One evening, Alex found a private nook, sat down, and rested his head against the wall in defeat. It was almost harder to create things here on this barren island than it was in Quill, where things were outlawed. At least there he’d have chicken bones to whittle into a makeshift loom. Here he only had random junk to work with, and the only things in abundance were moss and rocks.

Sky walked past the nook and hesitated when she caught sight of him. A shadow passed over her face and she nearly continued on. But instead she asked gruffly, “Everything okay?”

Alex turned to look at her. He shrugged. “Not really,” he said, surprising himself with the confession. He’d been increasingly positive in front of the team.

Sky knit her brows. “What’s wrong?”

Alex looked away, embarrassed. “Nothing. I don’t know why I said that.”

“Oh.” She shuffled her feet, contemplating her plan of escape from the awkwardness, when he spoke again.

“It’s fine really. I’m just frustrated,” he muttered. “I can’t create the flying carpet component without a loom, so if you happen to find one anywhere . . .” He shrugged again and his face got warm. “Stupid, I know. Never mind. I’m just in a weird funk. I’ll just . . . yeah. I think I’m tired. I’ll figure something out.”

“Yeah. Okay,” Sky mumbled. She frowned at the floor, and then turned and slipped away.

Alex watched her go, and then shook his head. “Stupid,” he muttered.

» » « «

By the end of a week, the Artiméans had grown accustomed to the schedule, and their days began running quite smoothly. During the hour or so of calm each day when Alex was outside, diving and pulling things from shipwrecks, he didn’t have time to think about much besides the task at hand. But when he was in the rock shelter, he had plenty of time to think about how senseless all this ship repair was without Simber there to get them safely on board.

Where was he? Why wasn’t he back yet? Were they so far from home that it would take him this many days to make a round trip?

Alex assumed that the cat’s keen eyes would have no trouble spotting the ship on the shore of this island, in spite of the raging storm, but what if Alex and the others had actually floated much farther off course than Simber expected? What if Simber couldn’t find them and was just flying aimlessly over the ocean? Or worse . . . what if something had happened to him? There was a time not long ago when Alex had foolishly thought Simber invincible. But he knew better now.

Ishibashi, Ito, and Sato were ever gracious, giving the visitors plenty of space and privacy. But sometimes in the evenings, Ishibashi joined them around the fire.

“I am hungry for your stories,” he said. “Do you have any?”

Fox and Kitten had plenty, and with Simber gone, Fox could tell them without fear of reproach. The other Artiméans shared stories from their trip to the Island of Legends, much to Ishibashi’s delight. “A living-crab island,” he marveled again and again. “I can hardly believe it.”

Something Ishibashi had said the first day they met stuck with Sky, and one night, before he could ask for stories, she said to him, “Tell us a shipwreck story. When did all the wrecks happen? Have you explored them?”

“Yeah,” said Crow. “What about the vehicles that are all underwater? Where did they come from?”

Ishibashi pursed his lips. He glanced down at his wrinkled old hands. “Where? That is a question indeed.”

The Artiméans leaned in, and Florence poked her head inside the shelter to listen as well.

Ishibashi pondered for a long moment, his face troubled. “I am reluctant to say,” he hedged. “I do not know exactly where the ship came from. There were no people on board when it wrecked. It was . . .” He seemed to struggle for the right word. “Abandoned,” he said finally.

“No one on board?” breathed Crow. “You saw it happen?”

“Hai. I did.”

“So they must have jumped like we did,” Henry whispered. He turned back to Ishibashi. “What else do you know?”

“Very little,” Ishibashi replied. “Ah, but I will tell you about the recent visitor who escaped,” he went on, as if he were trying to change the subject.

“That’s actually what I was going to ask about,” Sky said. “You said he escaped?”

“She,” Ishibashi said with a small smile. “A young woman. Like you.”

Sky and Lani exchanged glances. “Was she alone?”

“Yes,” Ishibashi said. “In a sailboat. She stayed only three days to repair it. A very nice girl. Quiet, intent on the task, and anxious to leave. I tried to tell her it wasn’t safe, but she said she had to get back to—” He faltered.

“Back to where?” asked Fox, who lay at Ishibashi’s side.

“Back to—” Ishibashi looked wildly around at the group, his smile gone. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I have said too much. I forget sometimes. . . .” He shook his head and feebly rose to his feet. “Old age. I must rest now.”

Sky jumped to help him, but he smiled weakly and waved her off, then tottered to his room. When he had disappeared, Florence whispered loudly from the doorway, “What just happened?”

“He forgot where the girl wanted to go,” Alex said.

“I don’t think he forgot,” Samheed said, eyes narrowed. “Not the way he was acting. I think he didn’t want to talk about it.”