The dawn became increasingly brighter, hurting Geoffrey’s eyes. Since he'd gone to the lake, he’d been suffering from a persistent migraine.

As his locomotive neared one of the town’s entry terminals, he searched the compartment conveniently built into his seat’s arms, carefully selected the red flag from the bunch, and waved it out of the window while blowing the train whistle.

The switchmen crew noted the intended destination and swiftly switched the railways so Geoffrey’s locomotive could enter the red circuit.

Even through his headache, Geoffrey still took the time to admire the work of these men. The crew worked around the clock, under scorching heat, pouring rain, or cold. It was a deceptively complex and dangerous job. One moment of distraction when crossing a line could cost their passengers hours of their time, or worse, it could make a switchman lose their life.

When one of the members of the switchmen’s union knocked at Geoffrey’s office to ask for his support, he hadn’t hesitated to give them a donation and sign their petition to add bridges and tunnels to help them move around terminals without getting themselves into danger. Even though the mayor had approved the initiative, Geoffrey hadn’t seen signs of the construction work starting.

This terminal was used mainly by ranchers and workers from the lakeside and was one of the busiest in New Lisbon. Most lines were communal, and only a few private ones, such as Geoffrey’s, made it out here.

Geoffrey checked his pocket watch again. It was six-thirty in the morning. Although some traffic could be seen, the tracks were relatively empty. The switchmen adjusted the railway, and Geoffrey’s locomotive joined local traffic.

Different rail circuits zigzagged through town, sometimes over a bridge or under a tunnel. Twenty such circuits were in operation, and each took about one hour to complete. The red circuit cut across the city's center and passed by the city hall.

Geoffrey waited for a curve that could afford him a good look at the other vehicles behind him. Even if it wasn’t a day as monumental as this, Geoffrey would have still looked over his shoulder. It was one of many survival skills he had to develop when he was a street urchin. Having eyes behind one’s back is essential when living on the streets.

He didn’t see any of his fellow ranchers or their personal locomotives. His fellow sea cow oil producers still hadn’t heard about what had happened at the lake. They would undoubtedly head to the mayor’s office as soon as they found out. He should go, too.

Geoffrey’s headache receded, and his thoughts gained their usual nimbleness. He couldn’t fathom how devastating the flood would be on the local economy. Most of the world’s fuel came from the sirenian oil harvested in the lake, and demand constantly chased after supply. If production halted because of the flood, it could ruin the city. Worse, it could collapse the world economy.

Transportation would be one of the things that would be compromised. Lighting and heating too would be affected. The least he could do was offer his fellow businessmen a helping hand and be neighborly. He was one of the ranchers closest to the city. He was also one of the few who had gone through the trouble of setting rails between the city and his ranch. He would most likely be the first to get to the mayor’s office and sound the warning. Yes. That was the right thing to do.

Geoffrey picked another flag. It had a chess-patterned field. The switchman serving the parking lot activated the switch rail that led the locomotive to a railroad parking yard. The switchman quickly reset the switch so other trams or trains could go past unimpeded.

As Geoffrey climbed out of the locomotive cab, he looked around in confusion. By Ambyssus’ ambition, why was he in the city market? How had he gotten here? It was across town from the city hall. Hadn’t he taken the red circuit? Geoffrey looked up at the signs in the yard and saw blue plaques all over. Strange. This was the blue line.

Dazed, Geoffrey tried to gather his thoughts. He was sure he hadn’t picked this circuit; nevertheless, he stood here. Could it have been a mistake by the switchmen crew? It would take him more than an hour to take his locomotive from here to the city hall. Should he get a taxi? Should he walk?

Gently, smoothly, he felt his attention persuasively drawn to the market across the road. The taste in his mouth became sweeter, and a numbing sensation flashed across his temples. His thoughts were gently nudged toward an idea. It was Geoffrey’s idea, of course, but he had dismissed it as soon as it had formed. It was now brought back to the fore of his mind. Although it was quite lucrative, it wasn’t pretty or kind.

Geoffrey stood indecisively, trying to decide on his course of action. He stood at a proverbial switch terminal. If he did decide to go down this path, he wouldn’t be doing anything unlawful. His plan was a legitimate way of expanding his business. There might be some damage to his competitors, but wasn’t the business world one of war and struggle? Had his competitors gotten the chance to gain this opportunity, they wouldn’t hesitate to seize it.

Flashes of painful memories as a street urchin came to his mind. The pangs of hunger. The sweaty grime that stuck to his skin and the hair lice that made him itchy. The cold nights. The threats of other street gangs who wanted him out of their lucrative turf.

