He winds the mechanism on the eel and drops it into the water, and it swims, beautiful and smooth, undulating the length of the lane. True was right. If I swim anything like this, it’s a compliment.

The eel bumps into the wall, turns, and swims back.

“Touch it,” True says as it gets closer. I do, and a little jolt of electricity fires through me.

“You did it,” I say. “Already.”

“I couldn’t sleep this morning,” True says. “So I got up and worked on them. I made five. But I need more time. The charge on this one seems fine, but I haven’t been able to test the others enough to be sure they’re safe.”

But what we don’t have is time. The crowd gathering near us expects more than what I did before. We have momentum and we need to build on it if we can.

“So it was fish last time,” someone calls out. “What today?”

“More fish,” True calls back, and someone boos.

“We’ve already seen that!” someone else shouts.

I need this to work. I’m not ready to trust Maire to get Above. “This one works fine,” I say. “I’m sure the others are safe, too.”

“I think they are,” True says, “but I need to make sure. It won’t take long. You can use them tomorrow.”

I turn my back on him and climb on the starting block near the lanes, holding up the dripping eel in my hand. “These,” I say to the crowd as loud as I can without losing control. “I’ll be using these today.”

“What do they do?” one of the bettors asks me, coming closer. I drop the eel in the water and it swims.

“Like the fish,” the bettor says, sounding unimpressed. Which makes me angry. Because even without the electrical charge, even without me trying to swim around them, these inventions are beautiful. True’s workmanship should be worth something all on its own. People should be lining up to buy things from his cart.

So I tell the bettor, “Touch it,” and when he does and steps back, surprised at the shock, I smile.

“See,” I say. “There’s more to it than you think.”

“I’ll tell the others,” he says grudgingly. “But can you feel it through your wetsuit?”

I dip into the water and touch the eel with my elbow, which is covered by the suit. I feel a slight push of pressure, but most of the shock is absorbed by the material.

“Not much,” I admit. It would be better if I could. I think fast. I need a full wetsuit to get to the surface. But I have an extra—I have Bay’s. “Do you have a knife?”

“We’re in the deepmarket,” he says. “I’m sure there’s someone who does.” He goes out into the crowd and a few moments later he’s back, before True can even finish the speech he’s giving me about how dangerous this might be.

I take the knife into one of the dressing stalls, remove my suit, and cut the fabric so that my arms and legs will be mostly exposed. I put the suit back on and walk out, and the bettor smiles as he takes the knife. “Yes,” he says. “That’s better. And you’re the Minister’s daughter?”

“Oceana’s,” I say. “Not Nevio’s.”

This makes him laugh. “Right,” he says. “People will like that.” He walks over to the others and starts talking and gesturing with them, and I wonder what he means. Does he think that they’ll like seeing Oceana’s daughter risk injury because they didn’t love her, or that they’ll find me interesting because they cared about her?

True looks unhappy and angry. “This isn’t a good idea,” he tells me in a low tone. “What I have is a prototype, not a finished product.”

“They’re going to leave if I don’t do something new,” I say. “I need to impress them today.”

“Give me another day,” True says.

“It has to be now,” I say. “Or they’ll forget. You wouldn’t believe how fast people can forget about someone.”

People are climbing into the stands. It’s time.

I reach down and pick up the bucket of eels and fish. True grabs the bucket, too, his hand over mine. His grip is strong and he’s not smiling. “I’m sorry,” he says. “But they’re not ready.”

“True,” I say. “Please.”

I can’t put anything I really feel into the word, but True draws in a deep breath, almost as if I have. His fingers tighten on mine for a moment, and I see small burns on the backs of his hands, which must have come from working on the eels and the fish. Did he get any sleep at all?

And then True lets go of the bucket. Neither of us speaks but I wish I could thank him the right way, with my real voice. I start winding up the fish and eels and dropping them back into the water.

They’re lovely. He has done perfect work. It’s a pleasure to see.

True folds his arms. He doesn’t climb up into the stands—he stays right down by the lane to watch. When I glance back at him, his eyes lock on mine. He’s trying to understand me, but he never can, because I’m holding back too much of what he needs to know.

I climb up onto the platform and realize that Aldo is still among the bettors, preoccupied with making money. He’s forgotten that he’s supposed to announce my race. I feel a rush of panic. I’ll have to do it myself. I should have told the bettor to stay here and call out for me. I’m going to take all the excitement away from my performance if I announce it in my flat, false voice.

Then True steps up onto the platform next to me. I think he’s changed his mind, that he’s going to try to stop me, but instead he raises his arms, and the crowd goes quiet. And then True calls out, “Rio Conwy, racer and risk-taker.”

That sounds all right. This might work.

True’s face is very animated, and his voice carries well as he tells the audience about the eels. I like watching him speak from this perspective, from the side, when I see his mouth move and his eyes smile from a different angle.

True makes what I’m about to do sound more dangerous than it really is. He talks about the eels and how they’ll burn my skin if they touch it. He tells the spectators that the fish aren’t charged, but they still represent a hit. He says the bettors are taking bets on how many hits I take in one pass down the lane, and on how fast I can go. I see a flurry of activity in the stands as people make their wagers.