Like every other sailor onboard, Neel had many more important things to do than stop and stare. But that’s what he did.
Both Neel and Tomik sensed that this was going to be a recurring theme with them—trying to figure out who owned what, and who owed what.
“All right,” Neel said. “Follow me. You can help.”
They descended into the belly of the ship until they reached a large wooden door that yawned wide. Nicolas stepped out of the room. There was a sword in his hand, a long dagger at his waist, a knife in his boot, and a second sword strapped to his back.
Neel raised an eyebrow. “How are you going to move with all that?”
“Like a well-armed man,” Nicolas answered, and left.
The air in the room was tangy. It smelled of the oil burning in the lamp that hung from the ceiling, and of well-kept wood, leather, and steel. Weaponry poked out of thrown-open trunks. Neel unlocked a canvas-lined box and took out the glass knife. He handed it to Tomik. Not having a better place for it, Tomik tucked it into his belt.
“Can’t you make some of those glass bombs?” asked Neel. “Like Petra used in Salamander Castle?”
“Sure.” Tomik shrugged. “Just give me several days, a brassica-fueled fire, a glass-blowing pipe, some—”
“Forget it.” Neel walked deeper into the dark recesses of the room, Tomik at his side.
On the floor lay a peculiar object. It was large, long, and shaped like a cone. Its shape had been made by attaching animal skins to a metal hoop, stitching them together, and drawing them down to a point. Ropes braced the cone, running along its sides and coming up over the hoop. A foot above that, the ropes were knotted together to an iron ring.
“Get that end,” Neel ordered. “We have to set this up before the ship gets close enough to see us.” They lifted the thing and carried it out of the room like they might carry a body.
They brought it up on deck, where the wind had already begun to blow strongly. Tas and Kiran were waiting for them at the stern of the ship. The men quickly went to work, attaching heavy chains to the pointed end and a long length of rope to the ring. The other end of the rope was securely fastened to a bolt on the deck.
“It’s called a drogue,” Neel said, just as Tas and Kiran heaved the object overboard and the coil of rope at their feet began to unwind. Most of the rope slipped into the waves behind the Pacolet. The rest of it lay in a taut line.
Tas and Kiran nodded at the boys and lifted themselves onto the ratlines, heading for the sails.
“The drogue’s going to slow us down,” Tomik stated.
“Yep. The Pacolet’s quick on the wind, but the drogue’ll make those other fellows think we can’t outrun ’em. They’ll get confident, they’ll get close, we’ll find out what they want. If they’re not very nice, we’ll cut the drogue and hightail it out of here—after we do a little damage, if need be.”
This struck Tomik as a dangerous strategy. “So it’s a good thing that ship’s gaining on us?”
Neel looked troubled. “We’ll see.”
The Pacolet slowed, the sky darkened with the coming storm, and the mysterious vessel drew close.
Treb and Andras stood at the port side of the ship. Sailors thronged behind them, armed and wary.
“They’re not Maraki,” said Andras.
The other ship, which bore no Roma flag, sliced across the water. It fired a warning shot. It wasn’t the thud of cannon fire, but the crack of a pistol.
“I guess they’re not friendly,” Andras said.
“And they’ve got guns,” Treb muttered with jealousy.
“Newfangled, unreliable things,” Andras consoled. “The bullets don’t go where you want ’em to even half of the time.”
“And the other half?” Treb shook his head. “With a shot like that, they mean business. But not enough to fire a cannon and sink us. Go aloft, Andras. I need you up by the topsail on the mainmast. Catch that wind, and hold it tight until we’re ready.”
Andras walked to the mast and began to leap up the Jacob’s ladder.
The enemy ship drew closer. Its narrow body was swift on the waves, its sails looked new, and the deck held enough people to tell Treb that the Maraki were outnumbered. Treb waited. The ship pulled up to the Pacolet, and the two vessels sailed side by side.
“Where’s your captain?” someone yelled.
With some surprise, Treb registered that the words were in Czech. “What do you want with us?” he shouted back.
“I think you know!”
“Maybe I’m a little slow.”
