Red, a thin man in his fifties, had skin burned by the sun and carried the scent of water and earth. He removed his hat, revealing a bald head that gleamed in the muted sunlight.

“So, what can I do for you today?” His eyes fixed on Esther with a steady calm.

“I’d like to start with a walk by the lakeside. Would that be all right?”

“Of course, ma’am. Follow me.”

Since the flood a week ago, the water had slowly receded, though the submerged trees and absence of a beach still whispered of the disaster.

“On the day of the flood, the water reached up to here.” Red pointed to a waterline stained into the bark of a tree, a silent witness to the chaos.

“The academy’s preliminary report mentioned a change in the lake’s salinity. Is that true?” Esther asked.

“Right, ma’am. You should taste it—fresh and sweet now. Let me fetch a glass—”

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Reddington,” Esther replied crisply, setting down her bag.

She began unpacking boxes, bottles, and tools with practiced precision, pulling out vials and reagents. While she worked, Joey cast a glance at Red.

“Red, has Jeff seemed... different to you lately?”

“Not my place to say, sir. I’m just a humble herdsman.”

Joey wasn’t letting it go. “Come on, Red. Between us. Something seemed off about him today.”

Red hesitated, then sighed. “If you say so. He’s been more... single-minded than usual.

Spending all his time at the estate. Haven’t seen him go home in days. Sleeps in his office sometimes.”

“Not the Jeff I know,” Joey muttered, more to himself.

Esther broke the silence. “How peculiar.”

“What’s that, ma’am?” Red asked, stepping closer.

“No dead fish washing ashore?” Esther’s voice carried a note of suspicion.

Red chuckled. “The flood didn’t drown them, ma’am.”

“But the drop in salinity might have. Some species can adapt, but others wouldn’t survive the sudden change.”

“Well, the lake’s calmed down quicker than expected. Maybe the fish swam to the ocean.” Red shrugged, but Esther’s frown deepened.

“I see,” she said, her tone thoughtful.

Esther glanced at the receding waterline. “The newspaper said the last flood here was over a century ago?”

“Yes, ma’am. Never seen anything like it.”

“Why don’t we head to your herd now, Mr. Reddington? I’d like to understand how they’re faring in the aftermath.”

“Certainly. Follow me to the pen. We’ll take the Nautilus out to graze.”

“How many animals live on this estate?” the professor asked, eyes scanning the vast lake ahead.

“We had three hundred until last week,” Red replied, taking off his hat to wipe his brow. His bald head gleamed in the sunlight. “But with the crisis and the deals the boss has made with other producers, our herd has already tripled. We’ve only had manatees so far, but now Mr. Geoffrey’s expanding—accepting dugongs, balatees, even Stellers from out in the ocean. Can’t hire herdsmen fast enough. We’ve been working 'round the clock to handle all the newcomers.”

“And have the animals shown any signs of sickness or discomfort since the lake’s conditions changed?” Esther inquired, her tone clinical but curious.

“No, ma’am,” Red said, shaking his head. “They’re as relaxed as ever. No stress. This is the middle of their breeding cycle, and they haven’t stopped. Animals tend to sense when it’s not a good time to breed. The fact that they keep going—that’s a good sign.”

As they reached the shore, colorful buoys floated in the distance, marking the boundary of the penned herd. The water lapped gently at the beach, and every now and then, a manatee surfaced, took a deep breath, and slipped back beneath the surface with barely a ripple.

“Why the pens?” the professor asked, intrigued. “Are there predators in the lake?”

“Nothing’s gonna take down an adult, but sharks—well, they try their luck with the juveniles sometimes. You’ll find ‘em deeper in the lake. Bigger worry is cattle thieves. They try to snatch a beast or two now and then.” Red spat on the ground. “But never on my watch.”

The professor nodded. “And their diet? What do they eat?”

“Sirenians are big on seagrass. They go through about forty kilograms a day, per animal. Near the coast, they like to munch on pond apples and nuts that drop into the water. When we can’t take ‘em out to graze, we feed them lettuce, apples, or whatever vegetables we’ve got.” He pointed to a nearby boat where men were dumping apples into the pen. “Good year for apples, so we’re using them to supplement their diet.”

