He pointed them out. “I’ve seen these before.”
“They came from Marcus Today,” Ishibashi said. “He brought them in the tube.” The scientist turned to Henry. “I see Alex-san has given up on fixing it?”
“Yes,” Henry said. “He tried, but it’s no use.”
Ishibashi nodded. “That was my fear. I’m sorry. This island isn’t kind to anything or anyone.”
He handed Henry some cuttings of foreign plants. “These are for you to experiment with. See what magic you can do to make them even stronger. If you are working hard it will help to keep Mage Alex-san from giving you angry looks,” he said with a toothless grin.
Henry laughed. “Alex doesn’t care that I’m here. He knows I’m learning things. I’m pretty much the best healer we have in Artimé,” he said with a bit of a swagger. “And now, thanks to you, I’ll be even stronger.” His face clouded. “If we ever get back there, anyway.”
The Glowing Seaweed
Every now and then, Henry found himself looking at the seaweed, wondering what made it shine so bright. Wondering what Ishibashi meant when he said it was an experiment on life.
Henry thought he knew, though. Ishibashi was ninety-six years old, yet he was as spry as somebody a third of that age. And Ito was one hundred and ten! Henry didn’t know anyone who had ever lived to be that old. Not even in the Ancients Sector. There was no reason in Quill to keep people living that long—they weren’t useful. Yet . . . He looked at the three old scientists hard at work in different parts of the greenhouse, creating new strains of plants and doing experiments with the material they had. They were extremely useful people, and they actually seemed like they enjoyed living here on this horrible stormy island. Just like the Unwanteds, they’d found the creative things they did best, and they’d gone to work doing them.
“Once we get our ship working again, do you and Ito-san and Sato-san want to come with us?” Henry asked. “Artimé is so beautiful and sunny, and it’s filled with magic and a mansion and a jungle and tons of plants. And it hardly ever storms.” He hesitated, then added, “It wouldn’t be any trouble. Everyone is welcome in Artimé.”
Ishibashi paused in his work, his face troubling over, but he didn’t lift his gaze. After a moment he asked, his tone careful and measured, “Artimé is one of the islands, isn’t it?”
Henry laughed. “Of course. What else would it be? That big block of land that doesn’t exist?”
Ishibashi chuckled uneasily. “Big block of land? What do you mean?”
“I’ll show you,” Henry said, hopping off his stool. “Be right back.”
Ishibashi looked over his shoulder, watching the boy go. He resumed working, but his face didn’t lose the troubled expression.
Henry found Lani in the entry room of the shelter, spreading out a large pile of wet moss on the floor so it would dry more quickly.
“I need your map,” he said to his sister. “Just for a minute.”
Lani scowled. “Why?” She was tired of the storms, and nearly everything set her on edge.
“I just want to show it to Ishibashi-san. Come on.” He jiggled a bit, trying not to reveal his impatience. “Please.”
Lani rolled her eyes. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the map she’d nearly destroyed. “Here,” she said, handing it to him. “Be careful. It’s starting to fall apart.”
“Thanks,” Henry said. He took it and dashed back to the greenhouse to Ishibashi’s side.
Ishibashi narrowed his eyes as Henry carefully unfolded the paper, revealing the burned corners.
“It’s a map. See? Artimé and Quill make up this one,” Henry said, pointing to the center island. “And this one over here,” he said, pointing to the easternmost island, farthest from the fake mass of land, “is your island.”
“I see.” Ishibashi studied the map for a very long time. “And what about this land?” Ishibashi asked, pointing to the large piece. “Have you ever been here?”
“It doesn’t exist,” Henry said. “We tried to get there, but the sea swallowed us and spun us around the bottom of the world, and we ended up here.”
Ishibashi stared at Henry. “What a horrible journey that must have been,” he said softly, and reached for the map. “May I have a closer look?”
Henry nodded and held out the map. Ishibashi took it and held it close to his face. It shook in the old scientist’s hands. “Where did you get this, Henry-san?” he asked gently—so gently that it made Henry look up in surprise. There was pain in the old man’s eyes.
“My sister—she found it in a book that washed ashore on Artimé after an air vessel fell out of the sky,” Henry said, puzzled. “Why are you sad? Don’t you want to come to Artimé with us? It’s a very happy place.”
Ishibashi sighed. Then he smiled ruefully, collecting his feelings and hiding them once more, and patted Henry on the shoulder. “Did all of your family grow up on your island? Your parents, too?”
“Yes,” said Henry.
“Your people—is it the same for them? All born on your island?”
