Liba, like Sarles, was somewhat portly. Though older than Sarles, she commanded far more energy and often asked him: "Why are you not out fishing today, like the other men?"

Sarles' reply might be: "The wind is sure to pipe up later this afternoon; the dead-eyes on the port shrouds simply cannot take so much strain.'

"Then why not replace the dead-eyes? You have nothing better to do."

"Bah, woman, you understand nothing of boats. The weak-shrouds might part, or a real blow might push the mast-step right through the bottom of the boat."

"In that case, replace the shrouds, then repair the strakes."

"Easier said than done! It would be a waste of time and I would be throwing good money after bad."

"But you waste much time at the tavern where you also throw away good money, and by the handfuls."

"Woman, enough! Would you deny me my single relaxation?"

"Indeed I would! Everyone else is out on the water while you sit in the sun catching flies. Your cousin Junt left the harbour before dawn to make sure of his mackerel! Why did you not do the same?"

"Junt does not suffer miseries of the back as I do," muttered Sarles. "Also he sails the Lirlou, which is a fine new boat."

"It is the fisherman who catches fish, not the boat. Junt brings in six times the catch you do."

"Only because his son Tamas fishes beside him."

"Which means that each out-fishes you three times over."

Sarles cried out in anger: "Woman, when will you learn to curb your tongue? I would be off to the tavern this instant had I one coin to rub against another."

"Why not use the leisure to repair the Prevail" Sarles threw his hands in the air and went down to the beach where he assessed the deficiences of his craft. With nothing better to do, he carved a new dead-eye for his shrouds. Cordage was too dear for his pocket, so he performed a set of make-shift splices, which strengthened the shrouds but made an unsightly display.

And so it went. Sarles gave the Preval only what maintenance was needed to keep it afloat, and sallied out among the reefs and rocks only when conditions were optimum, which was not often.

One day even Sarles became alarmed. With a soft breeze blowing on-shore, he rowed from the harbour, hoisted his sprit-sail, set up the back-stay, adjusted the sheets and bow nicely across the swells and out toward the reefs, where fish were most plentiful... . Peculiar! thought Sarles. Why did his back-stay sag when he had only just set it up taut? Making an investigation, he discovered a daunting fact: the stern-post to which the stay was attached had become so rotten from age and attacks of the worm that it was about to break loose to the tension of the back-stay, thereby causing a great disaster.

Sarles rolled up his eyes and gritted his teeth in annoyance. Now, without fail or delay, he must make a whole set of tedious repairs, and he could expect neither leisure nor wine-bibbing until the repairs were done. To finance the repairs he might even be forced to beg a place aboard the Lirlou, which again was most tiresome, since it meant that he would be forced to work Junt's hours.

For the nonce, he shifted the back-stay to one of the stem-cleats, which, in mild weather such as that of today, would suffice.

Sarles fished for two hours, during which time he caught a single flounder. When he cleaned the fish, its belly fell open and out rolled a magnificent green pearl, of a quality far beyond Sarles' experience. Marvelling at his good fortune, he again threw out his lines but now the breeze began to freshen, and concerned with the state of his makeshift back-stay, Sarles hoisted anchor, raised his sail and turned his bow toward Mynault, and as he sailed he gloated upon the beautiful green pearl, the very touch of which sent shivers of delight along his nerves.

Once more in the harbour, Sarles beached his boat and set out for home, only to meet his cousin Junt.

"What?" cried Junt. "Back so soon from your work? It is not yet noon! What have you caught? A single flounder? Sarles, you will die in penury if you do not take yourself in hand! Truly you should give the Preval a good work-over and then fish with zeal, so that you may do something for yourself and your old age."

Nettled by the criticism, Sarles retorted: "What of you? Why are you not out in your fine Lirlou? Do you fear a bit of wind?"

"Not at all! I would fish and gladly, wind or no wind, but for caulking and fresh pitch done to Lirlou's seams."

As a rule Sarles was neither clever, spiteful, nor mischievous, his worst vice being sloth and a surly obstinacy in the face of chiding from his spouse. But now, impelled by a sudden tingle of crafty malice, he said: "Well then, if zeal rives you so urgently, there is the Preval; sail out to the reef and fish until you have had enough."

Junt gave a derisive grunt. "It is a sad comedown for me after working my fine Lirlou. Still, I believe that I will take you at your word. It is odd, but I cannot sleep well unless I have rousted up a good catch of fish from the deep."

"I wish you good luck," said Sarles and continued along the jetty. The wind, so he noted, had shifted and now blew from the north.

At the market Sarles sold his flounder for a decent price, then paused to reflect. He pulled the pearl from his pocket and considered it anew: a beautiful thing, though the green luster was unusual and even—it must be admitted—a trifle unsettling.

Sarles grinned a curious mindless grin and tucked the pearl back into his pocket. He marched across the square to the tavern, where he poured a good half-pint of wine down his throat. The first called for another, and as Sarles started on his second half-pint he was accosted by one of his cronies, a certain Juliam, who asked: "How goes the world? No fishing today?"

"I am not up to it today, owing to my sore back. Also, Junt decided that he wished to borrow Preval and I told him ‘Go to it; fish all night, if you are so frantic in your zeal!' So off went Junt in my good old Preval."

"Ah well, that was generous of you!"

"Why not? After all, he is my cousin and blood is thicker than water."

"True."

Sarles finished his wine and strolled out to the end of the jetty. He scanned the sea with care but neither to the north, the west, nor the south could he glimpse the patched yellow sail of the Preval.

He turned away and went back along the jetty. Down on the shingle other fishermen were beaching their boats. Sarles went down and made inquiries in regard to Junt. "From the kindness of my heart I let him take out my Preval, though I warned him that the wind was rising and seemed to be veering to the north."

"He was out by Scratch Bottom an hour ago," said one of the fishermen. "Junt will fish while honest men drink wine!"

Sarles scanned the sea. "Possibly true, but I do not see him now. The wind is swinging about and he will be in trouble if he does not head for the harbour soon."

"Never fear for an old sea-dog like Junt, in a stout boat such as the Lirlou," said a fisherman who had just come up. The first fisherman gave a raucous laugh. "But he is aboard the Prevail"

"Aha. That is something else again. Sarles, you would be wise to make repairs."

"Yes, yes," muttered Sarles. "In due course. I can neither walk on water nor blow gold coins out of my nose."

Sunset came and still Junt failed to return to Mynault harbour. Sarles finally reported the circumstances to Liba. "Today my back was poorly, and I could not fish over-long. From motives of generosity I allowed Junt the use of my boat. He has not yet returned and I fear that he has been blown off down the coast, or even has wrecked the Preval. I suppose this should be a lesson for me."

Liba stared. "For you? What of Junt and his family?"

"I am concerned on both counts. That goes without saying. However, I have not told you yet of my amazing good luck."