“I imagine the change in salinity was concerning, then?”

“At first, sure was. Seagrass needs salt. If this lake had turned fully fresh, we’d be ruined.” Red’s voice grew more serious. “Lake Grassum’s the best place in the world for cattle because of its brackish water. The salt, clear water, year-round sunlight—it’s what keeps the seagrass growing. But despite all the worries, it’s still thriving.”

The professor raised an eyebrow. “How is that possible?”

Red chuckled, glancing at Joey and then back at Esther. “I’d say you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Easier if I show you. Want to spend the day shepherding the herd with me?”

Esther glanced at Joey, who gave a nod of approval. “That would be lovely,” she said.

“Good, then. Let’s hop in the Nautilus.” Red led them toward a floating pier. Unlike the others in the area, this one hadn’t been submerged during the flood, thanks to Geoffrey’s foresight. The roped-together platforms bobbed on the water, anchored to the lakebed. Joey and Esther stumbled slightly as they stepped onto the unsteady planks, but Red walked confidently, as if the pier were solid ground.

“There she is,” Red said with a grin, pointing to a sleek globe-shaped submarine. Its metal and wood frame shimmered in the sunlight, and two propellers hinted at how it maneuvered. A large window in the front promised passengers a perfect view, and lanterns on the hull were ready to light the lake’s depths.

“Johnny!” Red called out to a nearby worker. “Get the boys and the dolphins ready. We’re heading out for the day.”

Johnny waved and rushed to gather the crew.

“Ever been on a submarine dive?” Red asked as he opened the door for Esther.

Joey nodded, but Esther shook her head.

“No worries, professor. It’s like riding a boat. Plenty of room in Nautilus I—it’s the biggest one in the fleet.”

Red helped Esther aboard, followed by Joey, who took a seat in the back. Red slid into the pilot’s chair, with Esther sitting up front for a better view.

“Now, let me show you how this thing works.” Red gestured to the control panel. “This here’s the fuel gauge. Like trains and zeppelins, submarines run on sirenia oil. Here’s the boiler and pressure valve—make sure pressure and temperature stay above the threshold. If anything goes wrong, we’ve got manual pumps for the ballast tanks. We let water in to dive, push it out to rise. You can turn on the headlights here if you want to see something under the water.”

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Esther’s gaze lingered on the instruments, fascinated. “How do you keep the sirenians following you?”

“They’re not the smartest creatures, but they know us and follow the subs. Still, we’ve got help.” Red pulled a small brass whistle from his shirt and blew it. No sound came, but moments later, shadows passed the submarine’s window, and a series of splashes followed.

A pod of dolphins swam alongside the sub, their sleek bodies glistening as they leapt from the water. Esther’s eyes widened. “Shepherd dolphins!”

“That’s right.” Red’s voice softened with pride. “We’ve bred ‘em right here in the lake. They’re our best friends when it comes to guiding the herd. See the big one there? That’s Sunny, the matriarch. And the one with the scar—that’s Bay. Fought off a shark a while back.”

“Red’s one of the best dolphin trainers around,” Joey added. “That’s why Jeff values him so much.”

Esther’s eyes gleamed with admiration. “How do they handle the change in salinity?”

Red glanced at the dolphins, watching them playfully dart around the submarine. “Dolphins get skin problems if they’re in freshwater too long, but as you can see, they’re doin’ just fine.”

Red pushed the lever, and water rushed into the ballast tanks. The submarine began its descent, slipping smoothly beneath the surface of the lake. The world outside the Nautilus shifted into shades of blue as they submerged completely.

“Let me show you why.” Red picked up his brass whistle, blew a short sequence, and the pod of dolphins vanished from view. The signal had been sent—they were rounding up the herd.

Esther leaned forward. “How do the dolphins guide the herd exactly?”

“Sirenians have sharp hearing. The dolphins use their sonar and ultrasound to nudge them where they want. We’ll be heading north today, far as we can. Good thing you got here early—it’ll give us enough time to be back before nightfall.”