The other man laughed and pointed with his sword at the Pacolet. “I can see that. Let me explain, then, what’s going to happen. Your ship’s practically dead in the water, she’s so slow. You can’t escape from us, and we’re prepared to board your boat and kill you all. But it doesn’t have to be that way. You’ve got one thing, and one thing only, that we want. Surrender it, and we’ll let you go. We’ll do you and your ship no harm.”
The wind began to blow fiercely, and far-off thunder rumbled over the ocean.
“If you come aboard my ship, you might win against us,” shouted Treb. “But I think you won’t, and many of you will end up bleeding in the water for sharks to eat. What do we have that’s so precious you’ll risk that?”
“You know perfectly well!” snarled the Bohemian captain. “Give us the globe or give us your lives!”
“You’ll get neither!” In Romany, Treb called, “Neel! Cut that drogue loose!”
Neel pulled his dagger from its sheath and sawed at the rope that bound the drogue to the Pacolet. The rope frayed, but wasn’t breaking fast enough. Neel could see the other ship edging up to the Pacolet. It wouldn’t be long before the Bohemian sailors leaped across the divide.
For a split second, Tomik thought about surrendering himself to his countrymen. Then a gunshot rang out, and he saw Klara clutch her arm.
Tomik brought his glass knife down on the rope. It flashed in the air, and sliced the rope in one clean stroke. The rope spun away into the water.
The Pacolet surged forward, its sails puffed full of stormy wind. As lightning stitched across the sky, the Maraki up in the rigging did everything they could to harness the wind’s power. They hauled the sails into the best position to give the Pacolet the distance needed for their next move.
“Fire!” yelled Treb.
The Maraki at the cannons lit their fuses. The cannons began to boom. Chain shot and bar shot flew into the air and struck the enemy ship, tearing through its sails, splitting its yards. The Maraki aimed for the ship’s rigging, and finally they got the hit they wanted most of all. The foretop mast—the highest point of the Bohemian ship’s mainmast—shattered. Chunks of wood rained down.
There was a clap of thunder. The storm was here.
In the sudden rain, the Maraki didn’t look back at the chaos they left behind them—or, if they looked back once, they didn’t do it again.
“What will happen to them?” Tomik asked Neel as the Pacolet hurtled over the waves. “Will they sink?”
“No. We could’ve punched a hole right through that ship’s gut. We didn’t. We just wanted to cripple her, to clip her wings so she couldn’t fly after us. So we aimed our cannons high at their rigging. That ship won’t sink, but she can’t sail.”
“What will they do?” Tomik persisted.
Neel paused. “I don’t know.”
THE STORM WASN’T as bad as it seemed, and the Pacolet rode it out.
The bullet had only grazed Klara’s arm. The wound was bloody but shallow, and Brishen cleaned it.
When the sky was clear again and the waves calmer, Tomik walked up to Neel.
“I’ll give you this”—Tomik offered the horseshoe—“for the crystal you took from me.”
Neel agreed.
It was a fair trade.
15
The Terrestrial Globe
THE DAY AFTER THE BATTLE, the wind changed. It blew from the east, and was as hot and dry as air in a b
rick oven. This wind has a reputation: it’s called a levanter, and it’s mean. The Maraki stowed the sails, because a levanter could blow them off course. It blew them off course anyway, carrying them farther out into the Western Ocean than they ever wanted to be. It was late January, and this time of year in that particular region of the sea meant one thing: storms, and lots of them. Serious storms. Storms that could chew you up and spit you out.
But Neel had more important things to worry about than the weather. He was reminded of this when Treb’s hand reached out of a dark passageway and seized him.
“Hey!” yelped Neel.
“I’d like a word with you, little cousin.”
“Ever hear of asking? Your habits are getting right rude.”
“They’re about to get ruder.” Treb pushed Neel into the room where they stored all the food. There were sacks of barley, dried fruits, dried meat, dried vegetables, and, most valuable of all, large casks of fresh water.
Treb shut the door behind them. He struck a match and lit his pipe. The red glow of the burning tobacco was the only light in the room.
“Why all the secrecy, Treb?”
