“Don’t or won’t?” Ling had asked, giving her a penetrating look.
“Don’t. Won’t. Can’t. Ever,” Sera had said. “A little while ago, I lost faith in myself. It nearly did me in. You helped me swim back from the brink. Now it’s my turn to help Becca. Because if the six of us lose faith in one another, we’ve lost everything. Becca’s not the spy. I know she’s not. But something’s not right. And I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”
Sera had swum through the camp to find Becca. Now that she had her, she was looking for an opening, a way to broach what was sure to be a difficult topic.
“Of course, after the wagons are built, we need to fill them,” Becca said with a sigh. “We’re still low on ammo, even with the shipment from the N?kki. I’m worried about that, Sera.”
Sera saw the opening she needed. She plunged in. “Becca, I’m worried about you.”
Becca laughed. She looked startled, and a little self-conscious. “Me? Why? I’m totally fine.”
“No, you’re not. You’re not yourself. Something’s bothering you. I wish you’d tell me what it is.”
“Really, Sera, there’s nothing to tell. Sure, I’ve got stress, but who doesn’t?” She smiled as she spoke, but the smile was forced, even desperate. “I mean, we’re getting the entire resistance ready to swim to the Southern Sea. There’s a lot to do, and—”
The two mermaids were still swimming. They were almost at the work site now. Sera stopped. She took her friend’s hand and looked her in the eye. “Becca,” she said gently, “whatever it is, you can tell me. You know that, don’t you?”
Becca turned away. She looked desperate, like a creature who’d been cornered. Sera could see that she was struggling with herself. She wanted to talk but couldn’t. Something was holding her back.
Finally, she spoke, but the words were not what Sera wanted to hear.
“Hey. Wow. Would you look at that? I can’t believe those guys,” she exclaimed, pulling her hand free of Sera’s. “I swear, sometimes I feel like I have to do everything myself.” She darted off to the work site.
Sera, heaving a sigh of frustration, followed her. She soon saw that the goblins who were supposed to be building wagons weren’t sawing or hammering or doing much of anything. Instead they were standing in a semicircle, staring at the shallow pit they’d dug. It would be used to contain the waterfire needed to heat scrap metal, but it clearly wasn’t deep enough. Some of the goblins had their hands on their hips. Others were rubbing their chins or scratching their heads. By the time Sera caught up with her friend, Becca had picked up a shovel.
“Standing around won’t get any wagons built,” Becca fumed.
A goblin named Styg, seeing what Becca was doing, cautioned her in his language. Sera didn’t catch all of what he said, but she did hear the words Don’t! and Wait!
Becca flapped a hand at him. She raised the shovel, ready to plunge it into the seabed. The goblin’s eyes widened in alarm. He lunged at her, knocking the shovel out of her hands.
“Are you kidding me?” Becca exclaimed. “Why did you do that?” She started toward the shovel, but Styg held up a hand. He shook his head.
Becca, angry now, was ready to launch into an argument with him, but Sera stopped her. “Wait,” she said. “He’s trying to explain. Hear him out.” Her eyes were not on Becca anymore, but on the pit.
Styg stepped forward. Switching to mer, he said, “We found a lava seam just below the surface.” As he spoke, he bent down and used another shovel to carefully scrape away about half a foot of the seabed, allowing Sera and Becca to clearly see the orangey glow under the silt.
“We have to proceed very carefully,” he explained. “If she”—he nodded at Becca—“had hit the seam with her shovel, it would’ve gushed, and none of us would have survived to tell the tale.”
Becca winced. “I—I didn’t know. I didn’t see…” Her words trailed away. She looked down at her tail fins.
“The bad news is that we can’t work here,” Styg said. “The good news is—”
“You found a lava seam!” Sera exclaimed. “Well done, all of you!”
“I have a bubbler,” said Styg. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
“What’s a bubbler?” Sera asked.
“It’s a tool for releasing a tiny bit of lava. There are different grades of molten rock. Glimrende is the finest, but it’s only good for lighting. Sterkur is heating grade—the strong stuff. It’s what we need.”
Styg pulled a sharkskin case out of his pocket. Inside was coiled a thin flexible tube with holes in it. One end had a hollow steel point; the other had a valve attached to it. Working slowly, Styg nudged the pointed end down into the lava. Then he shooed everyone back and opened the valve. A few seconds later, lava shot up into the hose and oozed out of the holes.
Styg bent down to examine it, then smiled. “Sterkur,” he said happily, looking up at Sera. “Grade A-1.”