The Boy’s head was spinning. Raul was real, and quite possibly not kindly disposed to him, as Manama’s potential heir and jail-breaker. The sailors worshiped Manama, who controlled the tides and commanded them through dreams? The George collected clouds and lived in the sky? And did the captain just say there were mountains in the sea? Did he mean under the water? Downing the drink in front of him, he began to laugh. It was all just so hopelessly unreal. Anselm and the captain stared for a moment, then found his mirth infectious. Before long they were laughing too, and the sound of their merriment sailed through the night and out to greet the rolling waves, wrapping itself around the ship like a cloud.

Lunation