In the middle of Bermuda
Professor Atticus seemed to sense Tom's thoughts.
"It's grown very late indeed, my good associates. It's almost morning here. I think we should all be off to bed. We can finish our discussion tomorrow. There is still much to learn—and much to prepare for."
"Wait a minute—" Max began.
"No, no, no," Professor Atticus said, waving his hand like a campaigning political leader. "We must have fresh minds to continue. To bed it is—no arguments. No need to worry about the dirty plates; I'll be happy to clean them up."
A solid hand grabbed Tom's shoulder, and he turned to see Machina. "Come on," she said, "Off we go. I'll take you to your sleeping quarters. Methinks we could all use a good night's rest, I do. Come on."
She moved toward the side door. Tom, Hana, and Max fell in line behind her, grumbling like two-year-olds who didn't want to go to bed.
Feng didn't move a muscle.