Mira was racing along the covered walk between the tea room and the ice sheds, her bright mittens tucked under her scarf so they would not freeze. Above her, hand bells chimed and a winch groaned somewhere deep in the yard. Ahead, Tavi was balancing on the rail beside the drying racks, one boot on the metal strip, one boot in the air, grinning as if the whole snowy world was cheering for him.
Mira had only one job this hour: carry the little copper kettle from Orin’s stove room to the workers in Shed Three before the tea went lukewarm. Warm tea mattered here. It helped cold hands grip ropes and stop knees from shaking on the slick ramps. She could already smell the tea through the lid, sweet with pine needles.
Then the wind slid under the eaves. A white puff of snow burst from the roof edge, and the cloth wrap around the kettle flipped loose. The tiny tray beneath it tipped. Mira caught the handle with both mittens, but the tray skidded out of her grip and spun under the bench, where three dark shapes glimmered in the blue light.
Not teacups. Not tools.
Keys. Three iron keys on one ring, lying in a place no one would see unless they knelt down. Mira froze. If those were lost, someone might not be able to open the right shed when the next bell rang.
Tavi looked down from the rail. “Did something fall?” he asked.
Mira could kneel and grab the keys fast. She could call to Orin at once. Or she could bolt after Tavi, who had already started to climb higher for a better look at the wind’s path over the roofs.
What happens next?
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