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A Stone’s Throw by Fiona Shaw

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WATER

Meg sat upright in the tender and looked straight ahead. The waves were choppy and the boat bucked a little, so she had one hand on the seat to steady herself. With the other she made sure of her hat. Although the air had been dry when she arrived at the docks, out on the water there was a fine mist blowing in from the sea; by the time they reached the ship, you could be forgiven for mistaking the fret on her face for tears.

Although she didn’t know it yet, she was the youngest passenger to join the upper deck, and amongst those dozen or so watching her come on board, there was much speculation as to why she was travelling at this time.

From the lower deck, a crowd of soldiers watched her too. They were the same age, just boys, their fatigues ...

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