The Lighthouse

The coach left Mara at the edge of Saltwick as the light was going, and did not wait to be thanked. The town sat low against a grey harbor, its windows already lit, and out past the last roofs a single tower stood dark against the water — no lamp turning, though every chart Mara had read swore there should be one.

She pulled her collar up against the wind off the sea and considered the two ways down into town: the harbor road, busy and bright, or the quiet lane along the cliff.