The Snowmelt River (The Three Powers) by Frank P. Ryan

in little frustrated gestures in the direction of Alan and Kate. “Oh, Mo—don’t you so hate the fact we have to spy on people? I can’t stand taking the pictures back to Grimstone.”
    She could see how, in betraying their friends, he was turning so much of the hate on himself.
    “I don’t even know why he wants me to do it. It’s not as if he even listens to what I have to tell him. It’s just our stuff, the little things that are personal to us. That just makes it all the more awful. I want it to stop. But I’d go on doing it forever if I could go on hanging about with Kate and at the same time keep Grimstone off my back.”
    While Mark headed into the sea to join Alan and Kate, Mo stayed on the shore and watched him, fearful and tense, observing that he had been stupid enough to take the phone with him.
    She heard Kate’s voice raised in outrage. “How many times have I told you not to take pictures of me in my bikini!”
    Mo heard Alan and Mark’s voices raised in argument. Alan was defending Kate, and Mark, as usual, was trying to make a joke out of it. She heard the idiot tell Kate that he had been having Conan the Barbarian dreams about her. The arguing got worse. Mark was laughing, full of self-mockery. “How could I compete with a fellowwhose name is an anagram of dual naval?” Then Mark was splashing out toward the shore with Alan chasing him. They faced each other off at the edge of the surf.
    “Oh, come on!” Mark shouted. “You’re telling me, Alan, that you haven’t been having Conan dreams about Kate?”
    “You’re asking for it!”
    They tussled and fell over in the middle of a breaking wave. Mark was struggling to escape, trying to save his precious phone. But Alan didn’t care about the phone. He grabbed Mark again and they rolled over and over in the surf. Alan got an arm free and he punched Mark in the nose. They separated, Alan jumping to his feet while Mark sat in the tide with his phone held against his face, blood trickling through his fingers.
    “Enough!” cried Kate. “Stop it this instant!”
    Alan suddenly looked sheepish. He extended his hand to Mark, to help him up. “Hey, I’m sorry—right? It just got out of hand.”
    Mark took his hand but he followed with his head, butting Alan in the center of the face, so it was Alan’s turn to end up sitting in the surf with a bloody nose.
    Alan pushed away Kate’s consoling hand. “Okay—if that’s how he wants it. He’s such a jerk, I’ve had it with him.”
    Mo burst into tears. There was such a look of mortification on her face that Kate ran to her and hugged her. “Take no notice of those idiots. It’ll be alright. Honestly, it will. I know that Alan doesn’t really mean it.”
    Alan stormed off down the beach while Mark sat down in the sand, drying off the cell phone with a towel and making sure it still worked.
    Kate muttered to Mo, “What’s his problem with that stupid phone?”
    Mo’s trembling turned into a fit of uncontrollable shaking. Her teeth chattered.
    “Ah, sure, come on now, Mo. It was just a few stupid photographs.”
    Then Mo said something strange. Her voice was a guttural croak, each individual syllable forced out, as if she were struggling to speak through a throat that was shackled with iron.
    “Guh-Guh-Guh . . . Guh-Grimstone—wuh-wuh-wuh . . . !”
    “Grimstone will what?” Kate helped her down, so they were sitting together on the soft wet sand by the water’s edge. Kate called to Mark, who was about ten feet away. “Mo’s really upset. Will you please tell me what’s going on, Mark?”
    But Mark wasn’t listening. His blue eyes were staring out to sea.

Old Power
    Mark hardly slept that night, too shocked at how close he had come to being found out. And Grimstone added to it, as if he sensed that something was wrong, becoming more sarcastic than usual when he made them stand in front of him in the sacristy and provide the daily summary. He warned them both that their