Tavi liked the evening pump time because it made the Lantern Docks feel sure of themselves. When the pump started, warm water would move through the harbor and keep the docks from icing over. Tavi stood beside the round hatch in the floor, brass cap tilted, soft cream spines catching the peach lamp light, and listened for the first low hum. His tiny soot-smudged paws rested on the rail, steady as he waited.
Below the metal pier, in the dim water under the boards, something tiny flashed gold. Then another flash. Tavi leaned closer. A family of tiny lantern-puff fish had nested there, tucked into a drift of moss and shell bits. The little fish glowed like fireflies in water, and their nest sat right where the pump’s strong sweep would pass.
Nori, the bowl-sized foxlike dock picker in a patched yellow vest, slid up on his little magnet pole and peered down through his bright round goggles. “Well,” he said softly, “that is a very busy nest.”
Mira, the 12cm-tall mouselike child in a peach scarf, popped up from the next hatch and pointed so fast her tiny tool satchels bumped. “I saw them first! They’re right under the beam, Tavi. If the pump starts now, it’ll pull the nest apart.”
The low hum under the deck had not begun yet, but the schedule bell had already rung once in the distance. Tavi looked at the fish, then at the pump hatch, then at the water moving underneath the pier. The usual safe routine was suddenly not safe at all. If he followed the schedule exactly, the nest would be swept away. If he stopped the pump, the harbor might begin to chill.
He held his breath and stared at the little glowing family beneath the boards, knowing he had to choose how to protect them without letting the docks freeze.
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