___Lumen___
The stairway is long and winding, twisting its way down the steep hillside to the harbour.
The briny smell of the sea brings back the scent of home, minus the cloying polluted air of the east end of course. Sticking in tight to the barrier for cover, you arrive on the "ground level"
of the harbour.
From your new vantage point you can see the harbour masters office ahead of you with the chest high gate + jetty to its left. The well lit boat was moored up o the right side of the jetty, just past the harbour masters office.
You could see light streaming through the main window of the office, casting a dim orangey glow
Directly to your left was the section of the harbour set aside for pleasure craft. All manner of yachts, speedboats and cruisers tugged at their moorings in the light swell stirred up by the stiff cold breeze.
You were glad of your greatcoat once more, its thick lining keeping the buffeting northerly wind out of your paper thin disposable clothes.
Glancing to your right, you took in the scene more closely now. A small storage building was built into the cliffside you descended, it's signage in French, heavy worn shutters indicating it sees regular usage. A number of light pleasure craft were stored on racks for inspections, a light mobile crane seemingly the only way of hauling them out of the water.
A plan hatches in your mind, the selection of rowing boats and light motorcraft moored up by the harbour edge would provide the perfect method of checking out the ship without risking the office's inhabitants.
Keeping low and quiet, you slink over to the harbour edge and peer into your options.
One of the rowing boats hadn't been used in ages, a hole in its stern having flooded it seemingly years ago.
A small derigible looked great, but you didn't have the keys for the outboard. It left you with the third option, another rowing boat.
Gently, you lowered yourself over the side, stifling a scream as your busted shoulder muscles protested loudly in pain. You were in, but getting out would be a challenge.
Having never attended boy scouts, you swiftly gave up fucking about with the knot, slashing at the thick restraining rope with your fineblade before setting yourself loose with a gentle push off from the harbour side.
You wobbled about in the small wooden boat as you took your seat and plonked the oars over the side into the inky black water, gingerly pulling the oars through as once again your shoulder screamed at you.
The sound of the oars in the water broke the deadly silence of the night. Each stroke sounded like a jet engine with your audio enhancement dialled up, your spatial recognizer didn't like it either; rapidly flicking between the left and right channels. You commanded them into the background processes, uncluttering your AR feed as you went.
You slowly paddled out into the deeper water to put some distance between you and the office and marvelled at the beautfiul reflections of the harbour lights in the oily black water.
The ordinarily still waters chopped at the lip of the bow, hindering your efforts slightly. Rounding an expensive looking Yacht, you saw movement in the harbourmasters office.
It was too distant and too badly lit to make out any detail, but a large person was definitely moving about in there.
From your new position, you could see that the harbour perimeter was made of a wall of granitey looking boulders, reinforced by a concrete exterior wall. It was badly lit, probably by virtue of being barely used, except for inspecting the two red and green beacons on each side of the huge tidal gate some half a mile from your tiny boat.
Pulling harder than your muscles liked, you rounded the last of the expensive play-things moored up and out into more open water of the harbour.
AR beacons flashed on a series of buoys, "Attention: la zone commerciale. Les bateaux de plaisance; Ne pas entrer"
Even with your total lack of french, the flashing no entry sign over a small sail boat was clear. They didn't want non-commercial traffic in this section of the harbour.
A series of green AR arrows traced the designated path for recreational craft around the harbour walls and out to the tidal gate, avoiding the restricted commercial zone.
It didn't matter though. Your new angle ran perpendicular to the vessel, "La Mer Generuese".
It's AR ID protocol identified it as a light commercial trawler, with clearance for fishing the English Channel, North Sea designated safe zones and Independent Channel Island waters.
It was lit, and a low rumble and gurgle of water at it's rear indicated its engines were fired up in anticipation of leaving.
