From the front door, Runa dashed over and yanked Barclay out of Ansley’s way. However, Ansley was still blocked by Root, who raced around the edge of the weeping tide, barking louder and louder. He had a strange, panicked gleam in his eyes.

“Root!” Barclay said. “Calm down. You need to—”

“Call him back to his Mark,” Runa said. “He’s had a fright.”

Obediently, Barclay returned Root to his Mark, and he felt his skin prickle as Root continued to thrash around on his shoulder.

But Ansley still didn’t move.

“What are you waiting for?” Runa asked her, coughing from the smoke. “If you don’t hurry, the fire will—”

“Look at this,” Ansley said breathlessly. She crouched down, so close to the weeping tide that Barclay squeezed one eye shut, certain she was about to lose a foot. The white algae had crowded around the Fire Coral, growing taller and taller into a writhing, foamy hedge. “It likes the fire.”

“Is something burning?” Tadg shouted.

At that, Ansley finally picked up the flaming Fire Coral and thrust it into the Siggykelp’s tank, one of the few Barclay hadn’t managed to destroy. The mound of the weeping tide sagged back down into a sudsy puddle.

Barclay looked at all the mess and moaned, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be!” Ansley told him giddily. “That was the most excitement I’ve had in a long time! And we might’ve made a very interesting discovery just now. You’d make a great Apothecary, Barclay.”

Despite her compliment, Barclay had never felt a worse excuse for a Lore Keeper than he did in that moment.

While Ansley slipped into the closet to fetch a broom, Barclay turned to Runa. Judging from her tangled braid and angry scowl, he didn’t have to ask to know that her argument with Cyril had gone nowhere good.

“Are we leaving?” Barclay asked nervously.

“No one is leaving,” Runa said. “Orla is right—the Sea needs all the help it can get. Even if it’s from that pompous fool.”

Runa stormed back to the door.

“You’re heading out already?” Ansley asked, returning with a broom, a mop, and a whole tin of sardines in her hands. “I rarely get visitors who aren’t customers. I could brew some tea!” Her eyes, already magnified by her glasses, went wide with excitement. Behind her, one of the beakers burped out a puff of smoke. It smelled like cheese.

Runa hesitated awkwardly. “That’s generous, but no thank you, Ms. MacGannon. I’m in a hurry, and I only came to make sure the boys don’t spend their night packing. But I’ll gladly pay to replace the tanks—”

Ansley tsked. “It’s no trouble. Really!”