‘Huh?’ He tried to see Ben’s expression to make sense of this, see if he’d heard it right, but they were too entangled and comfortable to move that much.
‘Salt—from swimming in the sea. Doesn’t salt preserve things?’
‘Oh, I thought you meant from something else.’
He got a poke for that.
He could hear the repetitive clink, clink of the masts and rigging in the harbour beneath their window. The dogs were snoring quietly. The room was spinning for him too, so he just held tighter to his anchor and let the motion take him away.
* * *
The next day they met in the restaurant for breakfast. He was beginning to understand Ben’s pattern of drinking followed by a huge fry-up. He ate a plate of eggs on toast and it did appear to soak up the remaining poison. Too full now, however, he suggested a walk to see the commercial fishing fleet in the small harbour on the south of St Mary’s. This suggestion was greeted with the level of enthusiasm he’d predicted, so he proposed they split up. He would go question fishermen, and they could go spend his money in the shops, although as he was enjoying the restored harmony between them all, he didn’t put it in quite this way.
Squeezy wanted to buy another set of snorkels because he declared he wasn’t putting his mouth around any tubes ofhis. Aleksey was more than happy not to have his tubes in the moron’s excessively annoying mouth, and so they parted happily. He took the dogs. He was looking forward to some intelligent conversation for a while.
Peyton had not been able to find anything suspicious about the boat Glaswyn Mor. It was indeed registered on St Mary’s and was owned by a small fishing collective. ‘Fishing mafia?’ had been his immediate rejoinder, but this was not easy to confirm one way or another. On the surface, this group represented themselves as a union of small, independent fishing boats, a collective bargaining arrangement which gave them some clout over pricing against the larger trawler fleets, according to the big guy.
The harbour was extremely interesting for anyone who liked to know where fish came from. Aleksey winced slightly at the smell, ignored the various trays of dead or semi-dead shellfish, and headed to the harbourmaster’s building. Before he got very far along the quay, a wizened old man smoking a long pipe, who appeared more movie extra than actual person, nodded pleasantly and croaked, ‘Saw one of ‘em once.’
Aleksey, always polite when he saw no particular reason not to be, plastered on his lopsided smile and was about to pass by when the odd comment was embellished with, ‘Pulling a sleigh it were. Had some funny name.’
‘Husky?’
The old man showed a single tooth as he cackled, ‘The place, sonny. I know a husky when I see one after’n that. Lot of that there snow stuff. Don’t get that ‘ere course, an’ my ole bones be glad’n that, I can tell ye. Now, what were it called…? Funny name.’
‘You were a fisherman?’
‘Me? Not likely, my lover. Senior service, I were. Forty-two years in Her blessed Majesty’s Royal Navy. Well, last few’n those on the retired list, course. Just come down ‘ere for a chat, if’n anyone passes by.’
‘I’ve heard many retired service people join the fishing fleet though…the retired lighthouse keepers, for example.’
‘Aye, well, may-happen that be so. Damn shame. Nothing like a sturdy lighthouse when you’re all at sea in some bloody blow.’
Aleksey laughed softly. ‘Someone else said that to me recently in those exact words. Do you happen to know any…lighthouse keepers? I would like to talk to one.’
‘Oh, aye? You that author chappie everyone down ‘ere be taking about?’
Aleksey considered this concept for a moment. It seemed as good as being off a foreign trawler, so replied, ‘Yes. I am.’
The old man studied his face for a moment. ‘Aye. Well, then. I be in a pickle now, don’t I? Just a daft old man, me. Don’t know nuthin’.’ He took a puff on his pipe. ‘Just sit ‘ere for the grockles, like. They takes their pictures with me and slip me a bit for a smoke and a pint later. I don’t know nuthin’ else. Never stepped foot on a bleeding ship, Her Majesty’s or no.’
Aleksey hesitated, then drew out his wallet and fished out a couple of fifty pound notes.
The old man looked as if he’d been offered alcohol on a 12-step. The longing was painful to observe. Suddenly, he cast a quick, furtive glance around, plucked them out of Aleksey’s fingers and pocketed them. ‘Ask around for Oily Penrose.’
‘Ollie?’
This sent the toothless one into a coughing fit. ‘’E did the oil. For the lamp. Bin Oily since he were a lad. You ask for Oily if’n you want to know about the old light. Shame what they did to ‘em. Shame.’ He glanced around at the boats once more and muttered, ‘I didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout nothin’.’
Aleksey nodded his thanks and clicked for the dogs, who had been taking the opportunity to give some encouragement to the wriggling catches in the boxes.
He was halfway along the pier when he felt someone bounce on his shoulders from behind, and then an arm flung round his neck. Ben was chuckling, presumably at the fact he’d taken him completely unawares. ‘Where you been? We’re waiting for you.’
‘You’re in a good mood. Do I have any money left at all?’
‘You saidourwealth had more than doubled recently and that you were hoping Finland would be invaded next.’
‘I most certainly did not.’ He smirked. ‘I believe I said Norway. Anyway, why are you stalking me?’
