The Girl from Everywhere (26 page)

“Poppy tea,” he said under his breath.

I curled my fingers back into a fist. I should have guessed. Slate was still staring at his cup, and Mr. D was watching him. He must have chosen this place specifically to get to the captain, and it was working. Had Mr. Hart told Mr. D what had happened the night of the ball, or had Mr. D guessed?

The smell of the tea was bitter in the back of my throat. I took Slate’s cup and raised it. “Cheers,” I said, before dumping it out on the rug.

Mr. D’s smile didn’t falter, and he inclined his head. “Let’s move forward with the plan, then. Captain?”

Slate blinked, and he refocused, not on the men seated
across from him, but on the teapot in the center of the rug. “Yes. The plan. Over the last few weeks, we’ve—Kashmir and I—have been checking out the layout of the palace and the grounds and so forth. Well. We’ve found the treasury is guarded at all times by . . .” He looked at Kashmir for confirmation. “Four members of the Royal Hawaiian Guard?”

“Indeed,” Kashmir said, taking over smoothly. “But when the king hosts events, only the youngest guards are left at the treasury across the street. The most experienced guards are nearest the king, to impress the guests and so forth, and the rest are in the barracks on the palace grounds. So our excursion is best planned for a night when the king is throwing a party.”

“Shouldn’t be difficult,” Milly said, laughing through his nose. “He’s always throwing a party.”

“Fine,” Kashmir said. “Next consideration. The Honolulu Rifle Club. Thirty-two armed men, mostly American, by all reports excellent shots. The only force on the island aside from the Royal Hawaiian Guard, and they have better training and nicer guns. Mr. T. You have a connection there.”

Mr. T’s eyes widened. “How did you learn that?”

Kashmir gave him a withering look. “From what I’ve
discovered of their political sympathies, it would seem an easy matter for the Honolulu Rifles to be encouraged to avoid the fray.”

Mr. T paused for a moment. “That . . . can be arranged.”

“Good. I’d rather you do it than I,” Kashmir said. His eyes flicked to me then. It was almost my turn. I sat up straighter and surreptitiously wiped my sweaty palms on the legs of my trousers. “Next item,” he went on. “The vault in the treasury holds an estimated—”

“I know the keys to the vault are held by a Mr. Frank Pratt,” Milly said, interrupting. “A jumped-up little man, married well—”

“Mr. Franklin Seaver Pratt, the registrar of public accounts,” Kashmir said crisply. “Recently appointed, though he served on the staff of Kamehameha the Fifth. Mr. Pratt, who resides on Beretania Street with his wife, Elizabeth Keka’aniau Pratt, Mrs. Pratt, who is grand-niece and blood heir of Kamehameha the Third. Mr. Pratt calls her Lizzie, I’m told. Yes, I’m aware of who holds the keys.” I couldn’t help but stare at him, and he smiled with only his lips. “Now, I estimate the weight of the treasure at a ton and a half. Could be over two, depending on how much of it is in silver.”

“I must remind you,” Mr. D said. “Our agreement regarding confidentiality is of utmost importance, should you decide to hire any ruffians to help you carry the weight. I trust this will not be a problem?”

“It will not,” I said, hoping my voice wouldn’t quaver, but then I tried not to laugh when heads whipped around, as though they’d forgotten I was there. The weight of the gold had been the easiest problem to solve. “And we won’t be hiring any ruffians.”

“You have a crew of five. How else will you manage this feat of strength? Or protect yourselves from the Royal Hawaiian Guard?” Mr. D said with unconcealed interest.

I met Mr. D’s eyes, unwilling to even hint at the answer. “Unfortunately, confidentiality is of utmost importance.”

His expression stayed pleasant, but barely. “Indeed.”

“We can deliver your payment wherever you like, but we’ll need to know in advance where that is,” I said. “Unless you’re coming with us that night?”

Mr. D sighed. “I believe I’d prefer an evening in. But we will send one representative. We have to be sure the job is done, after all, and done correctly.”

