Black Harbor is not specific, but a generic term for a particular type of harbor.
Often without formal names, they are referred to instead as Black Harbor, Black Market, Mirage, Fake Town, and in the mouths of sailors, they are more commonly known as Hurlo.
Hurro means whore.
Most of the black ports have had prosperous years in the past, and then either destroyed by natural disasters, or died in man-made disasters, or because they were not prosperous enough, not open enough, or even some unpleasant activities happened to the powers that be ...
In short they were abandoned.
Loss of attention, loss of investment, loss of expectations ...
They are deserted like outcasts, and before they fall into total disrepair, they come to the attention of black marketeers, rogues, pirates, or enemy navies, and are given a twisted new lease on life, in the midst of indulgence and despair, waiting for their next doomed demise.
It's like a fallen noblewoman who's fallen on hard times.
Such is the case with Black Harbor in Cherbourg.
In the midst of the setting sun, the Attis Beauty leapt out of the sea with its transverse sails, cutting through the waves and into the waters of Black Harbor.
The area is densely reefed and rocky, with only a few hidden, twisting, narrow channels less than fifteen meters wide pointing remotely toward a calm harbor surrounded by twin peaks in the distance.
This area was favored by the French for a long time centuries ago for its excellent defensive terrain and natural shelter from the wind, before the sailing warships completely abandoned their flat bottoms and moved away from the power of the rowing oars.
At that time, her name was Cherbourg.
It was also then that the name of Cherbourg became tied to the Channel Fleet of the Kingdom of France as their station.
The French invested a great deal of labor in building docks, wharves, lighthouses, and everything the army needed, and merchants gathered, and the harbor flourished for more than a full century.
However, with the progress and development of shipbuilding, the original channel has become a burden to the passage of large ships.
The military port shifted first, and a new Cherbourg was built a hundred kilometers away in a more open bay, depriving her of her name.
Soon after, the merchants abandoned the place as well.
It's starting to rot here.
The docks collapsed and the wharf sank until a group of black marketeers moved in and she morphed into a black harbor, a place of lawlessness under the watchful eye of the Pas-de-France fleet.
Even more, it was a secret supply point for British naval scout ships.
The agile and slender Class VIs could easily pass through the narrow channels outside the harbor, and the black market traders in the harbor in turn viewed the generous British soldiers as top business partners.
Spies acquire information from their mouths, often much more accurately than the scout ships themselves can detect.
Because of this, the Helo of Cherbourg made its way onto the Royal Navy's military charts, and Lorraine learned of it, which led to the trip to Cherbourg by the Atis Beauty.
Approaching the reef area, Lorraine furled the transom sail and gave her full attention to maneuvering the tiller.
The slightly chubby hull of the Artis Beauty slid into the channel made of buoys by inertia, turned the huge S-bend gracefully and slowly, and, following the rising tide of the waves, slowly moored into the marina, dropped anchor, and docked.
The bow of the boat gently leaned against the bank, and only as soon as it came to a stop did Lorraine hear a loud thump!
Lek swept past Lorraine like a fat, fishy wind and darted off the ship like a rabbit: "Vomit!"
Sounding the harbor!
The people busy on the dock looked over curiously as if they were watching some Western spectacle, and Lorraine scratched her hair awkwardly, glanced at the transom, and decided to go ahead and hire two men in the harbor to clean up the mess in the transom completely.
He whistled and slouched off the boat with his backpack on.
This was the first time Lorraine had actually set foot in Black Harbor.
Unlike a normal harbor, every inch of Black Harbor flaunts chaos and disrepair.
Next to the mansion were ruins, and next to the ruins were the yards, and from time to time you could see mountains of garbage gathered on the side of the road, rotting wood, broken bricks, furniture, and even people living on the hills.
Casinos, taverns, and brothels dotted both sides of the street, and shacks of all sorts encroached with abandon, arranging the straight and level road into crooked alleys.
And the real alleys in the harbor are jammed with another type of abandonment.
