The Keeper of the Light – Part 2: Dawn Watch

She gave him duties, and each was a ritual. He polished the brass until she could see her face. He stood watch, silent, facing the black water, while she sat on a stool behind him with a flask of tea. He recited the lamp's logbook, correcting himself at every mistake, until the words ran like a chant of the sea. She tapped a pencil on the rail when he faltered. She tilted his chin with two fingers and looked at him as she might a barometer. The discipline was slow, exact and utterly without cruelty.

Every half hour: "Do you wish to continue?" "Yes, Keeper." "Say it clearly." "I do. Thank you."

Beyond the glass the storm roared, and the beam swept on, and for hours there was nothing in the world but her voice and the turning light.

Near dawn the wind dropped.

"Harbour," said Morwenna, softly.

She said it for them both. The oilskin came off. The beam was still turning, but the Keeper was gone, and Morwenna sat down on the cold iron floor in her jumper and drew him into her arms.

"How are you?"

"Salt-scoured," said Elliot, and laughed, and was close to tears. "And safe."

"That is what a light is for." She kissed his forehead. "You were a fine assistant."

"May I serve again?"

"The tide tables say there is a gale on the fourteenth." She smiled. "I have already put your name in the book."

Outside, the first grey light came up over the water, and the sea went from black to pewter to gold.

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