Island of Shipwrecks (21 page)

Henry thought about that. “Would that be a bad thing?”

Ishibashi nodded. “For me, yes. I would not want to go on and on forever. Would you? Think about it.”

With that, the old man went back to his work, leaving Henry to ponder.

» » « «

After a while, Henry found Ishibashi again. “So, um, where did you say I could find some of that seaweed? The cove on the other side of the island? Is it all right if I . . . I mean, since I'm the main healer person in Artimé and all . . . ?”

Ishibashi smiled. “Have you thought about whether you would want to live forever?”

“I have,” Henry said.

“And what conclusion did you come to?”

Henry looked at the man and spoke truthfully. “I don't know. I would have to think about it a lot more.”

Ishibashi nodded. “As would everyone, yes?”

Henry nodded solemnly.

Ishibashi clasped his hands in front of him, seemingly satisfied with Henry's answer. “I would never forbid you to have it, Henry-san. I will give you some myself. But you have to understand—this seaweed is both wonderful and very, very
dangerous. Its power is great, and it must not fall into the wrong hands. In fact, you must tell no one about it.”

Henry's eyes widened. He nodded.

“Most of all,” Ishibashi continued in a voice so low Henry could scarcely hear him, “despite what I have told you about our experiments, you must never, ever use it on humans without their full understanding and consent.”

S
ir,” Liam began from the doorway of Aaron's office, “there's a bit of a problem. The barbed-wire ceiling over Quill has been coming down with the wall, and it's resting on the tops of the houses. No one knows what to do with it.”

Aaron frowned at the contraption in front of him. “Where's Gondoleery? Make her take care of it.”

“I don't know, High Priest. I haven't seen her in weeks. I'm a little concerned that she's—”

A spring exploded from the middle of the contraption, hit the ceiling, and dropped to the floor halfway across the room.
Aaron sighed. “Go away, Liam,” he grumbled, not looking up.

Liam opened his mouth to say more, but it was no use. “I'll be in my room,” he muttered as he left.

» » « «

As it turned out, building an oil press was much more complicated than Aaron ever expected it to be. After weeks of focusing all his energy on finding the proper pieces he needed, and then pounding them into shape or cutting them to size or curling them into delicate metal links by hand and attaching them together to make a chain, he barely even noticed the enormous wall crumbling outside his window. And he gave little thought to the new, unprotected view of the sea. For today, finally, Aaron was ready to attach the last piece of the contraption to see if the thing actually worked.

He picked up the crank and held it to the light so that the sun shone through the square hole he'd fashioned on one end. It was almost perfect . . . but not quite. He strapped it to his desk and gave it one final pound with a mallet to straighten it. Then he picked it up once more, gave it a hard look, and slipped the end with the square hole over the rod that poked out of one side of the machine. He wiggled the
crank onto the squared portion of the rod until it grabbed hold.

Carefully Aaron turned the crank, scrutinizing the machine's many intricate parts, checking each piece of it to make sure it all moved together just as he'd pictured it. And it did. The synchronicity of it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen—in Quill, anyway. His mind briefly wandered to Artimé, where beauty was everywhere. Something like this might be commonplace there, but here in Quill, it was quite spectacular, and most importantly, Aaron had created it himself.

He frowned. He didn't like the word “created.” It seemed too much like an Unwanted word. He'd
built
it himself. That was more like it. It sounded a bit more Quillitary-ish. He pushed aside the nagging thought that the two words were very similar, and returned his attention to the workings of the machine.

When he was satisfied that the gears and cranks and chains and presses were all working properly, he went to one of the sacks on the floor and pulled out a large handful of cashews, which had been stripped of their poisonous fruit by
a few Necessaries in the Ancients Sector who were scheduled to die soon anyway.

Aaron carried the nuts to one end of the contraption and loaded them into the hopper—a metal box with a small hole at the bottom. The nuts dropped through the hole, went down a chute, and landed neatly on a conveyor belt. Aaron turned the crank, which made the conveyor belt move so that the nuts coming out of the chute landed a few inches apart from each other. From the belt, the nuts dropped into a circular container with a mesh bottom and a thick metal lid. The lid dropped on top of a few nuts and pressed down. Aaron turned the crank harder, intently watching the circular container as the nuts were smashed to a pulp. After a long minute, a small, cloudy drop of liquid fell onto the desk below.

Aaron stared at the drop. He let go of the crank and rushed over to the other side of the desk to look at it more closely. He reached his finger out to wipe it up, and gently rubbed it between his finger and thumb. It was silky smooth.

“It works!” he cried. “It works! Liam, come and see!”

Aaron heard feet pounding on the stairs and sliding in the hallway, and soon a wild-haired Liam, who looked like he'd
been grabbing a quick nap, poked his head in the doorway of Aaron's office.

“Come in, come in,” Aaron said impatiently. “You have to see this.”

Liam came closer.

Aaron pulled the cashew pulp out of the circular mesh container and popped it into his mouth. “Hmm,” he said, chewing. The nuts tasted like dirt, but they were still edible. Another bonus! He'd feed the remains of his project to the Necessaries, and there would be no waste.

