one. At the time, they were moons, with just one face familiar, and all the rest a mystery. The backs of them, on the map, are sketched in faint and cautious lines.
He climbed the tower to draw it. Of course she went with him, to pass him the pencils and eraser as he commanded, to call out the bearings from the handheld compass that he couldn’t quite read when it was right before his eyes. They drew a world with the tower right at the center.
“When we finish this,” said Alastair, “we’ll go exploring, and we’ll discover the islands. We’ll name them, every one.”
“Why don’t we name them from here?” she asked.
“You have to land on them to name them,” he said. “That’s the way it works.”
“Then why do we need a map?” she said.
“So we know where we’re going.”
It didn’t make sense to her. Only Alastair could understand. He had the map held down on a clipboard that he leaned against the railing. His tongue came out from his mouth as he drew.
“Take a bearing,” he said, “on that island there.”
“Which one?”
He pointed. “That one, Squid.”
“You mean North Island?”
“Oh, Jiminy, Squid,” he said, sounding just like Murray. “It’s not called North Island. Not until we get
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