Shazi held up her jars, which, like Barclay’s, were full of shells and algae. “This one is special-looking.” She pointed to a clump of seaweed with a silver metallic glint to it.

“Ah, I’m afraid that’s not as unusual as it looks. That’s Gunkwort. You can find it all over these parts.” Ansley tapped her own jars. “I took a sample of the Firenekkies down here. They’re the bioluminescent plankton that light our streetlamps. I could study the ones in Munsey, but I thought a wild sample might be useful. As you can see from how they crowd the vents, they’re quite fond of extreme heat.”

Barclay cleared his throat. “I also found something else. Can I show you?”

“Of course,” Ansley answered, and Barclay led them back to the bubbly black rock.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked.

Ansley’s eyes widened. “I should’ve expected to find something like this! Yes, this explains quite a lot. What we’re looking at here is hardened volcanic lava. The ocean floor has shifted a tiny bit, and the lava seeped out the crack. Do you know what might’ve caused that?”

Barclay thought for a minute, wondering what could change the ground itself. But then he realized that was exactly what he had felt his first night in Munsey.

“An earthquake,” he said.

“That’s exactly right. It’s possible that the earthquakes have shifted some of the floor here, making the vents stronger—and making the Sea hotter.”

“But what’s causing the earthquakes?”

“Unfortunately, that’s a question we can’t answer tonight. But this is a tremendous find! I said it before, and I’ll say it again—you’d make a good Apothecary, Barclay.”

She was smiling, but Barclay didn’t know whether or not to take her words as a compliment. Because Barclay didn’t want to be an Apothecary; what he wanted was to be a Guardian. And it had been a long time since he had felt good at that.

After they returned to the surface, Ansley let them end their “punishments” early.

She winked. “Just don’t tell Runa or Cyril.” Then she left to haul their findings back to the Planty Shanty.

“What do you want to do?” Shazi asked Barclay. She sat on the sand beside the collection of sabers she’d left behind while they dove. With a swipe of her finger, the metal of one of her blades warped and reformed into her prosthetic. Barclay imagined she had done this a thousand times before, but the Lore was so quick and precise that he couldn’t help but be amazed. “We could go back to the Guild House, or—”

“I want to practice,” Barclay told her, fishing the bottle cap from his pocket.