The Girl from Everywhere (16 page)

I laughed a little, incredulous, triumphant, but Kash clambered to his feet, his hand on his forehead. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “That could have been much worse.”

“It also could have been better,” he said, pulling off his shirt and throwing it into the corner.

“So what? He needs you.”

“I’m not worried about
me
,” Kash said, rifling through his closet. “I’d hate to see you in trouble.”

“In trouble? For this? Nothing even happened. And he has no moral high ground, even if it did.” I watched Kashmir
slide a shirt off a hanger, put it on, button it up. The silence felt loud. “Which it didn’t.”

“I know.” He glanced back over his shoulder and gave me a wink. “I was there.”

My cheeks started to burn. “So where are you two going, anyway?”

He pinned his cuffs. “I’m sure you can guess.”

“Creeping around the treasury?”

“Reconnoiter is a nicer word.”

I made a face. “Don’t get caught. The last thing we need is for you to go to jail.”

“For treason?” he said, running a comb through his tousled hair. “We wouldn’t go to jail.”

“Really?”

“We’d be shot.”

“You always know just what to say.”

“I try to look on the bright side.” He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants. “Now, unless you have regrets about what didn’t happen—”

His laughter followed me out into the hall; my ears were still ringing with it when I got up abovedecks.

It was a beautiful day, the blue sky paling beside the sapphire sea. Half a mile out, rollers were combing the sandbar
in long lines of cloud-white foam, and past them, fishermen in canoes clustered around the coral reefs. The air was cool, and as the balmy breeze ruffled the water of the bay, the sun changed the surface of the sea into a Milky Way of sparkling stars.

Bee and Rotgut were stooped over a swath of netting, making repairs. When Bee glanced up at me, Rotgut smiled hugely. “Ooohhhh!”

Bee swatted at him. “Go make lunch.”

“It’s not even midmorning!”

“Make something that takes a long time.”

Rotgut rolled his eyes, and when he passed me on the way to the hatch, he gave me a big thumbs-up.

The netting was spread out on the planks under the clothesline. I was careful not to step in it. “Word travels fast,” I said to Bee as I gathered my clothes; they were warm with sunlight.

“It didn’t have far to go.” Bee tied off a knot. “That boy. You know he has no cattle.”

“So?”

“So, I paid thirteen head to marry Ayen although the price was only ten, but if you had seen her dance, oh, the way she moved—”

“No, I know,” I said, cutting her off before she went
through the entire story. “But Kashmir and I are just friends.” She pursed her lips at me, but I only shrugged. “Besides, I’m a terrible dancer.”

“Hmm. Maybe
you
should find some cattle.”

“Where would I even keep them?”

“Cattle are only a metaphorical representation of worth, Nix.”

I laughed then. “Of course. Sorry.”

“At least until you settle somewhere with grass.”

I stopped in my work, my arms full of laundry. “Who says I’m going to settle?”

She shrugged. “Most people do.”

“You don’t.”

“I did. But I have no cattle left now, metaphorical or otherwise. How would I marry? Besides, Ayen gets jealous,” she said with a wink. Then she pulled another knot tight, and the rope snapped in her hand. “Ach! Ayen! See?”

“Right, well, as for me . . . ,” I said. “There’s no need for cattle, because there isn’t going to be any settling.”

She snorted.

“Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you. Ayen is laughing at you.”

I yanked the last dress off the line. “Ayen should stop causing trouble.”

“I told her that, but does she listen?” Bee shook her head. “No one listens to Bee. Maybe you should ask your mother.”

I swallowed. “She doesn’t speak to me like Ayen speaks to you.”

“I’ll tell the captain to ask her, then.”

“I don’t think she speaks to him, either.”

“I think she probably does.” Bee made another firm knot in the net.

“Then maybe he also doesn’t listen.”

Just then Kashmir came up through the hatch, looking very dapper. Both Bee and I watched as he crossed the deck and knocked on the captain’s door. After a moment, it opened; he went in, and both of us stopped breathing as we listened for shouting, but nothing came. Bee nodded. “Good thing he doesn’t mind.”

