Alex frowned. “Okay, if you say so,” he said.

“I do.”

Alex slowly turned and went back inside.

Off the main room were smaller, semi-closed nooks. The nooks were modest in size, but plentiful, which made the shelter feel quite spacious, yet cozy. There was easily enough room for thirty or forty people, Alex guessed. He looked around and automatically reached for a spell component in case they were being set up for an ambush. But the little man just stood and waited patiently, a wide grin on his face, as he watched the Artiméans look around. No one else appeared.

The entry room where they stood was by far the largest space they could see, and though there was no physical door that could be closed to shut out the storm, the wind and rain coming inside was vastly minimized by intricately positioned rock slabs outside.

While the others wandered through the shelter, Alex stood by the door and looked out, seeing the pattern of rocks that protected him from the elements. It was so cleverly designed that he quite wished he’d thought of it, and for a moment he longed to be back in Artimé, working on art for a change. He needed something creative to do. The voyage had gotten long and arduous, and now that they had rescued Copper, he just wanted to go home and draw things.

He could see Florence just outside the door, sitting against the rocks, wiping down her bow and arrows with a bit of moss she’d pulled up.

Sensing Alex hanging back, Florence spoke up. “I may try to work on the ship if the storm lets up a little. For now, though, I can barely hang on to this arrow even though I’m partially sheltered in this corner. The wind wants to take everything. So I imagine out on the open shore it’ll be nearly impossible to do anything in these conditions.” She looked at Alex. “I mean it, Alex. Get out of the rain. I’ll be fine here.”

Alex, finally convinced, nodded and went inside to find the others settling in nicely. The little man scurried over and gave him a towel and some dry, ragged clothes to change into, then disappeared into one of the nooks. Alex could tell the clothes had once been adorned with a colorful pattern that had now faded almost completely away. Alex changed quickly and hung his clothes to dry by the others, then wandered about through the open space, visiting the different nooks where his friends had settled. He checked on Captain Ahab, making sure the statue was comfortable. He spied Sky with Lani and Samheed, all talking animatedly in one nook, Samheed acting something out to the others’ enjoyment. Alex looked away. He’d join them later. Maybe.

On one side of the shelter was a nook that led to a large enclosed area with a door. Alex peered inside the doorway. To his surprise, he found it was a greenhouse, brightly lit. The little man was inside with his back to Alex, working intently on something.

Alex looked up, wondering where the light was coming from. Instead of a rock slab ceiling, there was glass to let in whatever natural light there happened to be, and strange glowing orbs hung above a healthy assortment of vegetation.

The man noticed Alex and pointed to the glass overhead. Loud sheets of rain swept over it. “You see this?” the little man asked. “Marcus Today makes magic glass for us.”

The words sank in and Alex’s eyes clouded with emotion. He was surprised by how much this information affected him. Mr. Today had been here, in this place. He had been kind to this man. Yet he’d never spoken about it. And there was a tube here! If there was a tube in this desolate place, how many other tubes could there be? And all of those Quillitary vehicles buried at sea . . .

He looked at the man and then suddenly frowned, replaying his words in his head. “Wait a minute. Did you say ‘us’?”

The man nodded. He pointed to an area of the shelter that had been thus far unexplored, and he held up two bony fingers. He went to the opening and called out in the strange language. After a long moment, two equally ancient men appeared from deep inside the shelter. They nodded politely at Alex, who smiled and gave an awkward wave.

The three island inhabitants had a conversation, and then the first man invited Alex to follow him. “If everyone is ready, may I speak, please?”

“Of course,” Alex said. He went back to the main room and called the Artiméans to gather. The man asked everyone to sit down on the floor around a blackened area. He disappeared, returning a moment later with dry firewood, and began to work two pieces of wood together with a bit of dried moss. Samheed offered up a damp origami dragon, which was able to spit a few sparks to help the process along.

When the fire was going strong, and the smoke was funneling itself neatly out a nearly invisible vent hole near the ceiling, the man sat back on his haunches.

Alex and the two men joined him by the fire. Florence leaned in and poked her head through the doorway to listen.

“This is home of many and few,” the man said to the tune of the wind and thunder. “We did not build it. The ones who came before us did not build it. We are all visitors here, like you.”

Sky smiled and caught Alex’s eye. The both swiftly looked away.

“These are my friends. They only speak our native language,” the man said. “We are . . . scientists.” His hesitations and stutters lessened the more he spoke, as if the Artiméans’ language was swiftly coming back to him.

“I am youngest,” he said with his gummy grin. “My name is Ishibashi Junpei. You may call me Ishibashi-san.” He nodded at Samheed, who sat closest, prompting him to repeat it.

“Ishibashi-san,” Samheed repeated.