“ ’Cause you seem to be a little short on it.”
“Is this about the globe?”
Treb didn’t reply. Neel could hear the crackle of the tobacco as it burned.
“And you got to lock me up in the pantry to ask me about it? Come on, Treb. Everybody on this ship knows what we got, and what we’re after.”
“There is one thing I don’t want my sailors to know,” said Treb.
“Yeah? What?”
“How little faith I have in you.”
“Those sailors were Bohemian,” Neel pointed out. “Bo-hee-mee-un. Seems to me you should be hassling someone else. Someone blond.”
“So you think Tomik tipped off those sailors. Now why would he do that?”
“To be rescued by them. To go home.”
“Hmm. Yes, that does make sense. Or it would if I hadn’t seen Tomik cut the drogue loose.”
Neel didn’t reply.
“You’re talented, coz,” said Treb. “But what are your skills? Thieving and lying. Not exactly things that inspire confidence in you. So far all you’ve done is put our mission at risk. We need the Celestial Globe, and you need to help me get it if I’m going to be able to trust you again.”
“Maybe I don’t want your trust,” Neel shot back.
“Don’t think that hasn’t occurred to me.”
Treb stalked out of the pantry, and left Neel in the dark.
• • •
“THE CAPTAIN wants to see you,” Andras told Tomik.
Tomik nodded wordlessly. He had a pretty good idea of why he’d been sent for. He followed Andras toward the stern of the ship, and the captain’s quarters.
Tomik paused nervously outside Treb’s door. Maybe he had made the wrong decision. Maybe he shouldn’t have cut that rope. “Klara?” he asked.
“She’s fine.” Andras put a hand on Tomik’s shoulder and opened the door.
Treb was seated on an intricately carved, satin-backed chair that must have cost a fortune. He leaned across an elegant table to knock the ashes of his pipe into a brass bowl, glanced at Andras, and flicked his gaze at the door. Andras left.
Tomik didn’t want to look at Treb directly. He stared at the satin arms of the chair, which were water-stained.
“We plucked it from the sea,” Treb said in Romany. “There are storms that smash other ships to pieces, but not the Pacolet. We’re scavengers. Most of our wealth has been taken from the dead. Sometimes we come across things bobbing on the waves: trunks, furniture, bodies. This, for example, was found in the pocket of a corpse.” Treb reached into his coat, pulled out a tube, and passed it to Tomik.
Tomik inspected the leather cylinder, noticing the glass lenses on either end. He peered through the smaller lens.
Treb began, “It’s a telescope. For seeing—”
“I know,” Tomik said. “For far away.” He passed the telescope back. “I fix it.”
“It’s not broken.”
“I make better,” Tomik insisted, and wished that he knew Romany well enough to explain how.
The captain smiled, and for a moment Tomik thought Treb wouldn’t ask the questions he dreaded.
“I’d like to show you another, more important treasure,” Treb said, “but first you have to tell me something. How did those Bohemian sailors know that we carried the Terrestrial Globe? Did you somehow make a Bohemian friend in Sallay? It looks suspicious, see, that the ship that attacked us was sailed by your countrymen.”
Tomik was silent.
“Now, I’m not blaming you. Not necessarily. Maybe somebody else had a big mouth. Somebody who also speaks Czech. I know that somebody wasn’t me. But perhaps . . . oh, I don’t know, let’s say my cousin dropped a word or two he shouldn’t have. Know anything about that?”
It would be so easy for Tomik to accuse Neel. But then Tomik thought about Petra, and what she would do in a situation like this. He imagined her silver eyes blazing. She would say, “Don’t you dare, Tomik. You owe him.”
So Tomik pressed his lips firmly together.
“I’ll feed you to the little fishies,” Treb warned.
Tomik shook his head. “You will not.”
Treb stood, and grabbed Tomik by his collar. “What,” he snarled, “don’t I scare you?”
“If you want to kill me, I am already dead.”
“True.” Treb released Tomik’s shirt. “But I’ve got more than half a mind to throw you in the brig and keep you there morning, noon, and night. You wouldn’t like that, would you?”
“No.”
