Prodigal son ‘How did you get away from Diablo?’ I asked, as Miller hauled me aboard. ‘Simple,’ said Jem. ‘We convinced him that it was his brilliant idea that we should go to Catania to meet the Corfu and pick up another load of grain.’ ‘We had to promise him all the profit, but never mind.’ Miller looked like he did mind. ‘Which way’s he sailing?’ ‘Lord knows,’ said Jem. ‘The Lord’s the only one who cares, too. He’s gone off to find a buyer for his own cargo, I expect.’ ‘So he’s still in these waters?’ ‘I suppose so.’ ‘We’d better keep a sharp lookout then,’ I warned. ‘I never want to set eyes on that ship again as long as I live.’ ‘You’re not alone in that, Cyg,’ Jem said. I looked around. ‘I’m so glad to see you all. I knew you wouldn’t leave me there.’ Miller looked as if he might give me a hug, but then thought better of it. ‘Where’s Brasher?’ I asked. ‘We had to leave the poor sod behind,’ Jem said. ‘Diablo pushed his own sail-maker overboard, so he took ours.’ ‘We might need to throw you overboard too, Cyg,’ Miller joked.
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