The Celestial Globe: The Kronos Chronicles: Book II (10 page)

“Greetings, web-spinner,” Ariel whispered.

“Hello.” Astrophil’s voice was tiny.

“Secret-keeper, heed my words and save your lady: never trust a poet.”

Ariel lowered her wings. Petra was relieved when the spirit turned to Dee and breathed no word of the spider, saying only, “Liberty for truth is a fair exchange, deep-searcher.”

He nodded. “Go, then.”

The spirit wrapped her dragonfly wings around her body, dwindled into a slender oval, thinned to a point of light, and vanished.

“Well.” Dee stuffed his hands inside his pockets. He began to pace, his feet breaking the circle of stardust. “Ariel seems to like you, Petra, though
why
is beyond my comprehension. You reckless fool.
Laughing
at Ariel. Do you think I invent threats for my own amusement? Why can’t you heed a simple word of warning?”

“Why should I believe anything you say?”

Dee stopped abruptly.

“I was laughing at
you
,” Petra said.

Dee opened his mouth, but then shut it.

“Anyway, Ariel wasn’t at all like you said,” Petra continued. “There were no tempests. And Ariel
is
a she,” Petra returned to her earlier point. “Kind of insecty, but definitely a she.”

“ ‘It’ is more appropriate. Ariel doesn’t always look like that. It appeared that way because of you. Because of what you are.”

Petra raised an eyebrow. “I’m a dragonfly?”

“You are a chimera.”

“Right. And is a chimera someone who kicks her captor in the shins, causing him to fall down, conk his head, and lose his memory, making him forget that he was ever a pompous sneak? Because that
does
sound an awful lot like me.”

“Petra, sit down. There are things we must discuss.”

“No. There are games you want to play, and I’m sick of it.”

“No more games.” Dee reached for his waist and seemed to unbuckle the air. He offered his empty hands to her.

She took the invisible sword, and the weight of it calmed her a little.

“I ask you again to sit, Petra. Allow me to explain what you are, for truly there are few of your kind in this world.”

I
HAVE A BROTHER
with four legs and a big hat,” said one of the children sitting in a circle at the stern of the ship. “What’s his name?”

“Too easy!” cried a boy in a red shirt. “Everybody knows that one! It’s a table!”

Parents hovered near their children as they challenged one another with riddles. A few feet away, the
gadje
sat cross-legged, staring intently at the cluster of people. Two sailors worked close by. Klara was coiling rope and Brishen was scrubbing dried fish scales off the deck, but they both listened to the children’s game.

“I’ve got one,” Klara said, flicking back her braids. “My sister is tiny, thin, and has a long tail that trails behind her.”

“I know,” Brishen said, “it’s a—”

Klara elbowed him.

He gave her a guilty look. “A squid?” He winked at her.

“A
squid
?” the children yelled. “It’s not a squid!” “What kind of idiot would think
that
?” “Brishen, you’ve been out in the sun too long!”

“Maybe, maybe,” he said. “But what is it, then?”

They fell silent. Then one girl raised a timid hand. “Um, Klara, is your sister . . . a needle?”

“That’s right!” Klara sang.

Neel was watching this from a distance, his arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the port side of the ship. He noticed that the blond boy was running his fingers absentmindedly through a patch of sand by his feet, but his gaze never wavered from the riddlers. Neel wondered what the
gadje
found so interesting about a game he couldn’t possibly understand. The children continued to chatter in Romany.

“My sister has a big belly, two long hairpins, and rocks herself to sleep every night.”

“A ship!”

“I have a brother,” began the boy in the red shirt, “who has many round eyes and a mouth that opens sideways. He has a home wherever he goes.”

There was a pause. Neel guessed what the answer was. Judging by the faraway looks on the parents’ faces, they were thinking the same thing.

Everyone was astonished when the
gadje
cleared his throat. His accent was thick, but he spoke in perfect Romany: “Is it a wagon?”

“I
THINK HE
’
S CUTE
.” Klara chewed on a dried carrot.

“You would,” Ashe said. She passed the flatbread down the table. “Cradle-robber.”

A few men looked up from their stew, alarmed by this conversation.

“Not
that
kind of cute,” Klara said. “Cute like a little lamb. A lamb who says, ‘I is thirsty. May have tar to drink?’ ”

The Maraki chuckled.

A young boy set down his bowl of stew. He grinned, showing baby-tooth gaps. “He asked me how to say ‘I’d like bread to eat.’ I told him the Romany words for that are ‘I slurp fish guts raw.’ ”

Nicolas reached across the table to muss his hair. “Good lad.”

Andras sliced a lemon. He bit into a wedge and pulled the yellow rind from his teeth. “Don’t know why you’re all mocking one of the few
gadje
who’s actually trying to learn our language.”

“A dog can sit and beg,” said Neel. “Doesn’t make him a man.”

“What’s he trying to learn Romany for, anyway?” someone asked.

“He’s sucking up to us.”

“He’s just trying to get by.”

“He’s plotting something,” said Neel. “That’s what I’d do.”

A father of five whose family had been rescued by the
Pacolet
remarked, “I don’t like the boy any more than most of you, but I still can’t believe we’re
selling
him. Our people don’t do that. When in the history of the Roma have we ever traded slaves?”

Everyone looked at Treb. “New times”—he tossed a raisin in his mouth—“new measures.”

“We could just keep him on board, Treb.” Brishen leaned forward. “He’s young and fit. He’d know the ropes soon enough. He doesn’t complain, and he seems like a helpful sort.”

