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I leaned against Josiah Nesmith’s plinth. “Do you think that the mutineers picked this place to mutiny because it’s so beautiful? Like, were they thinking of making a life here, or did they just get carried away with the whole murder thing on the spur of the moment?”

“You’re the historian, not me.”

“I wonder if it reminded them of home,” I said. “It’s not tropical, is it?”

“It’s older and it’s wilder,” Joe said. “And you are very, very drunk.”

“I didn’t even get any pie.”

“Yes, that’s a real tragedy.”

Joe got me too. I smiled at him in the moonlight, and he pretended not to smile back.

“Do you know what’s amazing?”

“What?”

“That drinking song that you guys sing here? Wait, they’re mostly all drinking songs.

The one about drinking Dauntless dry? It’s different .

” I hummed the first line. “That part, it’s supposed to go ‘For the Frenchmen are coming for a fresh supply, and they swear they’ll drink little England dry.

’ It’s not the English coming to drink Dauntless Island dry, the way you guys sing it.

Like, two hundred years ago the mutineers took this anti-French song and turned it into an anti- English one, and now, here on Dauntless, it’s canon. Isn’t that amazing?”

“That’s pretty amazing, Eddie,” he agreed softly, and I got the impression he genuinely meant that, and wasn’t just humouring me like with the pie. Like maybe he wasn’t enthusiastic about it himself, but he liked that I was. It was a warm feeling.

“And when did they start thinking of themselves as not English, Joe?”

He smiled properly this time. “I don’t know, Eddie.”

“Ugh, this is all so amazing. I hope I remember it tomorrow.”

We leaned into each other, and for a moment I thought we were going to kiss, and then another knot of people stepped out of the church and untangled themselves into three women and a man. One of the women wandered over to us, holding up a jug.

“No,” Joe said, shaking his head.

“Aw, just one, Red Joe,” the woman said winningly. “It’ll save my poor old arms carrying it home!”

Joe snorted, because no way was this woman old, but he took the proffered jug and swigged down the last of whatever was in it.

“There,” the woman said. “That’ll brace you for the walk!”

“Knock me on my arse, more like.” He handed the jug back.

She winked and swept away.

“Come on,” Joe said. “Let’s head home.”

The night was quiet as we followed the curve of the harbour. Little waves lapped against the wall, and the cold wind stung my eyes. We turned down the main street, the wind at our backs now.

“I get it, you know,” I said. “This place is something else.”

Hiccup walked beside us, invisible in the darkness. She panted happily.

“What you’ve got here, it’s special,” I said.

“Tourists would love this place. Like, you get a travel show here, and a bunch of Instagram influencers or whoever, and Dauntless could be the next big thing. But also, it could ruin it too? Like, tonight. That’s not gonna work if it’s you guys and hundreds of tourists, you know?

God, maybe John Coldwell’s right. You’ll end up with hotels and rental cars and it’ll be awful . ”

I was rambling. That annoyed most people, but I didn’t get that impression with Joe. Maybe some people would say he and I were too different, but I liked it. I was a talker, and he was a listener. What wasn’t perfect about that?

He brushed the back of his hand against mine as we walked, our knuckles bumping together.

“So you need to preserve what you have here,” I continued, stumbling once on the rocky path up towards the point and steadying myself by grabbing Joe’s hand.

“Like, find a way to get tourism to work for you, without turning the island into some generic destination, you know? Like have you ever been to the Gold Coast? Did you know it used to be nice ?”

“It’s still pretty nice,” Joe said.

“But it’s not special . Also, no. You’re wrong. It’s horrible.” I swayed a little as I walked. “I’m so drunk I can’t feel my face. Or am I just cold?”

“It’s probably a little bit of both.”

“Mmm.” I tugged on his arm, pulling us to a stop. I tipped my head back. “Wow. Look at all those stars!”

Joe smiled and looked up.

Above us, the night sky was a field of brilliant stars, bright and blazing.

“Wow.” I let out a slow breath and then, buoyed by the fact my bloodstream was still mostly rum, I reached out and placed my cold palm against Joe’s cheek. “I like you a lot, Joe Nesmith.”

His mouth quirked. “I like you a lot too, Eddie Hawthorne.”

“I’m very drunk right now, or I probably wouldn’t have said that. I can’t feel my face, Joe!” I poked a finger into his cheek.

“That’s my face,” he said. “Come on, lightweight. Let’s get you home and into a warm bed, hmm?”

I lit up. “Can it be your warm bed?”

“Yes,” he said. “As long as you don’t throw up.”

“I promise not to throw up, Joe,” I said, solemn.

He leaned forward and kissed me softly. “Okay then.”

When we got back to Joe’s cottage, he put a bucket beside the bed, just in case.