"I like it," the Captain said. "Let's break this up before the Syndic comes asking what's up. You stay, Tom-Tom. I've got a job for you."

It was a night for screamers. A broiling, sticky night of the sort that abrades that last thin barrier between the civilized man and the monster crouched in his soul. The screams came from homes where fear, heat, and overcrowding had put too much strain on the monster's chains. A cool wind roared in off the gulf, pursued by massive storm clouds with lightning prancing in their hair. The wind swept away the stench of Beryl. The downpour scoured its streets. By morning's light Beryl seemed a different city, still and cool and clean.

The streets were speckled with puddles as we walked to the waterfront. Runoff still chuckled in the gutters. By noon the air would be leaden again, and more humid than ever. Tom-Tom awaited us on a boat he had hired. I said,

"How much did you pocket on this deal? This scow looks like it'd sink before it cleared the Island."

"Not a copper, Croaker." He sounded disappointed. He and his brother are great pilferers and black-marketeers.

"Not a copper. This here is a slicker job than it looks. Her master is a smuggler."

"I'll take your word. You'd probably know!" Nevertheless, I stepped gingerly as I boarded. He scowled. We were supposed to pretend that the avarice of Tom-Tom and One-Eye did not exist.

We were off to sea to make an arrangement. Tom-Tom had the Captain's carte blanche. The Lieutenant and I were along to give him a swift kick if he got carried away, Silent and a half dozen soldiers accompanied us for show. A customs launch hailed us off the Island. We were gone before she could get underway. I squatted, peered under the boom. The black ship loomed bigger and bigger. "That damned thing is a floating island."

"Too big," the Lieutenant growled. "Ship that size couldn't hold together in a heavy sea."