“All part of the act,” Neel said. “I’m Lovari. I’d know.”

“Not everyone’s as underhanded as you,” said Nadia. “Just because you broke into the Bohemian prince’s toy chest and can never shut up about it doesn’t mean—”

“Neel saved his clan with those stolen jewels.” Andras pointed a carrot at her.

“Well, while we’re discussing people who don’t belong, why don’t we talk about
him
?” Nadia retorted. “Neel’s Lovari! He said so himself! Why is he suddenly one of us now?”

“Nadia,” Brishen whispered, casting his eyes at the Loophole Beach families, “show some tact. Not everyone here is from our tribe.”

She bit her lip. “I didn’t mean—all I meant is that Neel is
counted as one of the
Pacolet
’s crew. He gets a vote in our decisions, just as if he were Maraki. But he
isn’t
.”

“Neel’s here as a favor to me,” Treb said. “End of story. Now, as for the Bohemian lad, I want one thing as clear as a rain-washed sky. There will be no vote on his fate. I’m your captain, and what I say on this matter goes. Tomorrow we’ll arrive in Sallay. We’ll sell him in the market, and he’ll fetch a fine price, too. Then we’ll stock the
Pacolet
’s larders and sail on. If some of you have gotten fond of him, that’s not my problem. I warned you not to. That little lamb’s for eating.”

T
OMIK
’
S CELL
was darker than dark. The brig was at the very bottom of the ship, in the hold. He wondered what was swimming on the other side of the hull’s wooden wall: sharks, whales, or just a school of tiny fish startled by the great ship sailing past them? He imagined the fish darting away, their scales flashing.

On Tomik’s first day aboard the
Pacolet
, he threw up. Repeatedly. He felt like his stomach was trying to crawl up his throat, and his brain sloshed in his head. When Andras unlocked his cell door and led him up onto the deck, Tomik was stunned by the sunlight. The wind stole his seasickness and flew away. From that time forward, he spent every minute he could on deck, letting his skin soak up the salty air. He studied the ship, trying to understand how the sails worked. He listened to the crew, learning their language. He tried fishing, though that wasn’t a success.

Tomik could almost fall in love with life aboard a ship. In different circumstances.
Very
different circumstances.

On hands and knees, he felt his way across his cell. In one corner there was a bowl of food. In another, a chamber pot. During his first night of captivity, Tomik had confused the two, which wasn’t very pleasant. But tonight he didn’t crawl in the direction of either corner.

His fingers brushed against a small pile of sand. Sitting up straight, he emptied his pockets and felt more grains sifting down onto the pile. It wasn’t much, but it would have to be enough. Andras had said they would reach Sallay tomorrow.

Tomik pressed the sand under his hands. He wasn’t sure if this would work. He had no fire. But, then again, he did have the heat of his will.

T
HE MORNING BEGAN
with an argument. Two sailors were yelling at another one. Finally, Treb stepped in, pushing the three apart.

“They’re fighting over you,” said a voice at Tomik’s side. It was the boy from the beach, the one who spoke Czech so well. “Klara and Brishen just refused to be part of the group taking you to the slave market. Seems to offend their delicate natures.”

Tomik shrugged. “People don’t like slaughtering livestock, but they’ll eat the meat.”

“You ain’t the first to make a comparison like that, little lamb.”

“Stop using nicknames. It’s just something you do so you can forget I’m a human being.”

“Why no, Pinky. I call things as I see them. Anyway, you never did tell me your name.”

“Like you care,” Tomik scoffed. He walked to the railing of the ship and looked out. He was transfixed by what he saw.

The boy went to stand next to him. “Oh. Sallay.”

The sea was bursting against the rocks around the harbor. The port bristled with ships, and their masts thrust into the sky like a forest of tall trees. “There are so many boats,” Tomik murmured.

“Plenty of rigs,” the Gypsy agreed. “You got every kind of ship in that port: carracks, caravels, galleons, pinks, junks, snows, lateens—”

“Are all the sailors on those ships like you?”

“What d’you mean? You mean, are they all Roma? Nah. But most of us who dock in Sallay are trying to see where we can pick up extra gold on the waves.”

“Pirates.”

“Not many sailors like that word, and those who own up to it . . . well, you don’t want to meet
them
. The ones who stop lying to themselves are the real danger.” The boy worriedly rubbed his forehead. “Look, I’m not jumping for joy at the thought of selling you. It’s not the way I think things should be. But Treb’s our captain, and it’s his call. Doesn’t mean he lacks a heart, though. Him and me have got business to attend to in the city, but before we do that we’ll make sure to find you a good home. We won’t set you up on the auction block. We’ll ask around, see where the slaves are happy. I’ll sort it out with Treb. He owes me.”

Tomik made no reply.

“And I’m sorry,” the Gypsy muttered. “For whatever it’s worth.”

“Not much,” said Tomik.

T
HE
GADJE
WAS QUIET
as the small group of Maraki walked along the dock. His hands were bound behind his back with a cord of stout rope. Treb had tied the knots himself, since Andras had given him a dark look when asked. The sailors made their way into the market, which sprang up just beyond the docks that brought so much trade.

If you could name it, you could buy it here: camels, indigo, American corn, eastern jade, weaponry, spices—and people.

Neel had been to North Africa before, but never to a city that hummed with so much life, with scents that he wanted to bury his face in, and wares that were so tempting. He was just thinking about stealing some fruit when Tas shouted, “He’s gone! The
gadje
disappeared!”