Joe posted watches and went to bed.

Dawn brought a strange boat to the harbor mouth.

Joe studied it through binoculars. n.o.body aboard. The caique was typically Greek, with high bow and a fiddle pegged stern post like a gondola. Joe wondered how far the eighteen footer had drifted from its fishing vil-

lage. And why couldn't it have turned up last night when he'd needed a skiff?

He turned the Alice inside out and found no chlorine tablets. The spring water was sweet but the rocks were lined with moss. In three weeks time the Alice would draw green streamers from her faucets. There was neither time nor dry wood to boil it all.

McGrath edged up, still wearing that odd, eager look.

"Mr. Rate," he asked, "why can't we stay here?"

"Too close to Roman shipping lanes," Joe answered.

"The coast guard's liable to drop in on us any day."

The little G.o.d shouter nodded and walked silently away.

Joe put the girls and all hands to relaying water downhill in such buckets and amphorae as were avail- able.

"How about wine?" Ma Trimble asked.

Joe was not entranced with its vinegary, turpentined taste but it might keep the water from turning. Mixed with water it would also be less likely to make the crew turn. "Pour it in the tanks," he said, and inspected Ma Trimble's cheese. It was white and hard, could be crum- bled only with a mallet. Joe hoped it didn't carry dys- entery. The wheat flour she'd saved would help relieve their diet.

Rose produced a hammer and saw. He and Gorson began rigging bunks in every corner.

Goats overran the island, but one bullet was worth more than one goat. Joe wondered if they had an archer aboard and learned the Moors were all swordsmen.

Slinging, he learned after a few wild throws, was hope- less-and the goats were too smart to walk into a pit- fall.

He was unenthusiastically considering a catapult zeroed in on the trail when Dr. Krom edged up apol- ogetically. "They drink water, don't they?" the old man asked.

Joe cursed himself and began fencing the spring.

Three days later they had no difficulty running down goats. Cookie and Lapham rigged drying racks and organized Ma Trimble's girls to keep seagulls from steal- ing the meat. None appeared. Joe was mildy surprised.

Birds were abnormally sensitive to air pollution. He wondered if the extinct volcano was still giving off a trace of gas which scared them away. The water was chilly and the weather noticeably rawer on the open side of the island. He asked Dr. Krom about it and the old man thoughtfully inverted test tubes in the water around the Alice.

Next day the water in the tubes had been partially displaced by something. The old man sniffed one and spent several hours fussing over the others with his small cabinet of reagents.

A week pa.s.sed and they had flour, rye, and dried meat. The mid-harbor pinnacle's rope-worn grooves left Joe scant hope that they could remain long unvisited here. Shortly after supper Red Schwartz edged up to him. "Mr. Rate," he asked, "you seen Howie today?"

"Why no, wasn't he off with the woodcutters?"

"He didn't come ash.o.r.e this morning. I thought you'd kept him aboard on some other detail."

"h.e.l.l turn up."

Dr. Krom ambled up in his stiff, old man's gait and proffered a bottle. Joe sniffed and wrinkled his nose at the reminder of frosh chemistry and hydrogen sulfide.

"Out of the water in this crater?" he asked.

Krom nodded. "Nearly a cubic centimeter in only forty-eight hours."

At least Joe now knew why there hadn't been any seagulls. He caught Raquel's arm as she hurried by and asked her to put some girls to mending the Alice's tat- tered sails.

To Ma Trimble life was basically a freeload. Raquel had taken over the girls and even gotten the mountain-

fleshed madam to do a little work on occasion. Joe found himself depending more and more on her and noted that she stank less often. Come to think of it, since the blondes had come aboard she had been positively radiant. What gave?

That night they brought a half-dozen goats aboard and tore down the fence around the spring. With any luck the fresh meat would last to Gibraltar. Joe climbed the volcano's peak and studied the sky. Wind blew briskly outside the harbor. He debated getting under- way this evening, then remembered the girls would still be sewing on the mains'l. Abruptly, he remembered Schwartz's G.o.d shouting friend. What was with McGrath?

The sun had set an hour ago but he could still see the island clearly save for a tiny stretch just outside one of the horseshoe wings which enclosed the harbor.

He wondered what McGrath was doing alone. Tired of all the fornication aboard the Alice? Joe felt a fleeting sympathy and wondered why he too desisted. The girls were attractive and eager. So far no one had re- ported sick. To whom was he being faithful?

He took a final look around. There was no sign of life on the island. Schwartz and Gorson were waiting worriedly when he reached the Alice. "Isn't he back yet?" Joe asked.

McGrath was still lost. Should have talked to him, Joe thought. The boy had had that odd, half awakened look since Ma Trimble's naked legion had piled aboard.

Maybe they'd whacked him too hard and some of the Outer Darkness was seeping in through a crack in his skull.

"It's been over twenty-four hours," Schwartz said.

"Maybe he drowned or fell into one of those caves."

Joe sighed. He wondered if he'd been too anxious to study the past. Could he have gotten them out of here a day or two earlier?

"-a search," Gorson was suggesting.

"Right. Make up some torches. I'll see if there's a glimmer left in the flashlight." It was dark. The galley would have seemed deserted had it not been for the snickers, giggles and rustlings which came from all corners. Something seemed to be wrong with the latch on Joe's cubicle. He twisted again and the k.n.o.b .sud- denly opened.

The flashlight wasn't in the shallow drawer under the chart table. Must be in his bunk. He fumbled and felt legs in darkness. "Now who the h.e.l.l?" After an eternity he found the light switch. He blinked several times before recognizing Howie McGrath. Then he no- ticed what the little G.o.d shouter held in his hand. Joe looked straight into the muzzle of his own pistol.

VIII.

HOWARD McGRATH had been born illegitimate-Sadie's Sin, as his guilt-holy mother had kept calling him.

Don't look at girls or you'll burn in h.e.l.l, she had said.

Don't touch whiskey; it's the Devil's Drink.

Don't say naughty words or G.o.d won't love you,

Mother won't love you.

Don't touch.

Don't drink.

Don't say.

Don't think.

DON'T!.

That confused business of the woman, the snake and the apple: somehow it all led to little Howie, born evil,