At Driftwhistle Harbor, the morning bells had barely finished ringing when Toma came down the snow-packed lane to open the harbor gate. He had the brass key ring at his belt and the day’s work in his mind: the fishing boats needed to slip out before the ice turned rougher, so the crews could begin on time.
But the harbor entrance was not open.
A whole family of seals lay asleep right across it, piled like round gray stones at the water’s edge. Their whiskers twitched in their dreams. One big seal had a nose tucked under a flipper, and a tiny seal pup with a green ribbon around one flipper was flopped right on top of the others as if the gate belonged to him.
Toma stopped so fast his boots creaked in the snow. He looked at the boats waiting inside the harbor, their hulls bobbing gently against the ice, then back at the seals. The boats could not pass without waking them, and the seals looked far too cozy to simply shoo away.
From the bakery steps, Nell called, “Well, that is one very sleepy traffic jam!”
Toma did not answer right away. He knew the crews were watching, and he knew the seals must not be hurt. He took a careful breath, then leaned on the rope rail and studied the gate, the water, and the sleeping heap across the opening. There had to be some safe way to wake them or move them, but first he had to decide where to begin.
What happens next?
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