Fate and Fortune by Shirley McKay

want to be stranded.’
    ‘It must be bleak indeed, to be so close to the land, and yet so far from it.’
    ‘Aye. We will drop off the grain at the landing place. The soldiers will wade out to meet the boat. For that, I do thank God. I do not care to land. They say there is a most prodigious kind of rat that’s native to the island, that chews its way through iron, and gnaws the prisoners’ faces as they sleep; and all have lost their noses,’ the man said seriously.
    Hew laughed at this. ‘An old wives’ tale, I doubt.’
    ‘Perhaps. Though old wives tales are apt to have a grain of truth in them,’ the boatman replied, with unexpected shrewdness. ‘There is upon the island too an ancient leper house, where they put the sick in times of plague. Tis likely the tale comes from that.’
    ‘Aye, likely,’ Hew agreed. He shivered. ‘Is there far to go? I do not like the colour of the sky.’
    ‘No more do I. It is not far, sir, to Inchgarvie. Here is the landing place. And here’s the constable himself.’
    The soldiers waded through the water to the little boat, and took the grain ashore, balancing the sacks upon their shoulders, to the keeper of the castle who kept watch upon the tower, the scarlet of his coat a poppy head against the drizzle darkness of the sky. Hew could not conceive of a more bleak and dreary place. His business concluded, the boatman struck out again and turned the boat eastwards clear of the rocks.
    In the darkness and the rain, Hew had lost his bearings. Presently, though, he glimpsed the faint light of the beacons far receding straight ahead. ‘Surely,’ he said suddenly, ‘we’re heading north?’
    ‘Aye, sir, back to land.’
    ‘There must be some mistake. I paid you for the passage to the south side.’
    Slyly, the boatman shook his head. ‘Tis as I did explain to you; I had business at Inchgarvie. The business fulfilled, I return home again.’
    ‘This is trickery!’ exclaimed Hew. ‘You understood full well, the bargain was that you would take me to the south side.’
    The boatman looked pained. ‘Aye, mebbe,’ he conceded. ‘But the weather has turned. And it were not worth my while, to continue to the south side now, but for a mere twelve shillings, for like as not I would find myself stranded there until the other morn, with such a loss of business that would not repay my time. I have a family to support, sir, and I must consider them.’
    ‘How much?’ Hew demanded shortly, understanding he had been trumped.
    ‘Thirteen shillings, sir. Let’s say, a merk,’ the man said quickly. ‘Up front.’
    ‘Turn the boat around. I will pay it at the other side,’ Hew said curtly.
    ‘Pardon me, how do I know it, sir?’
    ‘How do I know you will take me to the other side, and not turn back half way, or maroon me on Inchgarvie?’ Hew retorted.
    The boatman laughed. ‘A bleak enough fate. I would not do that, sir. I am an honest man, in truth, and yet a man has to live. You have money. I have a boat. Surely, we can come to an arrangement.’
    ‘You are an honest rogue. And that you are a poor one I sincerely doubt,’ Hew said severely.
    ‘Very well. Show me the merk, and you shall have the keeping of it till we reach the other side,’ the man said generously. ‘I trust you, as a gentleman. Besides, I have your sword and saddle bag,’ he added pointedly.
    Hew swore softly, dropped the rein and reached into his pocket for his purse. This lurching movement proved a mistake. Dun Scottis, his ears set back against the wind and his dank coat sleek and swollen with the rain, had grown impatient with the motion of the boat. He had not liked the rising menace in the boatman’s voice, nor the muted anger he could sense in Hew’s. As Hew released the reins, he took his chance and bolted, caring little for the boundaries that distinguished boat and waves, and leaping full into the darkness that gave way to water he undid them all, unbalancing the boat. As the rushing waters