“Except for Crow and Sky and Copper. They came from Warbler, this one here,” he said, pointing to the island on the map. He looked up, puzzled. “Which island did you come from, Ishibashi-san?”
The old man closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them, he said, “It has been so long that I do not remember.”
Henry thought that was ridiculous—how could anyone not remember which island he came from? But he knew it would be rude to say so. Instead he said, “I think you would like Artimé.”
Ishibashi handed the map back to Henry. “Life is very complicated,” he said with a little laugh. “Filled with dreams and adventures, and disasters and broken hearts, too.”
Henry tilted his head, puzzled. “I don’t get it.”
The old scientist turned back to his work. “I am most grateful for your kind offer, Henry-san,” he said, “and so are Sato and Ito. But our home is here. Our work is here,” he said. “And our precious machines, our equipment, everything we dedicated our lives to is right out there, half-buried in the sea. We could never leave it behind.”
He hesitated, glancing at the map, and then looked away and dug his hands into the dirt around a plant. “This is our life, now. There is no one left to search for . . .” He trailed off and hunched over, focusing intently on the task before him.
Henry nodded sadly. “I understand,” he said, even though he didn’t. He got the feeling that Ishibashi didn’t want to talk about it anymore.
After a minute, standing there in a somewhat awkward silence, Henry folded up the map and said, “I’m glad you got your toolbox back, at least.” He pointed at the crate, which Florence had delivered to the shelter the day after they arrived. “That’s good, right?”
But before the scientist could respond, they heard a commotion in the shelter. Henry ran to the doorway and peered out to see what was happening.
Fox and Kitten came racing toward the greenhouse, Fox calling Henry’s name. “Henry! Henry! Kitten has found a very dear important friend who is hurt! Do you have any medicine?”
Henry rushed toward them. “What? A friend? Hurt? What?” Ishibashi followed.
“Mewmewmew!” cried Kitten.
Fox’s back end shook with excitement. “She says her very very good friend Sea Turtle has been struck savagely by a flying piece of driftwood—not me, of course—and now the sea turtle is dying!”
“Where?”
“Near the entrance to the shelter!”
Henry and Ishibashi ran through the stony rooms, past the group working on spells, dodging Samheed, who was testing out a very-slow-moving magic flying carpet, and out the doorway into the storm. Without hesitation, Ishibashi hoisted the sea turtle in his arms and staggered back inside.
“Back to the greenhouse,” Ishibashi said. “Let’s hurry.”
Henry helped him carry the turtle to the greenhouse, where they set it carefully on the floor on its back. Fox
and Kitten crowded around. Ishibashi crouched next to the turtle and carefully checked it over. It seemed to be unconscious . . . or quite possibly dead.
“Henry-san,” Ishibashi said quietly, “fetch me a bit of the seaweed. Just a pinch.”
Henry jumped to his feet and rushed over to the tub where the glowing blue seaweed floated. He reached in carefully and pulled off a tiny bit, and raced back to Ishibashi.
“Slip the seaweed into the side of its mouth and massage it in the cheek,” Ishibashi instructed, holding the turtle’s head. “Careful of the beak.”
Henry did as he was told.
Fox, Kitten, Henry, and Ishibashi all leaned forward, watching intently.
Nothing happened. The turtle lay still and lifeless as before. Then, with a small wheezing sound, its mouth opened, and then its eyes. Soon its flippers began to wave in the air.
Ishibashi rolled the turtle over, flippers down this time. It stood, then walked around slowly, unbothered by Fox and Kitten who raced around it, talking and mewing at top speed.
Henry couldn’t believe it. The sea turtle was healed. “Wow,” he breathed. He looked at Ishibashi, thinking of all the people and creatures he could heal with one little clump of that seaweed.
“Hai,” whispered Ishibashi. “We have a little magic of our own. The problem is that we do not know the long-term effects of even a small amount. Will the sea turtle now be invincible from death? Will he live forever? Or could he die tomorrow of some other ailment or injury? We don’t know.”
Henry looked at the man, wide-eyed. “Is that why you are so old, Ishibashi-san?”
The man smiled, amused. “Yes, Henry-san. That is the reason.” He watched the turtle walk out of the room, Fox and Kitten on its heels, and continued. “Once we discovered the seaweed’s power, we three scientists began experimenting. Ito-san, the oldest, eats a small bit every day. Sato-san only takes a bite when injured or ill. And I ate one bite thirty-three years ago, and nothing since.” He gave Henry a solemn look. “Clearly we are all doing well for our ages as a result. But now we worry—what if we will never die?”
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.”
Aaron Strikes Oil
Sir,” 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.
br /> “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.