The Sliding Supply Barge

At the Lantern Docks of Comet Harbor, Tavi had just finished polishing the last harbor lamp when the bell on the ice gave a sharp, nervous ring.

He looked up from the warm metal walkway. A huge supply barge was easing into the dock, its side scraping softly against the frozen edge. Tavi’s tiny paws tightened on his tuning cloth. The barge’s brake lines were frozen stiff, pale with rime, and nobody on board could stop it cleanly.

Then Tavi saw the cargo.

Rows of glowing lantern oil casks, stacked in shining hoops, were beginning to slide. One cask tipped, then another, and the whole stack gave a slow, terrible shift toward the barge’s edge. The oil inside glimmered peach and gold, like trapped dawn.

Mira scrambled up beside him, her peach scarf flapping. “Tavi, they’re moving!” she cried.

“I see,” Tavi said, because he had promised the dock crew he would keep watch over the lantern dock, and promises were meant to hold.

Below them, the barge groaned. A cask bumped the rail. The whole load slid a little farther.

Pip zipped past on the walkway in a blue flash, orange boots tapping fast. “I can get the stern line!” she called, already looking halfway down the dock.

Tavi stared at the barge’s slanted deck. If he climbed aboard, he might help hold the cargo. If he stayed on the dock, he could call directions and keep his footing. But the casks were edging closer now, and every second made the barge feel less steady.

He drew a small breath and looked from the rocking deck to the nearest ladder, knowing he had to choose fast.