The sun was settling into the west as Jean began to untie them from the dock. Locke hopped down onto the sterndeck, a room-sized space surrounded by raised gunwales, and as his last act before their departure he opened the burlap sack and released the contents onto the boat.

The black kitten looked up at him, stretched and began to rub himself against Locke's right boot, purring loudly.

"Welcome to your new home, kid. All that you survey is yours," said Locke. "But this doesn't mean I'm getting attached to you."

4

They anchored a hundred yards out from the last of Vel Virazzo's lantern towers, and beneath its ruby light they had the dinner that Locke had promised.

They sat on the sterndeck, legs folded, with a small table between them. They each pretended to be absorbed in their bread and chicken, in their shark fins and vinegar, in their grapes and black olives. Regal attempted to make war on their meal several times, and only accepted an honourable peace after Locke bribed him with a chicken wing nearly the size of his body.

They went through a bottle of wine, a nondescript Camorri white, the sort of thing that smooths a meal along without becoming its centrepiece. Locke tossed the empty bottle overboard and they started another, more slowly.

"It's time," Jean said at last, when the sun had moved so low in the west that it seemed to be sinking into the starboard gunwale. It was a red moment, all the world from sea to sky the colour of a darkening rose petal, of a drop of blood not yet dry. The sea was calm and the air was still; they were without interruptions, without responsibilities, without a plan or an appointment anywhere in the world.

Locke sighed, removed a glass vial of clear liquid from his inner coat pocket and set it on the table. "We discussed splitting it," he said. "We did," said Jean. "But that's not what we're doing." "Oh?"

"You're going to drink it." Jean set both of his hands on the table, palms down. "All of it." "No," said Locke. "You don't have a choice," said Jean. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"We can't take the chance of splitting it," said Jean, his voice reasonable and controlled in just the fashion that told Locke he was ready for instant action. "Better that one of us be cured for certain than for both of us to linger on and… die like that." "I'll take my chances with lingering on," said Locke. "I won't," said Jean. "Please drink it, Locke." "Or what?"

"Or you know what," said Jean. "You can't overpower me. The reverse is definitely not true." "so you'll—"

"Awake or unconscious," said Jean, "it's yours. I don't care. Drink the fucking antidote, for the Crooked Warden's sake." "I can't," said Locke. "Then you force me to—" "You don't understand," said Locke. "I didn't say "won't". I can't." "What—"

"That's just water in a vial I picked up in town." Locke reached once more into his pocket, withdrew an empty glass vial and slowly set it down beside the fake. "I have to say, knowing me the way you do, I'm surprised you agreed to let me pour your wine."

5

"You bastard," Jean roared, leaping to his feet. "Gentleman Bastard."

"You miserable fucking son of a bitcbV Jean was a blur as he moved, and Locke flinched backward in alarm. Jean snatched up the table and flung it into the sea, scattering the remnants of their dinner across the boat's deck. "How could you? How could you do that to me?"

"I can't watch you die," said Locke flatly. "I can't. You couldn't ask me to—" "so you didn't even give me a choice!"

"You were going to fucking force-feed it to me!" Locke stood up, brushing crumbs and chicken-bone fragments from his tunic. "I knew you" d try something like that. Do you blame me for doing it first?"

"Now I get to watch you die, is that it? Her, and now you? And this is a favour?"

Jean collapsed onto the deck, buried his face in his hands and began to sob. Locke knelt beside him and wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

"It is a favour," said Locke. "A favour to me. You save my life all the time because you're an idiot and you don't know any better. Let me… let me do it for you, just once. Because you actually deserve it."

"I don't understand any of this,"Jean whispered. "You son of a fucking bitch, how can you do this? I want to hug you. And I want to tear your gods-damned head off. Both at once."

"Ah," said Locke. "Near as I can tell, that's the definition of "family" right there." "But you'll die," whispered Jean.

"It was always going to happen," said Locke. "It was always going to happen, and the only reason it didn't happen before now… is… you, actually." "I hate this,"said Jean. "I do, too. But it's done. I suppose I have to feel okay about it." I feel calm, he thought. J suppose I can say that. I feel calm. "What do we do now?" "same as we planned," said Locke. "somewhere, anywhere, laziest possible speed. Up the coast, just roaming. No one after us. No one in the way, no one to rob. We've never really done this sort of thing before." Locke grinned. "Hell, I honestly don't know if we'll be any good at it." "And what if you—" "When I do, I do," said Locke. "Forgive me." "Yes," said Jean. "And no. Never."

"I understand, I think," said Locke. "Get up and give me a hand with the anchor, would you?" "What do you have in mind?"

"This coast is so gods-damned old," said Locke. "Falling apart. Seen it, seen everywhere like it. Let's see if we can't get this thing pointed somewhere else." He stood up, keeping one of his hands on Jean's shoulder. "Somewhere new."