I debated how hard to push. “Could we borrow one of Empire’s boats? Bigger, faster, easier on you . . .”

“We already asked. No go. R.J.’s convinced we’re on a fool’s errand. Doesn’t want to pull a crew off their security watch.”

Past the piles of damp wood and steel, the argument swelled toward a roar. People dropped their loads to watch or join in.

Rubio clasped his chart-stuffed hold-all to his chest like a shield. “C’mon, Irv. We can help break that up. By the way, Glim . . . you have garden duty today. I checked.”

“Thanks a bunch.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Rube at his snotty best. Ever since he’d been given charge of the den search, he had a lot less time for me. I turned away toward the Mess.

“Hey, one more thing . . . what does MLWN mean?”

So unfair, that my lowly status in the den meant always getting left behind. I set my jaw. “You figure it out!”

To darken my mood even more, I’d slept through breakfast, had just missed lunch, and there was no mercy from the kitchen staff. With all the extra mouths to feed, supplies must be running low. The lights were off, but for a few at the far end where the Macy kids still slumbered, wept, and murmured. The cabinets and coolers were locked up tight. Hungry, pissed at the world in general but Rubio in particular, I stormed up to the roof to take my snit out on innocent plants.

—

The garden beds were busy with pickers and thinners. A team of planters moved seedlings from the greenhouse into a recently harvested row. I glared at them, when I should have been sympathetic. After all, we were all here together, stuck at home, missing the Great Adventure.

I stalked to the notice board to see what needed doing that I would resent the least. Raspberries, ready to pick. Fine. I grabbed a stack of the pint baskets molded in our shops from ground-up paper. Mud-colored and ugly, but they could be chopped up again and, with more binder added, infinitely recycled. A useful tool in the den. Like me.