“So you’ll tell me?”
“No.”
Treb chuckled. “Then it’s a good thing I know the answer already. And it’s a good thing for you, lad, that you can keep a secret.”
Treb opened a trapdoor that had been so well disguised, Tomik hadn’t been able to tell the difference between it and the wooden planks of the rest of the floor. Treb hauled up a leather chest, which he unlocked, then he lifted out a round bundle of cloth about two feet in diameter. Cradling it in his arms, he stepped in front of Tomik and set it on the table. He unwrapped the cloth.
Tomik’s eyes widened in wonder.
He had seen maps before. Maps of his country, even of Europe. But he had never seen his whole world arranged across the surface of a large sphere.
He saw his home, crowded by neighboring countries. Bohemia was so small.
He saw Morocco, guessed the Pacolet’s location on the ocean, and was amazed at how far he had traveled. He found the island of England with its squiggled shape, and knew how far he had to go.
Tomik reached out and spun the sphere. The brown of the continents and the blue of the water blurred together. With a finger, he stopped the globe. His skin prickled. He lifted his hand away, and saw a red spark. It was in Bohemia and, he guessed, was the general location of a Loophole. There were red points of light all over the globe.
Tomik remembered his own words to Neel in Sallay: You would be able to wage war.
Treb noticed the worry that crossed the boy’s features. “This globe isn’t much use without its twin, but whoever possesses both Mercator Globes will wield a great deal of power,” he admitted. “They could be dangerous in the wrong hands.”
“Destroy this one, then,” Tomik said in Czech. What he had to say was too important to be misunderstood.
“Oh, no.” Treb wagged his finger. “Don’t be so noble, Tom. It’s drastic, and dumb. The globes belong to the Roma.”
After many years of being friends with Petra, Tomik recognized unreasonable stubbornness when he saw it. He looked away from Treb, and back at the globe. He noticed the lines that crossed the sphere and cut it into squares. He had seen latitude and longitude lines before on the flat surface of maps, and knew that they were used for judging distance and travel. But they seemed different on a round shape.
“It
looks as if someone has thrown a net over the world,” he said.
“Now all we have to do is haul it in.”
WHEN TOMIK AND TREB emerged from the captain’s quarters, the sails lay flat. There was no wind. Treb turned in a circle, looking at the sky from every direction. “Stow the sails!” he suddenly shouted up at the Maraki in the rigging. “Do it now!”
“Why?” Tomik asked.
“Because if we don’t they’ll be ripped to shreds,” Treb muttered. He strode up to Andras. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”
“I wasn’t sure—”
“You don’t have to be sure! If you can’t figure out how to prepare for a tempest, then at least give me fair warning when one is squalling up, and leave the thinking to me! Tell Garil and Marko to lash the lifeboats to their skids. Get below deck and bring Nadia, Kiran, and Ashe with you. Take him, too.” He nudged Tomik forward. “Have them latch any portholes shut and reinforce them with wooden planks. Batten all the hatches. We can’t take on any water.”
Tomik was so preoccupied with the fact that he had just been treated like a member of the crew that he didn’t think about being worried. After all, the Pacolet had sailed through storms before. But then Tomik spotted the dread in Andras’s eyes, and realized that whatever was coming, it was no ordinary storm. The sea was still. The wind was dead, the horizon dark, and the sky tinged with green. An eerie quiet surrounded the Pacolet.
“What do we do?” Tomik asked Ashe as they went below deck. Ashe entered the rope room, and passed Tomik short lengths of cord knotted loosely into slings. He copied what she did, and slipped the rope over his head so that the slings crossed his chest, running from his left shoulder to his right hip.
“You heard the captain,” she replied. “We close the hatches, we—”
“No, after that.”
“This is a tempest, Tom. If we had the drogue we’d set it up to slow us down as we hit the waves. But it’s gone. The only thing we can do is lock everything tight, tie down anything loose, blow out the lamps, stay below deck, and hope we don’t get smashed to pieces.” She grinned at him nervously. “Whatever you do, don’t stand too close to me. With the waves, you’ll probably puke.”
The Celestial Globe Page 13
