Quirk stood on the quay, stared out to sea and swore. Nothing. A few yards of choppy, green sea, and then the whole world faded away into grey fog.
He could hear ropes creaking in the thick, damp air. Men grumbling quietly to themselves. The hulls of the boats bumping and jostling against the wooden spars of the jetty, as if impatient at being tethered for so long. He could taste salt and smell the familiar, sharp tang of fish. But he could see nothing.
For three days now it had sat there. It crept a little inland, washing over the town like a slow flood. It stretched out to sea, all the way to the ends of the world so far as any one knew. And there was nothing to be done about it.
He cursed again. There wasn"t a breath of wind on his face whichever way he turned, no suggestion of a
