Clive pushed his silken face out of the blackboard. “I guess I’ll be the last to know if it is,” he said. Then he sank back and disappeared.

Alex shook his head and sighed. It bothered him more than he cared to admit that Clive was still peeved at him. But he didn’t know how to explain the vast pressure that was on him. Or how much pressure had been on him the entire time that Clive and all the others were experiencing the magical equivalent of a visit to the Ancients Sector.

He turned back to the components, double- and triple-checking his quantities, counting aloud to himself, not noticing that Clive had silently resurfaced again to watch him.

Alex looked back at the line of prototypes. There was the one Lani had made for the pincushion spell. Next to it was the tiny rubber ball Samheed had altered to look like a brain for the dementia spell. He wondered if he’d ever have any more of their creations lining his shelves. Alex smiled sadly as he recalled the day they’d sent their new spells soaring at their instructors. Had it really only been a few months since then? Alex felt like he’d become an entirely different person in that time. He reached up and took the pincushion and the tiny brain, cradling them in his hand, admiring the fine detailed work his friends had done.

He wondered if Lani had changed too, like he had. She must have, he thought. He couldn’t begin to imagine what she’d gone through by now. Hard stuff forces you to grow up fast— that much he knew.

But Lani was strong. “I sure hope you’re okay,” he whispered. He felt a pang of guilt spear through him. With all Lani must be going through, he just couldn’t stop feeling guilty about . . . about . . . well, he wasn’t exactly sure why he felt so guilty when he thought about her these days. Obviously because he hadn’t rescued her and Sam yet, but that was hardly something he could help. Maybe it was because he didn’t think about her as often as he used to. But, he argued with himself, stuff happens when your whole world disappears and you have to count on the people who are actually there to help you make it through.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and opened them again. He looked at the components in his hand, then slowly closed his fingers over them and put them in his pocket for good luck. “We’re going to find you,” he said softly. “We just have to.”

And then everything will be back to normal, he told himself.

Clive slipped away once again.

Alex took a deep breath and let it out, then squared his shoulders, picked up his supplies, and carried them to the door. He opened it, glancing at his blackboard but seeing only words. “Bye,” he said, and closed the door. He waited a beat, shrugged, and then he headed out to the ship.

Florence was there already, standing with an arm slung over the top of the lower deck. Beside her was a stack of crates, and she already had the gangway pulled out and resting on the ground. When she saw Alex, she nodded a greeting. “I’ve had a look at this,” she said. “I suggest we load the humans and the lighter folks, then Sim and I will lift and push this thing out into deeper water. It’ll go faster that way, rather than getting it in the water first and transporting Artiméans back and forth. I’ll climb on and Sim wants to fly, which is good.”

Alex felt a sense of relief wash through him. He’d been nervous, but he knew he had the best team he could possibly have. “And someone here knows how to sail this thing, right?”

“Well, I could do it in a pinch,” Florence said, adjusting her bulging quiver of arrows on her back, “but Siggy found someone else in the theater supply closet with a lot more experience. He’s bringing him by in a bit.”

“Perfect,” Alex said. “High tide is around eight. That’ll help with launching this crazy ship.”

“You know it whispers, right?” Florence asked.

Alex nodded. “Any idea what it’s saying?”

“No,” Florence said. “Hopefully nothing bad.” She smiled and picked up the stack of crates, lifting them over the railing and placing them on the deck.

Before long, a strange assortment of volunteers had assembled in groups according to their assigned leaders. Alex, Sean, Meghan, Ms. Octavia, Florence, Simber, and Rufus each carried a written list of their charges, each leader responsible for counting and keeping track of their volunteers. The statues mostly stood quietly, though a few hopped around sniffing things, while the squirrelicorns circled overhead.

Soon Mr. Appleblossom arrived, walking with a marble statue. He was a man with a peg leg, and he wore the uniform and hat of a sea captain.

Mr. Appleblossom stopped in front of Alex. “A bright and lucky morn to you, my boy,” he said. “Meet Captain Ahab, here to run your ship. A finer man the sea has never known.” He leaned in and whispered, “Take heed, or find yourself with a fat lip.”

Alex’s eyes widened. “Ah, nice to meet you, Captain Ahab.”

“Pirates!” exploded the statue, pointing at the sails. “Blast my skull to bits!”

Alex stared. He slid his gaze to Mr. Appleblossom, who smiled politely, almost with mischief, and said nothing.

“We-we’re not pirates. We’re just going to that island there, and then back again. Can you sail this thing?”

“Ransacking thieves!” he roared. “Ye ever seen the white whale?” He leaned toward Alex, leering at him.

Alex fought off a strange urge to laugh. No wonder Mr. Appleblossom kept this statue in the props closet. The captain was crazy, and Mr. Appleblossom knew it, but he was a ship captain. And, well, they really needed him. Alex decided to try a more direct approach. “Follow me,” he said. He turned abruptly and started up the gangplank, hoping the captain was following him. A minute later the uneven thump of the statue’s gait assured Alex he was.