“Captain Ahab!” Alex shouted. “The ship is now yours. Can you get us out of here?”
“Blast my skull!” came the muffled reply.
The ship’s sails had already picked up the breeze, and the vessel began to move as the captain clumped to the wheel. He shouted orders to some statues he’d trained on the sails, and with help from Florence and Simber, they managed to turn the ship around, moving nimbly around the shoal as if the captain had done it a million times before.
When they were on the open water once again, Alex grabbed a few sandwiches from below and brought them to the upper deck. He found Sky, Crow, and Henry at the stern, glumly watching Pirate Island grow smaller.
“Sandwich?” he asked, holding them out.
“Thanks,” they said, each taking one. Alex sat next to Henry.
The four ate together in silence, with Simber, as always, overhead.
“I’m really sorry about your mother being there,” Alex said. He knew he could never understand what they were feeling because his experience with his mother was so different, so . . . clinical. But he thought she might feel something like he had when Mr. Today died. That overwhelming pain and grief. He knew a sandwich couldn’t fix it. And he knew he really couldn’t make it better for them. It was going to be hard no matter what. But he also knew that when he was having his darkest moments, Sky was there, and Alex would try to be there for her too.
Sky picked at her sandwich, not really eating it. Crow took a bite and chewed it forever before he could swallow it.
Alex looked at Henry, who had lost his mother, and he just shook his head. “So much stupid grief,” he muttered. “Every day brings another broken heart.” He stood up abruptly, a little embarrassed at his poetic sentiment, but no one seemed to think it was a silly thing to say. Alex gave each of his friends a quick squeeze on the shoulder, and walked through the crowd to the bow, feeling completely beside himself. As he stood there, wind in his hair, he realized how much he ached to make something again—something creative. Something useful. Something beautiful or meaningful. It seemed like forever since he’d had a chance to just sit and create something.
He thought about Mr. Today and the Museum of Large. How the old mage had worked out his private thoughts by fixing up this ship, and how he’d created so many amazing creatures and statues. “If we ever make it home,” he said to the wind, “I’m going to build something beautiful.”
Gondoleery Rising
S
ecretary!” Aaron barked. Eva Fathom rushed to Aaron’s office, finding him standing at the window yet again, staring out at the water. “Yes, High Priest Aaron?”
Aaron turned slightly toward her, acknowledging her presence but not taking his eyes off the sea. “Who are my enemies?” he asked.
Eva’s eyes widened. She hesitated, not sure what Aaron wanted to hear. “Artimé, of course,” she said.
Aaron scowled. “Here in Quill, I mean.”
“You have none that I know of,” Eva said smoothly.
“Of course I do. Every leader has enemies. I need you to find out who mine are, and then round up the Restorers for a meeting here at the palace this evening.” Aaron picked his teeth with a thin stick he kept in his breast pocket.
“I’ll begin right away,” Eva said, her voice even, though she was quite disgusted by the task, which would take a normal person more than a day to complete.
Eva set out with a driver, studying her list of Restorers, many of whom she hadn’t seen since the attack on Artimé. Most of the people on the list were Wanteds, so she directed the guard to stop at their homes, which was the likeliest place to find them in the middle of the day. Eva hurriedly approached each door and spoke to the Restorers, taking care not to expose anyone who was keeping his affiliation a secret, and asking, when appropriate, who they thought Aaron’s enemies might be. She made the rounds as the day drew on, making her last stop the home of Gondoleery Rattrapp just as the sun was disappearing over the wall.
Eva strode up the walk and glanced into the window of Gondoleery’s living quarters, noticing that the curtains were drawn and light behind them seemed to make them glow. The curtains weren’t completely closed, and a dagger of brightness stabbed through them. Eva stopped walking and puzzled over it for a moment. And then, instead of going to the door, Eva snuck up to the window and peered in.
Her heart clutched. Gondoleery’s living quarters had been transformed into something so incredible that Eva had to turn around and look at Quill to make sure she wasn’t going senile. She turned back to the slit in the curtain and drank in the sight.
The entire room was covered in ice.
Stalactites of ice came down from the ceiling and stalagmites grew up from the floor, and all of it glowed a bright bluewhite. The furniture was encased in it. And in the middle of the room, atop a chair that had bloated to twice its size due to the layers of ice that had built up on it, sat Gondoleery Rattrapp, wearing dark glasses and a patchwork coat adorned with—Eva had to look twice to make sure—chicken feathers.
Eva didn’t quite know what to make of it. How could the ice even exist in the heat of Quill? There was something vaguely familiar about it. Something that tugged at her memory. But right now, Eva had a new question on her mind.
She faithfully went to the door and knocked. She waited a few minutes and knocked again. Just as she decided that Gondoleery was going to ignore her, the door flew open.
“Oh, hello,” Gondoleery said. She now wore her regular clothing, and there was no sign of the dark glasses.