A Light with No House

“One more book and you’re carrying your own bag,” said Sami.

Noor put the book about otters in her bag anyway. She was ten, exactly the same age as Sami, but she was allowed to carry three books at a time on his bike rack. According to Sami, this required a special permit.

They got off their bikes at the bridge. The evenings were getting dark early. Behind them, the librarian switched on the outside light. Across the water, the reeds were already in shadow.

A little amber light appeared among them.

“Someone fishing,” said Sami.

The light vanished, then came back a little further along. Noor leaned against the bridge railing. She couldn't see a fishing rod, or anyone's head, or a full-sized boat. Just a bright spot hanging above the water.

“A fish with a torch,” Sami corrected himself.

“Then it's holding it upside down.” Beneath the light, another bright patch trembled, much longer and thinner.

Noor fetched her dad, who was waiting for them outside the library. He shone his bike light across the water, but the reeds were too thick to see through. They stayed on the bridge.

“We can look again in daylight,” he said. “Dinner's ready.”

Just before they left, the light moved to the left, towards the dark shape of the windmill. For a moment Noor saw a white edge, with something red above it. Then a clump of reeds hid everything.

At home, she drew it on the back of a receipt: yellow circle, white line, red thing. Dad looked over her shoulder. “An egg on toast?”

“A clue.”

She folded the receipt and tucked it under her watch. Sami was coming back with her tomorrow. Even if her book-carrying permit had expired.