Milly had gone pale. “And how will we decide on that representative?” he asked. “I cannot volunteer, sir, and I hope
we’re not doing anything so low class as drawing straws!”

“I will not be available that night, I assure you,” Mr. T agreed. He thought for a moment. “Whatever night it may be.”

“No,” Mr. D said. “But I thought Mr. Hart would like the chance.”

“Me?”
Mr. Hart half stood, upsetting his teacup. The guhzeng music paused, and in the sudden, shocked silence, the dreamers stirred in their beds. He settled back down at a gesture from Mr. D, but the furious gleam was back in his eyes. “I see,” he hissed through his beard. “I see how it is. The map is not enough for you. My shame is not enough for you. You would bleed me dry.”

“The map is a doodle on a bit of paper, Hart,” Milly said with a sneer. “Admittedly, so is a banknote, but the values are nowhere near the same.”

“It was valuable enough to you when you all came to me with this scheme—”

“Gentlemen,” Mr. D said, perhaps to remind them. “Mr. Hart, we need a member of our party to represent our interests, and you will do nicely. You are, after all, the bravest of our group, at least as judged by willingness to take risk.” He brought his teacup to his lips, although he only pretended
to drink.

“And will Mr. Hart bring the map at that time?” Slate said, his voice a touch too loud.

“I think that is unwise. What if it were to be damaged in the scrum?” Mr. D asked. “We will meet again after the event, at which time we will trade the map for the location of the treasure.”

“What do you mean, the location?”

“In case there is an investigation, Captain. You cannot expect us to hide two tons of gold and silver in our gardens! Once the uproar dies down, we will retrieve it from its hiding place.”

Slate clenched his fists. “When exactly do I get the map?

Mr. D spread his hands, palms up. “We can meet within a week. Perhaps two. Longer, if you are suspected of the theft. Patience is a high virtue, Captain.”

Slate ground his teeth. I waited for the captain to refuse, to change his mind, but he said nothing more, so I did. “We cannot accept your proposal.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nixie—”

I held up my hand, silencing my father, but I kept my eyes on Mr. D. “Since Mr. Hart will be coming with us for
the theft, he might easily learn the location of the gold. This does not affect you—one man cannot carry it away, at least not without our special abilities. But it does affect
us
. If he tells you the hiding place, you have no reason to give us the map.”

Mr. D looked at the captain, a hint of scorn in the curve of his mouth. “I didn’t know you let your daughter make your deals.”

Slate’s face was stony. “I’ve told you before. She’s more of an expert than me.”

Mr. D wet his lips. “I don’t suppose you’d accept my word of honor? Fine,” he said when I laughed. “Hart will hand the map over after the gold is hidden.”

“After it’s stolen,” I countered. “Or we’ll leave it on the palace steps.”

Behind his beard, Mr. D clenched his teeth. “It doesn’t matter to me,” he said, all appearances to the contrary. “After it’s stolen, then. How long will it take for you to make your preparations?”

Kashmir and Slate both looked to me for the answer, and despite the circumstances, I felt the glow of pride. “It won’t seem long to you,” I said. “All we need to get started is a map. One of here and now, so we can return after we fetch what we need. I trust you can commission another from Mr. Sutfin.”

Slate glanced at me, and then at Mr. D; I hadn’t had the chance to tell him about the map. But Mr. D didn’t even bat an eye. “Why not use the one you have?”

I shook my head. “It has to be inked now, after we’ve made all our arrangements.”

“But it takes the man half a year at least!” Milly said.

I shrugged. “I’ve heard patience is a virtue.”

Mr. D’s veneer of civility was thinning quickly. “The longer we wait for the theft,” he growled, “the longer you wait for the map.”

The captain glared at him. “If you think six months is a long time, try waiting sixteen years!”

Mr. Hart sat forward, catching Mr. D’s eye. “I know someone who can draw,” he said hurriedly, perhaps trying to defuse the tension. “He made the copy you showed the captain. He’s not busy.”