I glared at her. “There’s nothing to mind.”

“As you say.”

I went below and dumped the laundry in my room. From the clean pile, I picked out a yellow cotton dress with a tiny floral print that fit much better than the pinafore. I
yanked it over my head, still fuming. I didn’t know why her assumptions annoyed me; it was only to be expected. I had spent the night in Kashmir’s room. From the crew’s perspective, the meaning there was clear, even if Kashmir and I had never so much as kissed.

Though for a moment last night, we might have. He was making a joke about something, something silly, I couldn’t even remember what it was, because I had turned my head to reply when I found myself staring directly into his eyes, and he into mine.

And in that moment, I saw the horizon unbounded and I reeled with the vastness of it. What new shores would I discover if I could only travel those few inches? A storm—a tempest in the pit of my stomach—but I was the skiff tossed on the waves, and my father’s lesson like thunder in my ears: don’t get too close. Still, the temptation was there. Kash must have realized it a second after I did; his eyes widened, but he did not lean in, nor did he turn away. He left it to me.

Bee and Ayen had nothing to laugh at.

I was debating folding my laundry or finding some breakfast when there came a familiar howl through the porthole: “Roo! Rooooo!” I ran to the galley and found one forlorn chunk of sweetbread to bring topside. I leaned over the
rail, ready to toss Billie the crust, and was surprised to see she wasn’t alone. There, on the pier, were the boy and his chocolate mare.

“Hello,” he said, doffing his hat. “Oh, wait—”

The dog was already halfway up the gangplank by the time Blake Hart dismounted. He ran up after her as she rammed my legs, her whole body wiggling. “Sorry!” he said, trying to pull her back. “She followed me from Beretania. It seems she remembers the bun.”

“It’s all right, Mr. Hart.” The entire hunk of bread was snatched from my hand. “I don’t think I’m as hungry as she is.”

“Tantalus isn’t as hungry as she is!”

I laughed. “Indeed. Welcome aboard. But what has brought you here?”

“Many thanks,” he said, tipping his hat. “Well, I—
no!
”

He lunged for the dog, but she slipped his grasp. Slate had emerged from his cabin, followed by Kashmir, and Billie bounded across the deck to cozy up to them. The captain looked askance at the little beagle as she thumped his legs with her tail. “What is this?”

“Billie!” Blake snapped his fingers. She lifted her nose from Kashmir’s shoes. Blake pointed sternly to the pier, and she trotted off the ship to wait by his horse. “That’s
Billie. She took quite a liking to the young lady the other day.”

“Did she?” Kashmir murmured, wiping his shoes with his silk handkerchief.

“Blake . . . Mr. Hart,” I said. “Meet my father, Captain Slate.”

“Ah! The captain himself. Just the man I wanted to see.” He offered his hand heartily. I waited for it, the look back and forth between my father and me, but it didn’t happen. “A fine man for a fine vessel.”

“Blake Hart?” Slate took his hand. “The name is somewhat familiar.”

“I don’t think we’ve met, sir, I would recall, but it’s a pleasure to do so now. And Mister . . . ?”

“Firas,” Kashmir said, folding his handkerchief neatly and making a crisp bow.

Blake’s brow furrowed as he took in the fine clothes. “A sailor?”

“Her tutor,” Kashmir said smoothly.

Blake cocked his head. “You’re much younger than any of my tutors.”

“
Baleh
,
I am wise beyond my years,” Kashmir said. “And of course I have a natural inclination to it. My people did,
after all, invent algebra. Including the zero.” He was smiling too, but not with his eyes.

“Blake Hart!” Slate said then, snapping his fingers and pointing at Blake. “But you’re too young.”

Blake looked at him quizzically. “Too young for . . . ?”

“Maybe it was your father.” Slate nodded to himself. He stood close enough now, I could see the signs; his eyes dark, his brow shining, his reactions a touch too slow. I cut in.

“What can I do for you?”

