Sails Gone Wild

Mira stood on Kelpbone Steps with her hands half raised, as if she could catch the wind itself.

Below the cliff road, the harbor was busy with morning work. Baskets of shrimp waited by the rails. Coils of line were stacked in neat loops. Striped market cloths fluttered over the upper landings. But the row of drying sails had slipped loose in the gusts, and now they were snapping and swelling like giant white kites.

One hard burst of salt wind yanked a sail sideways. It skated across the damp pier, slapped over a pile of baskets, and dragged two buckets after it with a clatter-clatter-scrape. Dockhands shouted. Tobin, with his striped cap pulled low, planted his rope-marked hands on his hips and called, “Stay back, Mira! We’ve got it!”

Mira watched the sail drag the baskets farther along the stones. The mess was getting bigger, not smaller. The wind was not listening to anyone. Neither, it seemed, was Tobin.

Mira was small, but she knew the harbor better than most grownups thought. If she could get close enough, maybe she could help tie the sails down before they tangled everything else. But the path near the flapping cloth was slick, the wind was wild, and everyone was already acting like she was in the way.

She looked at the pier, then at the shuddering sails, then at Tobin’s busy hands. Should she squeeze in near the ropes, look for another way around, or try to make the others stop and listen?