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have been the first hint of a mind reeling into chaos. The end might have been as predictable as it was inevitable: the blood-spattered triumph of entropy over the ordered system that had been Alistair Crowley.
    I stared blankly at the bottom of the bunk above me. Every time an emergent thought threatened to coalesce into meaning, it dissolved just as quickly. Eventually so did my consciousness and I drifted into sleep. I should have dreamt about Crowley, been confronted by his pale ghost festooned with fronds of bull kelp. And screamed silently as he wrapped me in his cold embrace. But I slept a dreamless sleep and woke before the engines did.

Five
    It was only six when I shuffled into the galley expecting to have to fumble around with coffee makings, but the aroma of brewing coffee greeted me like an old friend. George was already up and the first batch of mud was almost ready. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Skippers don’t sleep much and are always the first up. I was never sure if they became skippers because they didn’t sleep much or didn’t sleep much because they had become skippers.
    When the coffeemaker gurgled to the end of its cycle, I poured two cups and took them over to the table.
    â€œMorning, George. Looks like it could be a nice day.” I spoke in the slightly hushed tone of one who knows there are others still sleeping.
    He took one of the mugs and sipped it black while I diluted mine with canned milk. “Cheers. Yeah, the forecast says the high pressure will hold for seventy-two hours anyways.”
    â€œGeorge, I want to poke around Yeo Cove. How ’bout I take a Zodiac and meet you guys back at Shearwater? You can check out the west side on your way back.”
    â€œYou’re the boss, but hell, there’s no problem with that. Just take a portable VHF in case you run into trouble.”
    I nodded and took another sip of coffee. I felt a quiet surge of excitement.
    â€œYou think you might find something important Crowley left behind?”
    I’d forgotten that George had been around long enough to know all the stories and have heard all the rumors. I felt embarrassed and a little ashamed now at the prospect of poking through a dead man’s effects. George had a different slant on it.
    â€œHe was a strange guy. Watch out for booby traps.” He rose and headed for the wheelhouse. I could hear him turning on radios as I sat and tried to think. I thought I should go and brush my teeth, so I did.
    The red streaks of dawn were just beginning to fade from the sky as we launched the Zodiac. A cold yellow orb masqueraded as the sun. Shivering, I took my bag of sandwiches and large thermos of coffee and jumped into the boat.
    The Zodiac was eighteen feet long, very light, and powered by twin 150-horse outboards. I turned the key and the engines burbled into life. Blue exhaust smoke wafted in gentle eddies. Well, I thought, as I grasped the throttle, let’s see what this little baby will do.
    What it did was thrill me indecently. In about two seconds, I was skimming over the water at thirty knots but it felt like fifty. My job didn’t afford the same access to big-boy toys that some guys enjoyed. DFO didn’t have, for example, any F-16 jet fighters, so this little Zodiac would have to suffice. I always appreciated the occasional fantasy fulfillment that came my way as part of an otherwise dull job. And because Angelina Jolie was unlikely to show up asking about sockeye enhancement, going fast in a rubber toy was about as fulfilling as my fantasies were going to get.
    The wind was cruelly cold and I soon had to slow down. With the windchill factor reduced to a bearable level, I cruised into Yeo Cove. Tucked into a little nook within the bay was a rickety float to which was tied the Jessie Isle , a beautifully maintained forty-five-foot wooden ex-troller that was, or had been, Crowley’s boat. And at the far end of the float, behind stacks of prawn