Smuggler's Moon by Bruce Alexander

told about me—somebody must’ve recognized me from the old days and told him where I’d be. As for why I then brought Sir John into it, it seemed to me that if I was being watched that close, they might just possibly see me around Deal sometime soon with Sir John—or at least with a blind man who answers his description. And if they did, I wanted to account for it in advance.” He paused. ”Why? Didn’t you think much of the story I gave?”
    “Well,” said I, ”I thought it a bit far-fetched. After all, a dogsbody? an errand boy? You seemed, rather, to be describing me.”
    “Aw, now you’re not being fair to your own self.”
    Thus, in friendly railery, we did continue our interview at the George to the very end, when, having finished my coffee, I prepared to take my leave.
    “You can tell Sir John,” said the constable, ”that I’ll continue to find out what I can about the trade hereabouts. Tonight I’ll head over to Alfred Square. I understand it’s sort of a gathering place, so I’ve heard.”
    “Well, watch out if you do,” said I, ”for
I’ve
heard that it’s just the part of town to be avoided—a robbery a week and a murder a month.”
    “Sounds just like dear old Bedford Street in Covent Garden, so it does. I think I’ll like it just fine.”
    On that I departed.
    My interview with Mr. Perkins had not lasted near as long as I expected, and so I decided to take a bit of time and explore the town of Deal. I had seen some of it, of course, from the window of Lord Mansfield’s coach. Yet the world seen from a coach window is simply a picture that moves. Where are the smells, the sounds, of the place?
    Well, they were indeed present as I set off down High Street. I mixed with the crowd of buyers as they moved in and out of the rich shops along the way. There was a certain indefinable but real sense of prosperity and well-beingamong them. It was not so much what was said as how it was said. No doubt they gossiped of family, friends, and workplace, as they did in most other towns and cities. Nevertheless, they did so with smiles upon their faces and laughter in their voices; they did not go about muttering and cursing, as they seemed so often to do in London.
    As for the smell of the place, there could be no doubt: it was the smell of the sea. I soon saw my way down to Beach Street, and I took it. Once there, I was immediately touched by the great flocks of gulls, flying over sea and shore and walking about upon the narrow strip of beach that ran along the cobblestone street. It seemed that whenever one of the great gray or white birds landed, another would take off. I wondered, were there not more gulls than people in Deal? Not far offshore, a number of boats bobbed in the tide—though not so many as I might have expected, for Deal was known then, as it is now, as a fishing port. Then, of a sudden, did it come to me that because it was not long past midday, the boats might indeed still be out upon the sea; perhaps they stayed out for days at a time. The smell of the sea and the fish was all about me, a strong odor even upon the walkway. I did realize at last that it came not just from the beach and beyond, but from ahead, as well, for there, at the next corner, were stalls which sold all manner of seafood to the citizenry, shellfish and finny fish, even eels and skates. I paused and surveyed the vast array of God’s water creatures. What would they taste of? Why, of the sea, of course, but in truth, I had not tasted much seafood at that time in my life. I had no clear sense of it. Reluctantly, I continued on my way. I went on to the next street and the next. Then, when Beach Street ended, the shore, of course, did not. And so I crossed over and walked along the water line. What a grand thing it would be to live one’s life by the sea and take such walks every day!
    I had not gone far when I spied a vast structure back somewhat from the shore. Low and hulking it stood, withmany cannon pointed