Then there was a flood of pleasant, marvelous memories of success—his first business, the elation of lucrative endeavors, the comforts of wealth, the esteem and respect of others. Yes, yes. Perhaps there was an honest opportunity to be gained here. And if he was indeed correct, time was of the essence.

Finally convinced, Geoffrey marched toward the market. Balaena Market was renowned throughout the world. Even from his relatively low vantage point, Geoffrey could see cranes unloading containers from vessels coasted on Port Aurum, Zeppelins taking off from the Aquilae Airport, and train whistles signaling the arrival or departure of cargo. Wagons bringing merchandise in and out of the market to the three transportation hubs reminded Geoffrey of a tireless ant colony.

Geoffrey couldn’t help but reminisce about his professional experience here as he reached the market entrance. He had once bought unappreciated wares from an ignorant merchant in one stall, only to sell to an appreciative salesman next, making a quick buck. Before that, he had baked apple pies and sold them to the workers and salesmen entering and leaving the market.

Without much thought, he used the entrance nearest to the parking yard. It led into the North Market District, home to the husbandry trading section. There were streets with stores set up in an organized fashion. Stalls of all different colors and sizes made the environment festive and eye-catching.

As Geoffrey entered the sirenian section, it smelled of sea cow, grass, leather, and salt. Screams of merchants competed for his attention.

“Get yourself some of our balatees’ springs. Exceptional yield. Good for any industry!”

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Steller’s Sea Cow stellar leather! We kill none of the animals following the Science Academy’s environmental regulations. All animals died from old age!”

“Fine sir, why don’t you take this carved chess set of dugong bones?”

“Good morning, chief; those boots have seen better days. Why not try one of our manatee leather boots?”

Geoffrey ignored all the sales pitches thrown at him. From afar, he glanced at one of the booths hawking wares made of sea cow materials. The tablet read in elaborate golden letters, “Geoffrey Inc.” After assessing the effort of his hired sales staff attempting to sell some of the products manufactured at his estate, satisfied, Geoffrey made his way to the oil auction house.

The oil market would only open at 7:30. A line of people waited at the door. Geoffrey made his way around the back of the building and entered through the door destined for producers. The security guard recognized him and invited him in.

Inside the building, Geoffrey addressed the receptionist. “Good morning, Martha. I would like to see Master Gulliver, please.”

“Certainly, Mr. Geoffrey. I’ll call him immediately.”

The receptionist disappeared and came back with an old clerk in tow. Master Gulliver wore slacks a vest made of dugong hide, and a shapeless and flat nose. The hunch in his back and the glasses told the story of an office worker who had spent many nights reviewing paperwork at a desk. He looked at his long-time supplier, lowering his gaze so that his spectacles wouldn’t hinder his line of sight. “Jeff. Long time no see.”

“Master Gulliver, it is a pleasure. It's always a pleasure. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

“What can I do for you today?” Master Gulliver checked his wristwatch. “The next auction will begin soon.”

“How many of my estates’ casks do you have stored?”

“Well, I don’t know the precise number.” After some thought, he added. “About two hundred?”

It was better than he was expecting. “Do you think you can hold on to them for the moment? Please don’t release them to the market.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” said Master Gulliver, with a puzzled look on his face. “Any specific reason?”

“None I have the time to discuss right now. We can talk later. I’m sorry, I must go; I don’t want to miss the market opening. We’ll catch up sometime soon. Yes, soon.”

Geoffrey left and circled the building to find a place in line near the main entrance. By Ambyssus’ ambition, it was time to become rich.

*

Joey was almost done with his reports. He was obsessed with closure, a trait he’d inherited from his father. He had spent the last months of his life working on this case. It was time to wrap it up, turn it in, go home, and spend time with his family.

Looking out the window, Joey realized it was morning. His wife and daughter would wake up soon. If he hurried, he might still be able to eat breakfast with them.

On his desk was a picture of him as a child, sitting on his father’s lap. Looking at the picture was a two-edged sword. It motivated him to get his work done but also reminded him of what he disliked the most about his job: It was hard to maintain a good balance between work and family.

His father had always been good with that. No matter how busy he was, he always had found the time to let little Joey run into his office in the middle of a meeting with politicians, businessmen, and merchants and let him tell everyone about the big disgusting bug he had captured in the backyard or to complain about his playmates.

The commissioner stomped through the bullpen. Like a star that drew debris, asteroids, and planets into its orbit, the man drew respectful looks and countenance from everyone nearby. His eyes rested on Joey, and the subtlest nod invited him to discreetly follow.