“Well,” Blake said carefully. “Speaking of my father, I’m here at his request, to deliver an invitation.” He pulled a white card, the color of bleached coral, out of the breast pocket of his jacket.

“An invitation?” From his father . . . who was hosting the ball. The brother of the mapmaker, then. I glanced at Kashmir, but he gave no sign of recognition—then it occurred to me he might be doing that on purpose. I pretended to have a sudden, keen interest in my fingernails.

“Yes. He asked me to say he’d be honored by your attendance at our little party. All of you.” Blake grinned at me. “As would I.”

“Oh, I’m certain you would,” Kashmir said.

“Thanks,” Slate said, fascinated with the card, tilting it
and letting the gilt writing catch the light. Then he shoved it into his pocket. “Okay. Let’s go.” I winced as Slate started walking down the gangplank; Kashmir followed, though more slowly.

Blake inclined his head, his expression still polite. “Good day, gentlemen.” Then he offered me his arm. “Allow me?”

“To what?”

“To help you down the gangplank.”

“Oh, I’m not going with them,” I said, watching Kash and Slate cross the wharf toward town, just two fine gentlemen on a stroll. I sighed. “They’re on business that doesn’t involve me.”

“Is that so?” Blake’s raised his eyebrows. “Their loss.” He put his hands in his pockets and glanced at the mast, the sails, the wheel. “You know, I’ve never been aboard a ship before.” I couldn’t help but grin when he jumped up and down a little on the deck. “I’ve been on canoes, the outriggers the Hawaiians favor, but nothing that could cross the Pacific. Mind giving me a tour?”

“Ah, unfortunately, I’d have to ask the captain—”

“Of course, of course.” He tapped his finger on his lips, then he offered his arm again. “Well, if you’re not otherwise occupied, allow me to make up for Billie’s transgression
against your breakfast? There’s a cafe just up the street.”

I hesitated a moment, wondering how proper it would seem to take Blake’s offer, before throwing caution overboard and slipping my arm in his with a little thrill. Kash and Slate weren’t the only ones who could reconnoiter. The map was hidden somewhere at Blake’s house. If I could discover its hiding place, we might not need to wait for the ball.

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A
rm in arm as we were, the gangplank—being only wide enough for one—took a bit of negotiating. I didn’t need Blake’s steadying hand as I stepped onto the pier, but I took it anyway, marveling at his calluses, where he must have held the pen . . . so different than mine. Blake looped his horse’s reins around his free hand and we started up Fid Street, Billie leaping at our heels like a dolphin in our wake. My mind was racing: I wanted to ask about his father’s map—where it was kept, if it was authentic, if an original even existed—but how? What would he know—and what was safe to say? I couldn’t imagine Blake, with his honest, open face, being part of a cabal, but Mr. D had been clear about the risk if we made any mention of our meeting.

“I found Alexander Sutfin,” Blake said, interrupting
my thoughts. “He’s a drafter downtown, on Queen Street and Richards. Second floor.” I blinked at him, and he smiled. “Well, I can’t very well claim to be an expert if I can’t answer your questions.”

“I . . . thanks. Thank you.” Although the information about Sutfin was useful, I was more concerned now with the other map. And now that he’d opened the topic—

“But I have one of my own,” he continued before I could speak. “What’s your name?”I wondered, as always, whether to lie. But no, Mr. D already knew. “My name is Nix Song.”

He cocked his head. “Nix? Interesting.”

“Nix was a water sprite in Germanic myth,” I said. “She lured men into the lake to drown.”

“We have water spirits here too, although they’re shaped like lizards.”

“Harder for them to lure men, then.”

“Depends on the man, I suppose,” he said, making me laugh. Then he hung his head in mock regret. “Alas, I was only named after my uncle.”

“The dead one?” I said, too quickly. His smile faltered, and my mouth went dry in the ensuing silence. “I—I beg your pardon. Clearly I’ve been too long at sea—”

“No, no,” Blake said. “I never knew the man, although my mother tells me I take after him quite a bit.”

The drunkard who mapped the opium dens? Thankfully I kept that thought behind my teeth. “How so?”