The Girl from Everywhere (15 page)

“Very well.”

“Meet me tomorrow?”

“Ah, tomorrow is Sunday, I will be at church.”

Slate stared at him. “Of course you will.”

“An idea occurs to me,” Mr. D said smoothly. “In a week’s time, on the night of the full moon, the owner of the map—the artist’s brother—is hosting a soiree at his home. Perhaps you’d like to attend? You can meet my colleagues face-to-face. You can assure yourself of the map’s authenticity. And you can give us your answer.”

Slate chewed his cheek. “Yeah, fine. That’s fine.”

“I’ll ensure an invitation is delivered tomorrow. And I’ll send a carriage for you.” Mr. D stood. “I look forward to your attendance—and your answer—at the ball.”

Slate, lost in thought, did not respond. “As do we,” I lied for him, for I had a sinking feeling I already knew what the answer would be.

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W
ith Slate trailing behind us, I escorted Mr. D out of the room. Though the distance from cabin to gangplank wasn’t more than twenty feet, I was protective of the ship. Slate had told me from a very young age not to talk to strangers about Navigation. Obviously he hadn’t always followed his own advice.

Once safely ashore, Mr. D paused for a moment at the edge of the dock, still holding the wadded copy of the map. The man made sure to meet Slate’s eye before he smiled brightly and tossed the ball of paper into the sea. Then he gave us a nod and stepped into his coach. Slate watched the street long after the carriage was out of sight.

“Captain?” I said, and he startled. I took a breath, trying to sound firm. “The answer will be no, right?”

Slate blinked, slowly, as if he’d been dreaming. “I can’t answer that until I see the map.”

I stared at him. “We’re not going to steal that money. We can’t participate in this.”

“We’ll do what we have to.” Slate pushed off from the rail and walked toward his cabin.

“You may,” I said, calling after him. “Leave me out of this one.”

He stopped in his tracks and then swiveled slowly on his heel. “Did you forget our conversation last night? I told you, Nixie, I need your help.”

I met his eyes dead on. “Not as much as you need Kashmir’s.”

Slate stared at me, his face turning red, before going to his cabin and slamming the door.

I slid down against the bulwark and stared up at the clouds, pulling the pearl of my necklace back and forth along the chain.

“What does he need my help for,
amira
?” Kash was peering at me over the lip of my hammock. “What did the fine gentleman want?”

I sighed. “The contents of the treasury.”

“Khodaye man!”
His eyes were round as coins. “What
did the captain say? No, that’s a silly question. Of course he said yes.”

“Technically he’s still thinking about it,” I said. “We’re supposed to take a look at the map at some party next week.”

“How much money is it?”

“In the treasury? Nine hundred thousand dollars.”

He whistled low. “In all my life I haven’t stolen a tenth so much.”

I looked sideways at him. “There’s no reason to sound happy about it.”

“I shouldn’t take pride in my work?”

“Not when it’s wrong.”

“Robbing a king?” He gave me a crooked smile. “Even I’ve read Robin Hood.”

“The treasury doesn’t belong to the king, it belongs to the people.”

“I’ve tried that one before. It didn’t work. If you can get arrested for taking something, it’s not yours.”

“That’s what I’m saying. It’s wrong.”

“It’s
illegal
,” he corrected. “There are a lot of things that are illegal but not wrong. And probably more that are wrong, and still legal.”

“There has to be a line, Kashmir,” I said angrily. “A person can’t do just anything for love.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I would.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a thief. Your relative morality is already suspect.”

“Ah,” he said then, standing. “Well. I’ll leave the morality for those that like the taste of it. I always preferred bread.”

“Kashmir, wait!” But he didn’t. Instead he slipped down through the hatch. I waited to hear him slam his cabin door, but he did not oblige.

Left alone with my frustration, I went through my chores with a distracted energy, sweeping the deck, feeding the sky herring, even filling the big copper vat with water and tossing in one of the fire salamanders, followed by my dirty laundry. After the water was good and hot, I plucked the little creature out with a pair of bamboo tongs; his flat-mouthed expression was one of mild offense.

By the time I was hanging my clothes out to dry, I was calm enough to feel ashamed. Kashmir wasn’t the one I was mad at. I hung my last shirt on the line and went downstairs to knock on his door.

“Come.”

I opened the door a crack and peeked in. He was lying
there on his back in the pile of ratty silk pillows he used for a bed, reading. He didn’t look up from his book.

I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry about calling you a thief.”

“Don’t be,” he said quietly, turning a page delicately with his finger. “It’s the truth, after all.”

“Only part of it. And not the most important part.”

“Well.” Then he put his book on his chest and smiled up at me, waggling his eyebrows. “What is the most important part?”

I kicked a pillow at him; he caught it. “Save it for the next time we’re at Commissioner’s,” he said, throwing it back at my head.

I sprawled down on one of the bigger cushions, sending up a puff of air. “Speaking of shore leave, there’s a ball coming up and I’ll need a handsome date. But you’ll have to do.”

“Only if I can wear my steel-toed shoes.” He arched one brow. “I’ve seen how you dance. So. You’re going after all?”

I frowned. “I need to take a look at the map. If it’s fake, the whole issue is moot.”

He propped himself up on one elbow. The book fell away from his hands, open on the pillows. “What if it’s not?”

