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Ah—okay, okay, keep pressing.그런DO: let out a long, ragged breath and lean my head back against the wall, feeling the throbbing start to dull slightly.

Quiet — jenny leans over the notebook, the magnifying glass magnifying the paper, as she begins to sketch a precise map of the sea much distribution.

Quiet — peel back the edge of the bandage to inspect the skin around the infection.

An hour ago.

Back before it turns.

Barometer's still steady. But if it starts falling again tonight, the ankle'll swell more. We'll stay ahead of it.

All right, I'll stick around. I'll cut the shims and get the dock ring snug before we hit the high tide.

(shouting back over the wind) Won't be long. Watch the radio—if the supply boat calls, you answer.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

I'll get the trays. You do the 0800 call.

Be careful. The barometer is still dropping fast.

Drink it while it's hot. Salt and fat'll help the blood.

Broth's ready. Tin mugs on the shelf.

(nothing — too high to shout down, radio's inside)

Aye. Barometer's down another point since dawn. Front's building slow. Eat — we'll need it.

Don't overcook the beef.

Quiet — keep the headlamp beam fixed on her ankle, not moving, not looking away, breathing slow through my nose.

Don't stay out there too long, the wind is turning!

Be careful. It's pulsing today.

Bowl's dry. Oil's at the full mark. I'll bleed the lines now.

I can do it myself. It's just a bit.

Aye. Just habit.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Barometer's holding. Rising slow. Eight days to the boat if the high stays put.

Be careful. It's... sensitive.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Come back inside. You're shaking.

Bolts are torqued. 35Nm. Held through the test run.

Aye. Chair it is.

After the mug.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Aye. Grab the cedar wedges too — might help it bite. I'll re-wrap yours after.

(A sharp intake of breath as the bandage slips)

Quiet — reach for the first aid kit on the shelf, pull out the last of the doxy blister, the metronidazole, the antibiotic cream tube — empty — and the clean gauze, set them on the table between us

Quiet — climb the mast ladder in the rain, remove the cracked insulator, seat the spare porcelain one, wrap the joint with self-amalgamating tape, reconnect the coax, then drop back down and key the r

Cottage isn't going anywhere.

Aye. Fastest drop I've seen since Biscay.

Quiet — check the wall clock for time, then pull a tin of corned beef and heat it in the skillet

Quiet — fill the kettle from the tank tap and set it on the stove, then pull out two tin mugs

Quiet — pop a dose of doxycycline and begin unwrapping the clean gauze.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Be careful with the crowbar. It might be behind the flour.

(nothing — too far to speak without shouting)

Quiet — inspect the dock fastenings — greenheart shim, collar clamp, oak wedges, sister plank

Dock's holding. Wedges seated. Greenheart shim solid. Your ankle clean — no heat, no tracking. Mine's weeping. Started metronidazole. Radio call at fourteen hundred. Same frequency. Same words.

(nothing — focused on the shim)

'08 took the wheelhouse off a Greek freighter. Garden's uphill. It'll hold.

Aye. But the barometer's steady. That's more than we had at 0400.

Finished the salt gland counts. Three notebook pages, all matched to samples. You want me to wrap the data for the dry bag?

(eyes on the loupe, voice low) 18-meter. Noted.