Joey had seen the commissioner with this look on his face before. There was something big going on. Joey rose from his seat, stretched, trying to dissolve the knots of tension from spending hours typing away at his desk, and discreetly followed the commissioner.

Entering the office, the commissioner readily closed the door and the shutters. “I think you and I will regret not going home to sleep when we had the chance.”

“What do you mean, chief? Did you have a breakthrough? Any clues about the black merchant?”

“No, no. None of that. It’s something entirely different. Listen. Mr. Wilkinson, from one of the Estates in the lake, did me the favor of coming here to let me know that something big has happened.”

“Are there pirates active again?”

“No, Joey. There’s been a flood.”

“A flood?”

“Yes, and it seems it has changed the lake's water.”

Joey gulped.

“We don’t know what we’re looking at here, Joey. We must be ready to deal with riots, looting, and protests. The Whale Oil War began with something as simple as this. If this impacts oil production, we might have the whole world at our throats. “

Joey took a moment to register the seriousness and the dimension of this. “Boss, what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to run point on this. It is of paramount importance that we keep this quiet for as long as possible. We want to avoid panic. Let’s first try to ascertain what has happened to the lake and think of solutions. Only then do we want the populace to know about what’s going on. OK?

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, go home, get cleaned up, and meet me at the mayor’s office. You know the kind of pressure I’ve been under, Joey. We can’t afford to fail here. I’m counting on you.”

This seldom-said compliment meant a lot to Joey. After his late father had passed, the commissioner became Joey’s rock. “Thank you, sir.”

The commissioner threw him a key. “Take the rhino.”

“Sir?”

“Go!”

Following Fabius’ advice, Joey forced himself to step out of the office calmly. As he crossed the bullpen, all he could think of was how he would explain to his wife that he wasn’t getting a holiday. She was going to be so mad.

As Joey left the precinct, he squinted at the sudden change in brightness. The dark bags under Joey’s eyes probably made him look like a panda. He should have gone home when the commissioner had told him to.

Joey took the rhino’s keychain out of his pocket. The police’s tactical tank was a powerful machine that was only taken out in extreme cases. Unlike the personal locomotives that required railroads, the rhino locotanks moved on caterpillar tracks and could be used in any terrain. He had seldom driven one except when time could make or break the operation.

Joey approached the massive, armored beast of a machine, its iron-plated exterior gleaming dully under the first rays of morning. He climbed up the side ladder and swung himself into the cockpit, the familiar scent of oil and metal filling his nostrils.

He settled into the well-worn leather seat and mentally reviewed his training on how to drive it. The control panel in front of him was a bewildering array of levers, switches, and dials. Joey inserted the keys into the ignition and turned them with a satisfying click. The Rhino roared to life, its engine growling deeply, sending vibrations through his entire body.

Gripping the steering handles, Joey carefully maneuvered the Rhino out of its parking spot. The treads clanked, and the sheer weight of the machine made the ground tremble. With a practiced hand, he navigated the metallic juggernaut, deftly avoiding the few stray horses and pedestrians who happened to be in its path.

Riding a locotank was significantly different from riding a locomotive. With the latter, one just had to worry about speeding up, pulling the breaks, blowing the whistle, and waving flags to switchmen. With the tank, however, one had also to steer. It was like having a horse and a train in one vehicle.

As Joey steered the metallic juggernaut and barely out of the way of passing horses or people, he finally made it to his home, where he parked it clumsily. He rushed into the building without forgetting to take the keys from the ignition. The last thing he needed was for some kid to railjack him.

Despite the rhino’s many virtues, the vehicle was exceedingly noisy. His wife was already at the door, drawn by the noise. She seemed refreshed and energized after a sound night of sleep. “Joey, what’s that thing?”

“Honey, something big has happened.”

“What’s wrong, Joey? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“There’s no time to explain!” Joey ran past her and dashed toward the bathroom.

“Joey, you’re scaring me. Are you OK? What’s going on?”

“I need to get to the city hall. Please get my official uniform ready. Also, please bring something to eat and drink.”

Joey saw his wife go to the wardrobe, take the official uniform, and lay it neatly over the bed. She then disappeared into the kitchen.

In record time, Joey had shaved, bathed, and put on his official uniform as the commissioner had instructed. “Thank you. I’m sorry about this.”

“I guess your time off has gone out the window,” his wife said sadly.

Joey felt a rush of guilt and sadness. “I’m so sorry, honey. I’ll explain to you later. I must go to the city hall. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Make sure Fabius promises me that, too.”

“Will do.” Joey stormed out the door. It was time to find out what in the world had happened to the lake.