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chance of getting word down the coast to Ilanbeg had been to send a seagull.
    After supper, Ossian stepped onto a fallen tree trunk and shouted for order. Grandpa Sandy stood beside him.
    “We’ve one good day’s sailin’ behind us; and two more to Nebula. Tomorrow we make landfall at Canna; and the next day by Talisker. There we’ve to get Caskill’s charmstone. We’ve a selkie for company; she’s been shot, but only in the shoulder. Kelly and Fenrig have seen to her wound. We’ll see if she wants to come further with us.”
    Jack looked across at his grandfather; then over at his father. Why weren’t they explaining all this?
    “We all have different reasons for being here,” added Grandpa. “Ossian’s friendship with some Nebula people will help us. So, to your tents, and rest well. Tomorrow night we’ll reorder the crews for Thursday’s sail.”
    “What’s so special about Thursday?” grumbled Petros as he and Jack bedded down for the night.
    “So that we know who’s doing what when we get to Nebula. Anyway, it’s not Thursday that’s special; it’s Friday.”
    “Friday?”
    “That’s Hallows’ Eve.”
    Petros started guiltily. He was a quarter human, after all: had living at human height for so long really made him forget?
     
     

6
Fishermen’s Blues
    The sail up to Canna the next day was uneventful, except for the puzzling appearance on the boat of a shy young woman. She sat huddled in the prow, pale-faced, watching the other boats carefully. Kelly stopped any of the youngsters from approaching her, explaining that she had to rest.
    The seagulls that periodically followed the boats, hoping for scraps, looked huge to the Shian, but were no trouble as long as no food was visible. But if the seagulls were not threatening, the sight of an eagle soaring overhead was the cause of animated discussion.
    â€œThey take lambs,” announced Petros. “They could easily take one of us. Or one of you,” he said pointedly to his sisters. “You’re the smallest.”
    Lizzie cowered as he said this, but Rana was made of sterner stuff.
    â€œIt’s a sign of good luck. Marco told me about an eagle once – he even showed me a picture in one of his books. They’re special.”
    That’s right, thought Jack . In Marco’s book.
    The day passed slowly. After Enda had taught Jack and Fenrig the Cu-shee hexes, they had an unofficial competition to see who could react fastest to Enda’s orders. Each considered himself the winner, but their keenness provided great entertainment for the others.
    Except Petros. If Fenrig had got used to being on board, he hadn’t, and he spent another miserable day gazing at the heaving waters – and heaving back. If nothing else, it gave everyone something to talk about.
    Rana and Lizzie, kept busy initially with as much swabbing, scrubbing and cleaning as Grandpa could think of, had weathered that particular storm, and spent the afternoon sitting in the small rowing boat that was pulled along in the boat’s wake, trailing a hopeful fishing line.
    But two days’ good sailing was as long as their luck was to last, and Thursday morning saw leaden skies and a fierce north-westerly wind that prevented them putting to sea. Ossian had selected Jack to come on his boat, swapping with Finbogie, and the two of them sat by the boats and looked morosely at the churning sea.
    Jack, finding himself seated next to Gilmore, couldn’t think of a way to open the conversation. What do you say to a tutor whose wife has been abducted by your cousins? Gilmore saved his blushes.
    â€œJack, I’ll be going on one of the other boats. You’d better take this for your new guest.” He slipped some cloth into Jack’s palm.
    Jack’s puzzled expression told its own story.
    â€œIt’s a special haemostat bandage: it works against bullet wounds. The one we used yesterday will need replaced sometime.”
    â€œBut