Mr. D nodded. In my chest—a sinking feeling.

“Good,” Slate said. “Send him to the ship tomorrow. We’ll all cross our fingers he can work fast. I won’t be sorry to weigh anchor on this port.”

And finally Slate gave in and reached out for a cup of tea—not his, which was empty, but mine. He downed the lot in one gulp.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

T
he next dawn, when the caladrius alighted on the rail, I was ready with a biscuit in a box.

The bird considered my proposal long and hard before deciding that hopping into the crate—which I’d found in the hold and emptied of penicillin—was an acceptable trade for a bit of bread. But when he did, I closed the box gently and set out for Chinatown.

I had to wait for Joss to open the shop, but she didn’t seem surprised to find me on her doorstep. “You have money?”

“Better.”

She laughed. “What is better than money?”

“A cure.” I opened the box, and the caladrius tilted its head up toward her face and stared for several heartbeats. I watched the film spread like a caul over the pebble-black
eyes. The bird ruffled its feathers, then shot straight up out of the box and toward the sun to burn away the blindness.

I regarded Joss. Her eyes were as wide and clear as a cloudless night sky.

“Ah,” she said, after a very long moment, still staring at the empty box. She blinked twice, and on her wrinkled lips, the hint of a genuine smile. Her eyes roved over my face. “You do look like her. Your cheeks. Your chin. But . . .” The smile faded.

“You do not have her confidence. You are adrift, like your father. You are his daughter more than hers.” She turned away. “Come inside,” she said, leading me into the shop.

I set down the empty crate inside the door. I didn’t mince words. “You know how to Navigate.”

“I traveled in my youth, yes,” she said. Her voice was soft, distracted, as she peered around the shop she must not have seen clearly for years. “Your father is special, but he is not unique.”

“How many others are there?”

“I have only ever met two I recognized as such. Other than myself.” She walked down the length of the store, drawing me behind her like a ship after a tug.

“Who?”

“You know them well.” She ran her hand over the top of a glass jar and grimaced at the dust on her fingertips.

I narrowed my eyes. “Then my father is one . . . but who is the other?” She gave me a disappointed look, but I had already come to the answer. “
Me?
But that’s . . . how can you know for sure?”

“I told you. I have seen your future.”

I gnawed my thumbnail, unsure whether or not I believed her. “What did you see, exactly?”

“You told me you didn’t want to know.”

I made a face. “I should have known better than to pay in advance.” I reached into my pocket and fished for coins. “If you want your half-dollar—”

“That’s no longer the price.”

“Well, that’s all I’m willing to pay.”

We stared each other down, and to my surprise, she broke first, her eyes sparkling as she laughed. It made her look very young. “I was wrong. You are like her.” She reached out and touched my cheek; her hand was soft and cool. Then she drew back and tottered to her spot behind the counter. “I saw you at the helm of the black ship. You took hope to a barren shore and gave a woman a new life.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s sufficiently vague.”

“It will come to pass by the time the week is out. Afterward, you may regret not asking further into the future.”

“I don’t care who I’ll marry, and I don’t want to know how I die.”

“I don’t see why not. I myself will never marry, and I will die in the Great Fire in 1886.”

Suddenly the room seemed to narrow, and my heart squeezed in my chest. How did she know? “The Chinatown fire?”

“Where else would I be?”

“You can really see the future.”

“Can’t we all? I just have clearer eyes than most. Especially now. A favor to ask,” she said then.

“For a price?” I countered.

Joss laughed again. “Certainly. In exchange I will give you hope.” She slid a cylindrical leather case out from under the counter and put it in my hands, moving confidently now. “I will keep this box,” she said, picking up the crate I’d brought the caladrius in. “As part of your payment to me.”

I opened the case and slid out the map: Chinatown in 1886, in the aftermath of the fire. “Ah.” A thick black line
demarcated the outline of the destruction of the blaze, and near the center, someone had inked an X in red. “Where did you get this?”