Tracy saw all that in his scar. Even more important, it reminded her how he got it and she felt a shiver run up her spine on tiny clawed feet. It also reminded her of where they were going now-and why. Again the fear yanked at her stomach. But she didn't want Eric to see it.

"I hope all that strain back there is at least for something to eat."

"I don't think we'll eat it just yet," Eric said. "In a few months we may not have a choice."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He didn't answer. His eyes were lost in the dark like moon craters so she couldn't read his expression.

"Well, if it's not food, what is it?"

"An answer to your question."

"What question?"

He turned back to the object he was wrestling out of the water. The canoe began to rock again from the added weight. "It's snagged on some seaweed."

Tracy braced her hands on either rail of the canoe, shifting her weight back and forth along the seat to maintain their balance. "What question, damn it?"

Eric grunted, heaving his arms up. His catch bobbed partially out of the water.

"Oh God!" Tracy gasped, dropping the stub of her carrot again. "Jesus no!"

2.

The seventy-three-foot staysail schooner rocked silently in the gentle current only a quarter of a mile ahead of Eric and Tracy's canoe. The heavy darkness completely curtained it from sight and being downwind drowned any sounds. On board, the ship's armed crew stood solemnly on deck, scratching their bodies and fidgeting with their weapons. Waiting and listening.

"What the hell are they doing?" the captain whispered, annoyed. A faint scent of English Leather soap and Polo cologne misted the air around him.

"We could be on them like a bad rash in just five minutes," Griffin urged the captain in his slow Carolina drawl. "Just say the word, Cap."