Red pushed another lever, and the propellers hummed to life, the submarine gliding forward through the water. As the tanks continued to fill, they fully submerged. One by one, dolphins darted ahead of the Nautilus, followed by the herd—dugongs and manatees moving in a slow, graceful dance through the water.

“The lake’s the best place to graze them. Clear, transparent water. Seagrass needs sunlight, and it gets plenty of that here.”

Esther peered out the window, fascinated. “Where will you take the herd to graze?”

“Wherever the grass is tall enough,” Red replied, his eyes scanning the lake. “Seagrass only grows in shallow parts—up to about 40 meters deep. Any deeper, and there’s not enough light.”

“How much of the lake is that shallow?” she asked.

“Several kilometers near the shore. But out there,” he gestured toward the darker waters in the distance, “it gets deep. Over a kilometer, from what I’ve heard.”

The herd swam peacefully, like a flock of birds in the sky, their massive bodies gliding past the windows on all sides. Joey watched them in awe. Wherever he and Esther looked, dugongs and manatees moved above, below, and around them, creating a living tapestry of motion.

After an hour, Red slowed the submarine as they approached an underwater prairie—a vast meadow of seagrass swaying gently in the current.

“What makes you decide where to stop?” Esther asked.

Red nodded toward the grass, nearly six meters tall. “When it’s this height, it’s ripe. Perfect for grazing.”

“I see,” she murmured, eyes widening as the vastness of the meadow revealed itself.

“We’re here,” Red announced. “The herd’ll graze while we explore. There’s something I want to show you.” He blew the whistle again, short and sharp, and the dolphins led the herd down to feast on the seagrass.

Red began filling more of the tanks, carefully maneuvering the Nautilus into position. “We need to go deeper to see this properly. It only works from certain angles... let me adjust.”

The submarine spun and dipped as Red expertly adjusted their position. After a few moments, his face lit up. “Look. Over there! Do you see it?”

Esther leaned closer to the window. At first, it seemed like nothing—just the clear water around them—but then, she saw it. The water appeared to split in two, one half darker, the other clearer and lighter.

“It can’t be... is that—?” Esther’s voice trailed off as her eyes widened.

“Let’s cross it,” Red said with a grin. He guided the Nautilus forward, and as they passed through, Joey felt a strange resistance, as if they were breaking the surface of the water despite being fully submerged.

“A halocline!” Esther exclaimed.

Joey frowned. “What’s that?”

Esther turned to him, her excitement palpable. “It’s when water forms layers—like oil and water not mixing. Only here, it’s different types of water. The darker one must be saltier, and the clearer one’s freshwater.”

Joey watched as the dolphins surfaced to breathe, then dove back into the saltier water, where they seemed more comfortable. The dugongs, too, stuck close to the darker layer. It was eerie—unnatural.

“But why don’t they mix?” Joey asked. “Isn’t it all just water?”

“There are... forces at play,” Esther replied, pausing as she stared at the shifting layers. “Temperature, salinity... those are the big ones.”

“But they’ve always mixed before,” Joey pressed. “Why not now?”

Esther hesitated, her brow furrowing. “I don’t know,” she admitted softly.

Red brought them through a wide circle, searching the water. “There! Do you see it, Professor?”

Esther gasped. The cline they had crossed earlier had been a smooth, horizontal divide, but now it stretched and twisted, branching out in odd shapes. Darker water reached toward the surface, forming strange tunnels through the freshwater, like fingers clawing through the lake.

“That’s... impossible,” Esther muttered. Her voice wavered, the scientist in her struggling to reconcile what she was seeing.

“Could it be a current?” Red asked, his tone hopeful.

“I don’t know.” Esther shook her head, eyes fixed on the bizarre patterns. “But this explains why there haven’t been coastings of dead fish. The lake didn’t lose its salt. Something’s... reorganized it.”

*

For the rest of the day, Geoffrey welcomed fellow producers and representatives from the mayor’s office, his mind always half-focused on the lake. Every so often, he found himself staring out toward the distant water, wondering what Joey and the Science Academy professor had uncovered. They’d been out for hours now, and the waiting gnawed at him.

After his ninth meeting of the day, Geoffrey called Debbie over.

“Sir?”

“Anyone else left to meet?”

“Three more, sir.”

