Toma stood in the snow at the foot of the point, looking up at the northern supply tower that guided ships home. He had come to check the lantern room before dark fell again, just as he always did when the wind turned sharp.
Above him, the tower gave a long, unhappy creak. A fierce gust had shaken loose the turning mechanism inside the lantern room. Now the harbor light pointed the wrong way, toward the ice instead of the safe water. Its gold glow slid over the frozen bay and missed the channel where the boats should come.
Toma’s brass key ring jangled against his blue wool coat as he climbed the steps two at a time. He knew the harbor could not wait for a part to come from far away. By the time that part arrived, other ships might already be searching in the dark.
At the lantern room door, he put a hand on the frame and looked out at the wrong-facing light. The wind pushed snow across the point, and the sea breathed under the ice below. Toma could see the problem now, plain as day: the harbor light was mispointed, and tonight could not wait. He could not simply turn it back by hand.
So he paused at the doorway, listening to the tower rattle, with only one hard question in front of him: how could he keep the next ships safe without the broken mechanism?
What happens next?
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