The darkness in the shed was absolute, thick like spilled ink. Brisca stumbled, her shin thudding against something cold and metallic. Pello whimpered beside her. She could feel his small hand fumbling for hers in the blackness, clinging tight as he started to cry, soft, choked sounds that tore at her. "It's okay, little sunbeam," she whispered, her voice rough. "It's okay. I'm here." She drew him close, pressing her cheek to his curls. The heavy planks vibrated faintly with the distant drone of the Agri-Barge's engines, a steady pulse against the hammering in her ears. Gable shouted outside, his muffled voice mixing with the deckhands' shouts and the blare from the river cutter. Then she remembered Odis. He was out there. What would he do? He stood alone out there against Gable and the inspectors. She squared her shoulders against the rough pine wall. “Pello,” she murmured, her voice tight. “Remember your secret whistle? For Barnaby?” Pello sniffled, his head still buried in her side. “He won’t hear me. He’s far away.” “Just try,” Brisca urged, her voice firm. “Sometimes you have to make a little noise to be heard. Just once.” There was a moment of silence, then a hesitant, reedy sound, thin but clear. Pello’s practiced signal, two sharp notes rising on the dark air. Silence stretched beneath the siren's howl, broken only by the boy's shallow breathing. “Again,” she prompted. This time, Pello whistled with more confidence, a louder, brighter call that pierced the gloom. Then, a low bleat, surprisingly close. Brisca’s head snapped up. It came from right outside the shed wall. Then another bleat, followed by a snuffling sound. Brisca could barely believe it. “He’s here,” Pello whispered, his voice full of wonder. “He came!” A loud *thump* rocked the shed, making the old tools hanging from the walls rattle. Then another, heavier *thump*, followed by a deep, guttural grunt. The shed door shuddered. Brisca shoved Pello behind her, fixing her gaze on the seams of light around the frame. A splintering sound, like dry wood tearing, filled the air. Then an echoing *CRACK!* The door gave way off its upper iron pin, bursting open and showering the packed dirt with splinters. Framed against twilight stood the horned ram, steam snorting from wide black nostrils. He let out a deep, satisfied ‘baaah’. Pello cheered, rushing forward to hug the ram’s woolly head. “You broke it!” Brisca caught her breath, catching Pello's collar before he could bury his face in the fleece. "Run to the pasture line! Now!" The river cruiser closed in, red strobes splashing across the foam. She could see its flashing lights reflecting on the river’s surface, a dizzying swirl of blue and red. Flight alone solved nothing; the current swept them closer to open waters with every turn of the wheel. An idea, wild and desperate, bloomed in her mind, a spark of the sharp intellect she usually kept hidden. The vessel rested on tiered flotation reservoirs, reliant on precise equilibrium. Odis was pinned against the gangway railing by an inspector in a navy windbreaker, two deckhands blocking his retreat. His gaze met hers, wide with relief, then urgency. She didn’t need to speak; he knew they needed to act. She pointed toward the heavy hull plating on the port side, slicing her palm down in a steep dive. His brow shot up, followed by a sharp nod. He understood. “Keep behind the flock, Pello!” Brisca shouted, already sprinting across the turf. She cut left around the tool sheds, Odis lunging free of the railing to match her pace. “The lower reservoirs!” she hissed. “Port side! There’s an emergency release valve, usually near the engine housing for maintenance. We need to flood it. Fast. It’ll list the barge, hard.” He ducked with her behind stacked irrigation coils, darting toward the aft machinery house while the officers secured their gangplank. They hadn’t noticed the two figures darting across the deck. Brisca’s mind raced, recalling the blueprints she’d glimpsed during her brief, forced tour of the mechanical bay. The Brambleseed was designed for stability, to carry its immense weight of soil and water without capsizing. But that stability was contingent on even distribution. A rapid flood on one flank would drag the keel down. Not enough to capsize it, not with its immense breadth, but enough to… ground it. They found the access panel, a heavy circular hatch latched with a series of sturdy clamps. Odis, with a grunt, produced a wrench from his belt and quickly worked at the fastenings. The clamps clicked open. Inside, a maze of pipes and valves. Brisca scanned them, searching for the tell-tale red lever, the one marked 'Emergency Ballast Release – Port Aft'. The lever sat between two hydraulic sleeves, painted hazard orange. “There!” She reached in, her hand closing around the cold metal. It was stiff, refusing to budge. “Together!” Odis commanded, placing his hand over hers. They heaved together with their full weight. The lever creaked, then groaned, then moved with a sudden, violent jolt. A hollow *THWOOMP* rattled the deck plates as water roared through the intake grates. The deck beneath their feet shuddered. Water, tonnes of it, began rushing into the port-side tanks. The turf incline tipped instantly. Slowly at first, then with increasing momentum. The orchard trees swayed precariously. Sheep bleated in alarm, scrambling on the steepening pasture. Tools slid across the deck. An officer climbing the boarding ramp lost his footing, tumbling backward across the launch's cabin roof. Confusion erupted on the river. The barge was listing, listing hard, its starboard side lifting slowly from the water. Brisca watched the shore, the rapidly approaching line that marked the international border. They were so close. Too close. The broad craft dipped sideways, timbers groaning against the sudden slant. The tilt became a sickening plunge, pushing them all off balance. Odis grabbed Brisca, shielding her as the world seemed to lurch sideways. A deafening *CRUNCH* tore through the air, a sound of wood and metal grinding against something solid. The keel slammed into bottom silt, shuddering through every beam. Then, with a sigh of displaced water and settling earth, it stopped. Officers clung to their launch rails, shouting orders across the churn. The sanctuary sat wedge-stuck in river silt, sixty paces short of open jurisdiction, locked in mud.

Mutiny on the Brambleseed