The Jewel of the Kalderash

  “I am simply curious,” said the soft voice. “It is our calling to be curious.”

  “Not about that!”

  “Never that!”

  “We are neither here nor there, you understand,” a Meti said to Petra.

  “Not quite dead, yet not quite alive,” another agreed.

  “You’re ghosts,” Petra stated. The cavern echoed with her words.

  “Oh, I suppose.”

  One giggled. “If that’s how you want to put it.”

  Tomik said, “We thought this cave was a school for magic. Are you the teachers?”

  “Just as you are students,” a Meti replied.

  “People come, they inquire, we answer.”

  “We have many answers, do we not, brother?”

  “Indeed. Almost a thousand years’ worth.”

  “And what sort of students have we here?”

  A shining vapor approached Tomik. “A handsome young man!”

  “Like in a fairy tale!”

  “With sighs and swoons!”

  “But, you know, my dear boy,” one said in a serious, wispy voice. “Beauty is a burden. Not every tale ends happily. We know the dark stories, and heroes like you sometimes suffer.”

  “We could help him, sister.”

  “He doesn’t have to be so smooth and bright.”

  “Indeed! Shall we cut him, brother?”

  “Or stretch him?”

  “Burn him, I think. That will make him better.”

  “Stop that!” said Petra.

  The four lights flew to her shoulder and clustered around Astrophil, who shrank into the hollow of her neck.

  “A cunning machine!”

  “Built with gears. Built to last. Built to live forever.”

  “Like us!”

  “But how will the spider feel, my brother, when he outlives his mistress?”

  “Petra,” Astrophil said in a shaky voice, “may we leave, please?”

  “And what kind of person is this mistress?” The Metis ignored Astrophil and flew close to Petra’s face.

  “Ah,” said one knowingly, “she is the one with the questions.”

  “I’ve come to ask you about my father,” Petra said.

  “Well, where is he?”

  It was difficult for Petra to bring herself to explain. “He was seized by the Bohemian prince.”

  “I see.”

  “He was taken from you.”

  “Or perhaps she lost him, brother,” suggested a Meti. “It is careless to lose your family, and we don’t teach careless girls.”

  “I didn’t lose him,” said Petra. “Either I would have gone to prison with him, or would have tried to find some way to free him. Except…” Her fingers lifted to touch the scar that ran from her jaw to the base of her neck. “I was attacked by the prince’s monsters, creatures called the Gray Men. Someone rescued me by pulling me through a Loophole to London. He saved my life, but trapped me for months in England.”

  “And who was he?”

  “His name is John Dee,” Petra said. “He’s a spy for the English queen.”

  “Well, why would he want to keep you? What are you, that you were special to him?”

  “I think…” Petra searched for a response, and slowly spoke what she thought was the truth. “He was intrigued by my magical talents. He tried to teach me … maybe because he thought I’d be a useful tool for him. Or maybe because he genuinely wanted to protect me. I’m not sure.”

  For a moment, the Metis were silent. Then one whispered, “Did she say talents, brother?”

  “She did! But almost no one in the world has more than one magical gift.”

  “If, indeed, they have any gift.”

  “Which must make her…”

  “I’m a chimera,” Petra said. Her gaze lowered to study her feet. “I have two gifts”—she shrugged—“but they’re weak. I have mind-magic, and power over metal.”

  “A chimera!”

  “How rare!”

  “Would you like to join us someday?”

  “What a nice addition she’d make!”

  “Of course,” said Petra. “Because I want to be a blobby ghost whose body is a dried-up prune.”

  “Is that sarcasm, brother?” One Meti turned to another.

  “I do not know, sister. I do not remember sarcasm very well.”

  “We have used it before, two hundred and fifty-six years ago,” reminded the third ghost.

  “Very true!” said the fourth.

  “But, now that I think of it, my sister, I recall that sarcasm is not very polite.”

  The four ghosts fell silent, and Petra uneasily remembered what Treb had said about the Metis changing people into worms. “I—uh—meant what I said,” she stammered. “No sarcasm here. Who wouldn’t want to be a Meti? Look how, um, pretty you are. You’re so … see-through.”

  “Indeed,” one said with satisfaction. “Remember that, young lady, when you think about our offer. Not everyone is worthy of becoming one of us.”