“Now watch,” he said. He turned the crank. The next nut dropped out of the hopper, went down the chute, and landed on the conveyor belt. And then the next one did the same. They moved along until one by one they were deposited into the mesh container. Aaron kept cranking. The thick metal lid dropped down on top of the nuts and pressed down hard.

“Watch over there!” Aaron cried, pointing.

Liam watched.

This time a larger cloudy drop of oil splattered onto the desk below.

“Touch it,” Aaron commanded.

Liam obeyed. His hand darted out and he swiped at the drop of oil. He held it to his nose and inhaled. “It's great!” he exclaimed, not sure what he was actually supposed to be feeling.

“Yes, I know! It's perfect!”

Liam nearly began to laugh, somehow overjoyed by Aaron's enthusiasm. He'd never seen the high priest so . . . so passionate about something before. “Absolutely perfect,” Liam said, beaming. “You did it!”

Aaron grinned back. It felt so good. He'd done it! He'd seen a picture in his head, and he'd built each and every part of it himself, and now here it was, running smoothly and perfectly right before his eyes. After weeks of hard work, he finally had something to show for it. His insides were alive. Success! It felt . . . it felt . . .

The smile faded from Aaron's face. It
felt.

Liam noticed, of course. “What's wrong?”

Aaron stared at Liam, wild-eyed, quickly controlling his expression like he'd always done—or always tried to do, at least in the presence of others. “Nothing,” he said. He dropped his eyes, pretending to be checking something.

Liam bit his lip, uncertain as to what was happening, but he thought he knew. He felt a strange wave of fatherly warmth come over him for the troubled young man, and even though he knew he could be punished for it, he said softly, “You built a terrific machine, Aaron. It's okay to be proud of it.”

In the past, Aaron might have sent such an insolent person to the Ancients Sector. But something uncontrollable inside him longed for Liam to be right.

The high priest swallowed hard and didn't look up. When he spoke, his voice was thick. “Help me move this contraption to Justine's old meeting room. Then round up a team of guards to run the crank round the clock. The sooner we can press a few barrels of oil, the sooner we can team up with the Quillitary. And finally we'll be able to take over Artimé.”

D
uring the hurricane hours, Alex abandoned the loom since Sky was so much faster at making the flying carpet components, and instead he went back to the preserve spell components, which would seal the new material to the existing ship and keep the vessel from taking on water. It would also help prevent the ship from breaking up again. Alex wished more than once that he'd thought to use the preserve spell on the ship before sailing it. Most often he thought it late at night, when his shoulders and head ached from concentrating so hard on instilling the rubber cement balls with magic. It was a painstaking job.

Little by little during the short time each day that the Artiméans could work outside, the ship became whole again. It was quite an odd sight, like a patchwork quilt, with pieces of a dozen different ships holding the original ship together. Each shipwreck they borrowed from had its own unique style, color, and materials. And while most of the wrecks had few treasures left inside, the Artiméans occasionally scored something useful. From the ship that had carried the military vehicles, Crow found a case of frying pans and dozens of mess kits and utensils. From a different wreck, Sky and Ms. Octavia recovered a crate full of fabric and sewing supplies. And when Florence had a free moment to spare, she went after the giant instrument that Alex had spotted just outside the scientists' shipwreck. She wrestled it to shore and dragged it back to the shelter for Ishibashi, Ito, and Sato, whose eyes shone with gratitude.

Soon Florence and Copper had all the repair pieces attached to the ship, including a beautiful glass porthole they used to fill the hole that came from their trip around the world, giving them a window to the sea. When everything was secured, Florence, Ms. Octavia, and Alex began the slow but satisfying
job of preserving the ship, going over it inch by inch to be sure there would be no leaks.

Samheed and Lani helped make moss threads so Sky could weave them into magic carpet components. She made dozens of them, for no one was exactly sure how far the carpets would be able to fly—or if the storm would hinder them at all. Sam and Lani began instilling the magic into each one.

As their tasks wound down on the Island of Shipwrecks, everyone became increasingly restless. Alex knew Sky had been right. They couldn't wait for Simber forever. He felt Artimé tugging at him. And here was his chance to prove that he didn't need Simber around to lead his people safely home.

When the Artiméans had gathered that evening, Alex stood up. “Everyone,” he said, “the ship is ready, and our time for departure has come. Our beloved Artimé needs us, and we need her. We simply can't wait for Simber any longer.” He glanced at Sky, who gave him an encouraging nod. “We have to go for it without him.”

The Artiméans looked at one another, murmuring, their faces alive and animated with the news. It would be a huge
challenge to battle the hurricane without Simber. But they were all anxious to go home.

Alex watched their reaction, the clutch of fear loosening in his chest as he saw their nodding heads and heard their excited whispers. He took a deep breath. “So we're in agreement, then? Who's with me?”

“I'm with you, Alex,” Florence called from the doorway. Lani, Sky, and Samheed stood up. “We're with you,” they said. And in seconds, the entire crew of the pirate ship was on their feet, shouting, “We're with you, Alex!” From their midst, a cheer rose up. The Artiméans were going home.

» » « «

On what looked to be the Artiméans last day on the Island of Shipwrecks, Ishibashi, Ito, and Sato took Henry aside. With great reverence, they presented Henry with a box of seeds.