At dusk, the East Blue was exceptionally calm. The setting sun dyed the wave crests orange-red as the silhouette of a warship cut northward through the shattered gold of the sea. The dog-headed figurehead at its bow bared its teeth in the slanting sunlight.
Garp stood on deck, opening another bag of rice crackers.
"Colonel Garp." Bogart's voice came from behind him.
"A drifting dinghy has been spotted off the starboard side."
Garp stuffed a rice cracker into his mouth and walked to the rail to look down.
A battered lifeboat bobbed with the waves. A figure was curled up inside it, posed like a dead fish washed ashore.
The lifeboat lay half in light and half in shadow beneath the afterglow. One hand of the person inside dangled over the side, its fingers soaked pale in the seawater.
"Haul it up." Garp waved a hand.
Two Marines lowered ropes and pulled the lifeboat alongside the warship.
When the boy inside was dragged onto the deck, his whole body was trembling. His pants were still wet, and he kept muttering indistinct words under his breath.
One soldier wrapped him in a blanket while another pressed a cup of hot water into his hands.
The boy held the cup, staring blankly at the trembling water inside as if he had yet to wake from some nightmare.
"He was probably robbed by pirates."
Bogart crouched before the boy, checked that he had no external wounds, then stood and said to Garp,
"He's scared out of his wits, not injured. There are no food scraps in the lifeboat. He probably drifted for less than half a day."
Garp crouched in front of the boy. He used neither the tone he reserved for prisoners nor the kindness he showed civilians. He simply kept his