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The harbour had emptied by the time she reached it, and only the tide kept working. Rope creaked against the bollards. Somewhere behind the customs house a dog was barking at nothing at all, the way dogs do when a town is about to change hands. She had packed for a week and planned for a year, which is the usual ratio of hope to luggage. [center]THE FIRST CROSSING[/center]  "You could still turn back," he said, not looking at her. "Nobody would count it against you." "*Nobody* is not who I'd be answering to." [scenebreak] The gangway took her weight without complaint. Below, the water folded and unfolded itself, patient as a **letter that has waited years to be opened**, and she thought — briefly, and then not again for a very long time — of the road home. > Travel is only ever an argument with the person you were yesterday. [pagebreak] # The Manifest By morning the coast was a rumour and the ship had settled into its own weather.
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Chapter 1: The Departure
