The boy sat in the lee of the crumbling wall and stared out to sea. It was full dark and rain hissed on the water, but he was sheltered from the downpour where he sat. He saw a swirl of phosphorescence in the sea, gone so quickly he might have imagined it, might have merely wished for it, because his grandfather, Maas Conrad, had told him about the tiny creatures that lived in the sea and at night, shone aqua in the wakes of boats and drew the deep ghostly shapes of fish. His grandfather said Kingston Harbour had once been full of them, that no night’s fishing would have passed without seeing the shining mystery. ‘Where dey go, Gramps?’ the boy had asked.