“Did they make appointments?”

“They did not.”

“Tell them to come back tomorrow. I have a meeting to attend.”

“I’ll take care of it, Mr. Geoffrey.”

“Thank you, Debbie.”

It had been enough for one day. Geoffrey felt a surprising amount of relief as the afternoon wore on. Hosting these meetings had been critical to the next step of his plan, but now, it was mid-afternoon, and to be honest, he didn’t want to be here when Joey and the professor returned. The thought of facing Joey filled him with an odd, uncomfortable dread. After all, Joey was one of his closest friends, yet he wasn’t ready for that inevitable confrontation. Maybe he should sit Joey down and have a heart-to-heart.

His mouth went dry. Anxiety prickled under his skin, heavy and suffocating. He reached for the jar filled with lake water and drank deeply, the cool liquid instantly refreshing him. Where was he... oh, right—the stables. He needed to get going.

The next errand wasn’t one to take the Mercury 3000 for—it drew too much attention. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt if people thought he hadn’t left the office. He made his way to the stables, where his horse, Avalanche, waited. The white stallion’s coat gleamed in the fading light; a magnificent creature. Geoffrey ran a hand along its neck, whispering soothing words before mounting.

The instant freedom of riding replaced the earlier tension, and he took off, galloping down the dusty road as the sun dipped lower in the sky. Workers from the surrounding ranches were finishing their shifts, many making their way toward the Beluga Tavern. Geoffrey had been coming to the tavern every night this past week, ordering cider and quietly gauging the morale of workers from the competing estates.

Beneath the surface of City Hall and the Producers Union’s show of unity, Geoffrey knew the numbers told a darker story. The situation was dire. The cost of getting the vacuum parlors operational again was staggering, and Geoffrey’s tactic of outbidding for engineers—jacking up the prices—had only worsened things for the others. And now, even if there were no more floods in their lifetimes, new legislation was imminent, forcing producers to move facilities to higher ground. Everything was more expensive, especially with rising energy prices. The bills were overwhelming.

But the real blow was the deal they’d signed with Geoffrey. On the surface, it had seemed like a fair agreement—safe, legal. Yet, Geoffrey had made sure the contract was airtight in his favor. Many had assumed the animals brought to the estate would stay there to fatten up for vacuuming. Too late, they’d realized their mistake: they were responsible for fattening the stock themselves before sending them to Geoffrey. He got paid in prime, fattened stock while they were left to bear the burden.

In a week, Geoffrey had amassed a quarter of the cattle in the lake, effectively controlling twenty percent of the herd. The other producers? Bleeding losses.

Now, as they lost money and scrambled to meet rising costs, Geoffrey’s next move hinged on the discontent brewing in the tavern. He knew it was only a matter of time before tensions reached a breaking point.

Inside the tavern, the usual din of conversation filled the air, but Geoffrey’s attention was drawn to an argument at a nearby table.

“Hilton, calm down, man,” one man said, trying to pacify the red-faced craftsman.

“Don’t tell me to calm down, Jonah! You’re not the one who had your salary cut in half!” Hilton spat, his voice shaking with fury.

Geoffrey’s interest piqued. He recognized the man from somewhere. Calling over one of the tavern girls, he pulled a shilling from his pocket.

“Can I get you anything else, sir?” she asked, eyeing him with suspicion. He was dressed as a beggar, a far cry from his usual appearance.

“No, thank you,” Geoffrey replied smoothly. “But I could use some information.” He held up the coin, letting it glint in the low light. “Interested?”

The girl hesitated, then nodded cautiously. “As long as it’s nothing weird.”

“That man,” Geoffrey said, nodding toward Hilton. “The one yelling. Who is he?”

She glanced over, then returned her gaze to Geoffrey. “That’s Peter Hilton.”

The name clicked. “Does he work around here?”

“He’s one of the best baleen craftsmen in the region.”

Of course. Peter Hilton. Geoffrey now remembered old Red calling him “Stinky Pete.” The connection fell into place. Hilton was exactly who Geoffrey needed next.

“Call him over,” Geoffrey said, slipping the shilling into her hand. “Tell him I’ve got a business proposition for him.”