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On the pier, I have the same sense of disorientation I always get when I go ashore. My legs try to compensate for the lack of rolling and rocking. It’s disconcerting. Solid land … I’ve never trusted it. Idefinitelydon’t after what happened to HP.

Gem’s hands hover over his holsters. ‘What now?’

The shack’s door flies open with abang!I step in front of Gem to keep him from drawing his guns.

A tall, slender, dark-skinned man steps into the light. His white skinny jeans and vertically striped soccer shirt accentuate his spindly limbs, making him look like an anime character – maybe one of the pirates fromOne Piece. His close-cropped black hair is flecked with grey. His hands, sheathed in oven mitts, hold a steaming pan of bread that smells of butter and garlic.

My mouth starts watering.

‘Ana Dakkar, yes?’ He has a friendly smile. ‘You look just like your parents.’

I’ve been told this a million times before, but after the stress of the last few days, and what happened with Dev, the comment hits me in the gut. It takes me a second to find my voice.

‘I – Yes. This is the freshman class of Harding-Pencroft. We have some bad –’

‘Freshman class?’ The bread pirate laughs. ‘What in the world!’ I can’t quite place his accent until he says, ‘I’m Luca Barsanti.’

I switch to Italian. ‘Piacere.’

‘Ah, parli la lingua del bell’paese!’

‘Certo, sono un Delfino.’

‘Ottimo! Prego, entrate tutti! Anche povero Hewett, portatelo. La mia prossima pagnotta di pane sta bruciando!’

He plunges back inside.

‘Um … What just happened?’ Gem asks.

‘He says come on in, and bring Hewett,’ I translate. ‘His next loaf of garlic bread is burning.’

I send the Orcas to get Dr Hewett from the sickbay.

Moving him will be risky. I’m not sure what kind of medical facilities this secret base has, but Barsanti said to bring him. I hope their cutting-edge tech can do more than camouflage the island and bake garlic bread.

‘No aggressive moves,’ I tell the rest of the crew.

The Sharks look at me like,Who, us?

It hits me that I just gave an order to my classmates, and they took me seriously. Three days ago, they would have laughed or ignored me, or at the very least teased me for acting like an authority figure. A lot has changed. I’m not sure if that’s good.

I lead the way into the shack, which turns out to be nothing but a sort of foyer. The rubber welcome mat readsBLESS THIS MESS. Against the left wall is a stand-up shower. Against the right is a rack of dive masks, tanks, fins and spearguns. A security camera peers down at us from the ceiling. At the back of the room, a tunnel has been bored straight through the volcanic rock, leading into the heart of the mountain.

I glimpse Barsanti’s silhouette up ahead in the gloom. Hisvoice echoes back to us. ‘I have turned off the lasers, so they should not cut you in half! Please, come!’

At Ester’s side, Top sniffs the air. He doesn’t look worried – more like he’s hoping for some of that bread. Top is usually a pretty good judge of danger. I forge onward, following the scent of garlic butter.

After about a hundred feet, the corridor opens into a large rectangular space like an artist’s loft. More corridors branch off in different directions. How bigisthis place?

The ceiling is lined with ventilation ducts and big industrial light fixtures. The polished stone floor glistens like melted chocolate. Worktables overflow with bits of disassembled alt-tech.

In the left corner, a living-room area has been set up. Two cushy sofas make an L around a coffee table. A tyre swing hangs from the ceiling. (Why?) A jumbo television, attached to half a dozen gaming consoles, is playing what looks like a cooking show. Stacks of Blu-rays are piled next to the screen. I guess the island doesn’t get satellite or streaming services.

In the right corner of the room, a chandelier made of abalone shards glitters above a long metal dining table. Sitting alone at the far end is a diminutive woman with a magnificent mass of braided grey hair like a heap of barbed wire.

She’s cross-legged and barefoot. Her thick steel-rimmed glasses glint in the light of her laptop computer. Steel bangles decorate her forearms. Her black leggings and yoga top don’t look so much like athleisure wear as a diabolical-acrobat costume.

She gives Barsanti a guarded glance, as if she’s ready to press a very dangerous button on her laptop. ‘Should I vaporize them?’