In which a boat is abandoned and the Captain is saved

Ekharson stood mid-watch that night, 12 bells until 4. He always went light on his feet and quick with a line. The boy never cried out. When I rose with the third watch, the jolly boat shroud lay halved and wrinkled. The launch from starboard stood on the beach. Through the glass, I saw one set of footprints. He must have bound and carried the boy. Ekharson was born Norse and raised heathen, with curses and spells and magics of the sea. A good seaman with terrible strength, but the boy and the launch were lost to us.

In the jolly boat, something yellow caught the sun. A gold bangle cruelly twisted and parted. Weird gravings marching around the inner edge. When I held it, I felt maggots writhe.

I cast the bangle into the waves.

Five miles landward, a ship spilled her sails. The scarlet compass wavered without the homing band.
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And that's the end of the beginning.