The silence left in the sea-bear’s wake lay like a heavy cloak of snow over the battlefield. Fae and humans looked at their weapons as if wondering quite what they were for.

Grace left Ea and Belinda left Don Diego to approach their father’s body. Marlowe stood back, but before the inevitable weeping could begin he said, “He died well, in the manner that he lived. I didn’t like him, and he didn’t like me. But I respected his integrity. He was no hypocrite: friend or foe you knew where you stood with him, and that’s a virtue far too rare.”

Grace looked up at him, incipient tears in her eyes. “What do we do now?”

Marlowe looked around and saw everyone looking back at him. Even Captain Stone. Apparently he was the leader now. It was a pretty toy to be a poet, he thought. He realized his face was wet. He looked up and saw the sky was clearing.

“For I have seen blue skies… through the tears… in my eyes, and I realize… we’re going home,” he said, for no reason he could properly account for.