Various kinds of household garbage are rotting between the premises, unattended, and the stench is pervasive.
There are people as far as the eye can see ...
Drunkards, drunkards, drunkards, drunkards, sober people rarely show their faces in the street, and if they do, they are not gamblers who have been stripped naked, but prostitutes who voluntarily take off their clothes and lean against the door.
For a moment Lorraine actually didn't know where to find the dockworkers.
He walked down the street in a daze, looking around in confusion, and finally saw sober people in the side alley of a tavern.
That would be a teenage girl.
She was wearing a linen smock so dirty you couldn't see the original color, which covered her body tightly, and her slender fingers peeked out from the hem of the smock, coffee-colored, but surprisingly clean.
She rummaged through the stinking garbage on her hands and knees and in no time at all turned up a few pieces of still-fresh cod.
She was about to stuff it in her mouth when she suddenly noticed someone looking at her.
She raised her head warily, showing her face to Lorraine a few paces away.
Black hair, green pupils, big eyes.
Her skin was indeed a coffee color, her short black hair showing under her hood was fine and dense, her pointed chin was thin but her face was not sickly, it had a healthy and clean flush.
A North African angel in a garbage dump?
Lorraine laughed at her own sudden thought, and only laughed out loud when the young girl's body tensed, teeth bared, eyes glaring, and she stood upright on all fours in a strange position, protecting the codfish in front of her.
Like a frightened stray cat ...
Am I that scary?
Strange and embarrassed, Lorraine subconsciously tried to touch her nose.
His hand had only just lifted when the young girl's body relaxed again. Thighs curled slightly, upper body crouching low, the whole thing poised. Large eyes narrowed, emerald green eyes bursting with menace.
"I ... am not trying to attack you ...."
Startled, Lorraine hurriedly opened her hands and slowly, slowly crouched down, lowering the leather bag.
He said, word for word, "I mean no harm ... Look, unarmed, and the sword on his waist lying in its sheath, quite honest."
He showed his palms toward the young girl, and, as a sign of sincerity, rolled up his sleeves in a steady, slow motion, exposing his arms as well.
The young girl, presumably sensing Lorraine's sincerity, tentatively picked up the codfish and hid her hand in her smock as she shrank.
She breathed a soft sigh of relief and asked in a slightly hoarse, slightly sandy voice, "Why are you smiling?"
"Just happened to think of something funny." Lorraine shrugged apologetically, "I'd like to apologize if I gave you the wrong idea."
"Really?" She was a little unconvinced, "Not because of the fish?"
"Uh ... I actually rarely eat fish if I'm not on a boat."
"So what do you eat?" The young girl asked suspiciously.
"Mostly, eat bread." Lorraine slowly unwrapped her leather pouch, revealing the slate of dark bread inside, "Ever eat bread?"
"Eaten." The young girl took a step closer like a cat, craned her neck to get a better look, and added, "Ate it not long ago."
"Want some more?"
The young girl shrank back in a mischievous manner, her ten fingers deeply embedded in the garbage, her face full of caution.
Lorraine couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh, breaking off half a loaf of bread with all her might and placing it on the ground before getting up and backing away until she reached the entrance of the alley.
"I didn't mean anything else, just wanted to ask you something."
The young girl stared at Lorraine without moving and asked, "What do you want?"
"You know Black Harbor well, don't you?"
"Part of it."
"I'd like to know where I can find seasoned cleaners." Lorraine looked her in the eye, "My ship needs cleaning and perhaps some cargo to move."
The young girl frowned in thought.
"By the white ruins is old Hansa's tavern, and he has on his hands the ablest workmen in Black Harbor, more expensive, but honest and clean-handed."
After saying this, she quickly picked up the bread on the ground and turned around, running into the deep alley with a few leaps, and disappeared in the twinkling of an eye.
"Say you're leaving, you could at least tell me where the white ruins are ..."
Depressed, Lorraine picked up her pouch and wandered out of the alley with her arms under her pillow.
"Ch! Strange woman."