Old Salt
"Forty years I fished out of this harbour," says Old Salt, "and no boat of Wrenfell's ever lost. Not in storm, not in war, not in fog. You think that's luck?" He shakes his head slowly. "That's rent. Paid regular."
He leans in. "The keeper of that light hasn't been seen in town since my grandfather's day. No supplies go up. No relief keeper. And every dusk, that lamp turns twice โ once for the ships," he holds up one finger, then a second, "and once for the sweeping. You've seen a lamp gather moths? That light gathers something else. Gathers it right up, neat as a net."
He sits back. "Your aunt asked me all this too. Then she asked where the cliff path started." He drains his glass. "Cats can climb it easy. It's people who want the path."