A Big Story Was in the Making

Golden Bean Port woke early.

The eastern sky had only just faded from indigo to pale gray when the creak of winches, sailors' shouts, and the muffled flap of canvas drifted from the docks. The air was sweet with the smell of bean porridge—the breakfast of the plantation's prisoners of war.

Paul walked along the newly built waterfront promenade. The cement pavement hadn't yet been marked with white lines. A streetlamp stood every fifty paces, all extinguished now, with gulls perched atop many of them.

Dafranche's new industry was on the east side of the port, in a partly natural bay.

The water here was shallow, and the seabed was dotted with reefs. That was why no port had been built here; there were only a few fishermen's piers.

Paul walked to the shore, and the sight before him made him stop in his tracks.

The bay was as smooth as a mirror. Several small lighthouses, neatly built from piled stones, stood in the water. Countless ropes were fixed to them, with a brightly colored lifebuoy every meter or so along each rope.

A few people rowed over to a lifebuoy and stopped beside it. When they hauled it up, a long string of something dangled beneath it, looking like a necklace.

Paul saw them taking measurements and making notes. After lowering the "necklace" back into the water, they rowed gently over to a lifebuoy on another rope nearby. This time, they didn't pull up a "necklace." The rope was covered with long strands of dark green seaweed.

He'd seen this kind of seaweed at the docks, tangled around the paddle wheels beside ships while sailors cursed as they cleared it away.

After watching for a while, Paul headed toward the factory buildings on the shore.

Several of the buildings