I had no answer, so I picked up the book and closed it.
It was well worn, with large print, the bright colors starting to fade. A version for children, like most of the books he owned. “
The Jungle Book
?”

“One of my favorites. I used to feel like Mowgli.”

“Feral?” I said pointedly.

His face stayed serious. “The laws of the jungle remind me of the laws of the street. When I came aboard, I had to learn a different set of laws. Everywhere we go there is a different set of laws. Most of them unwritten.”

“I really am sorry about calling you—”

“It’s all right. Really. What I meant is, I wasn’t at home right away.” He reached out to play with the tattered edge of one of the cushions. Kashmir, like me, had come to the ship with no belongings, but now the room was full of riches and reminders. The pillows were sewn from scraps of silk, and scattered around the room were wooden statues and stone bowls and bone knives and strings of seeds, tiny treasures that could be slipped into a pocket. On the walls were pages torn from books; as I leaned closer, I saw they were poems.

All I had collected were dust and costumes. I sighed. “Do you feel at home now?”

He met my eyes. “You help me to.”

“Oh. Good,” I said, nonplussed. I leaned back, gazing
down at the book in my hands, trying desperately to think of something to say. “You know, Kipling was a horrible racist.” Oh, for God’s sake. I threw the book aside.

But it made him laugh; I was relieved. “Well, I stole the book, so he wasn’t paid. Besides, that version was published in the 1960s. He was long dead by then.”

“He’s out there now, though. He and Mr. D would get along.”

“This is the age of empire. There are a lot of people who share their views.”

“And a lot of people being ground down under their feet.”

“Maybe at the bottom of it, it’s all just the law of the jungle.” He sat up and wrapped his arms around his knees. “While you were doing your laundry, Slate called me in to talk.”

My breath hitched in my throat. “And?”

“I’m sure you can imagine the general idea. Why are you making that face? The captain has been good to me. He didn’t have to take me in. And he doesn’t have to let me stay.”

My cheeks went hot, and my skin felt too tight. “You heard him last night.”

“And I’m glad for the chance to earn my keep. I never
learned to beg.” He shrugged. “Besides, like you said, it’s for love.”

“Love?” The word was bitter as hemlock. “It’s just another addiction.”

He sighed, but he didn’t protest. We both sat under the heavy blanket of silence until a breeze stole in and rustled the pages on the walls. I stared at his stolen trinkets. “Kashmir. You’re a good thief.”

“Good at thieving? Or good and a thief?”

“Don’t fish. We both know you’re good enough to think you can steal a million dollars in gold and silver.”

“Or foolish enough.” He grinned.

“So . . . you shouldn’t have any trouble with a single roll of paper?”

“Ah,” he said, but his smile faded. “Clever.”

“Of course . . . the captain wouldn’t like it.”

“That depends,” he said cautiously.

“On?”

“On whether or not we succeed.”

“Do you doubt whether we can?”

“No,” he said, tilting his head. “But I do wonder why we should. I thought you were done helping him.”

“Well, it’s less dangerous than trying to steal the gold.”

Kashmir let the silence stretch, studying me. “And?” he said at last.

I sighed. “And . . . if he’s willing to do anything for the map, I’d rather he negotiate with us than them.”

He gave me an appraising look. “You do understand the law of the jungle.”

Hope rose in my throat. “You’ll do it?”

“For you?” I blinked, unsure how to respond, aware of how unfair it was to ask, but Kashmir did not wait for an answer. “I’ll try.”

“Thank you!” I threw my arms around him and he laughed—or maybe it was a grunt.

“Can’t breathe!”

“Sorry!” I rocked back on my heels, buzzing with energy. “So. How are we going to do it?”

“So eager now, Miss Relative Morality!”

“Stealing a map versus robbing a kingdom? I’ll throw myself on the mercy of the law.”

“Mercy? You’ve never really dealt with the law, have you? Ow,” he added, even though I hadn’t hit him that hard. “Well,” he went on. “I don’t know just yet, but I’ll figure it out. And I think the best time to do that is at the ball. I heard you needed a date?”

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I
woke the next morning with Kashmir’s breath tickling my ear.

We’d talked late into the night, and I had only meant to rest my eyes for a minute, but it had been so warm in the nest of silk beside him. He’d tossed his arm over me as we’d slept; in those first moments of wakefulness, I didn’t have the willpower to throw it off. My eyes drifted open and focused on his hand, inches from my nose. His fingers were curved into a soft, relaxed shape as he slept. I stared at them, memorizing the lines in the skin, the rounding of the knuckles, the little white scars.

A small part of me was ashamed at enjoying the closeness I never would have accepted had we both been fully awake, but I tried to ignore it, tried to let sleep steal back. Time passed as it does in a dream, until the sound of heavy
footsteps on the deck above roused me. It must have been the captain, pacing by overhead, toward the cabin—or the hatch.

I was bolt upright half a second before he opened the door.

“Get up, Kash, it’s long past—” Slate stopped on the threshold, his mouth still open. Kashmir’s body went rigid, his eyes snapping open, but the captain was staring at me. With all my might, I resisted the urge to explain. I’d be damned if I’d make it his business.

Slate took a deep breath, dropped his eyes, then shifted on his feet, looking everywhere but at me. “Fifteen minutes, Kashmir.” When he shut the door, he didn’t even slam it.