  “She has time to decide,” said the hushed voice of the ghost who was curious about death. “And things to do beforehand.”

  “She wants to find her lost father,” one guessed.

  “Yes,” said Petra, “but it’s complicated. He’s no longer human, exactly.”

  “Oh?”

  Petra couldn’t speak, so Astrophil explained. “He was transformed into one of the Gray Men.”

  “Tell us about these Gray Men.” One of the lights bounced in front of the spider. “We do not know about them.”

  “They are also known as Gristleki,” Astrophil said. “They are experiments. Prince Rodolfo collects many things, and he enjoys collecting people, too. There is a woman who works for him named Fiala Broshek, and she has a magical power over the flesh. She found a way to transform people into monsters by emptying them of human blood and giving them a transfusion of blood from a shadow dragon.”

  “How clever.”

  “It’s not clever!” said Petra. “She changed ordinary people into clawed beasts that run on all fours and suck blood. That’s vile.”

  “Ah,” said a Meti, “yet it is clever, too.”

  “I don’t care what it is,” said Petra. “I just want to know how to change my father back. Please tell me how.”

  The four vapors floated close to one another and conferred in whispers. Then they separated.

  “We do not know,” one of them admitted.

  “This woman’s experiment is something new,” said another.

  “We are experts in what is old.”

  “Then what good are you?” Petra clenched her fists. “Why did I travel thousands of miles if you have no answers for me?”

  “Perhaps,” said the quietest Meti, “we could offer a suggestion.”

  “Oh, you and your suggestions!” laughed a ghost.

  “Sister, suggestions are merely ideas. They are of questionable worth.”

  “What is it?” Petra stepped forward. “What is your suggestion?”

  The Meti’s voice fell to a whisper. “If you have questions about a creation, it is always best to ask the creator.”

  “That’s my answer?” Petra said incredulously.

  “Yes.”

  “That makes no sense!” Then Petra’s mouth slammed shut as she realized that, yes, it did. She turned toward Tomik. Her silver eyes glinted with the fire of a dangerous idea.

  “I know exactly what we’re going to do,” Petra said. “We’re returning to Bohemia, and we’re going to kidnap Fiala Broshek.”

  7

  The Waterfall

  FOR DAYS, Tomik tried to reason with Petra, but she only grew more impatient that they weren’t already on their way back to Bohemia to carry out her insane plan.

  “Kidnapping one of the prince’s inventors?” he said. “Really, Petra.”

  “Fiala Broshek isn’t going to cure my father willingly,” she said. “All she cares about is cutting people up, creating monsters, and pleasin
g the prince. So some force will have to be involved. And that’s what I learned during those months in England: how to use force.” She flexed her fingers on the hilt of her invisible sword.

  “I thought you were learning how to control and improve your two magical gifts,” said Astrophil, “and the ways of being sly. Not how to trample and storm your way into sure captivity.”

  “You sound like John Dee.”

  “You might want to take a page from his book,” said Astrophil.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that you might want to try being like him, for Dee is far too clever to plunge headlong into danger without a well-considered plan.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to do,” she said. “Come up with a plan. But neither of you is helping.”

  “Only because you want to do the impossible,” said Tomik. “The instant you set foot in Bohemia you become a prime target for the prince. He wants to keep you in his court like some kind of prize pet—if he doesn’t change his mind and have your head chopped off in a public square. Plus, we are thousands of miles from Prague. How would we even get there?”

  “We’ll steal a ship.”

  He gaped at her. “And sail it how?”

  “You could sail it.”

  Though secretly flattered at her confidence in him, Tomik said, “You know full well it takes at least half a dozen people to sail a ship big enough to brave the ocean. Are you ignoring facts because they get in the way of what you want?”

  “Yes,” said Astrophil.

  Tomik exchanged a look with him. He suspected that the spider had already had many private arguments with Petra.

  “You’re not taking me seriously!” she accused. “Neither of you.”

  “I am, Petra,” said Tomik. “That’s the problem.”

  “I’ll go to Prague,” she said through gritted teeth, “if I have to walk there.”

  “How?” he said to her turned back. “On the waves? We’re on an island!”

  She stalked away, her shoulders high and stiff.

  Soon it became clear to Tomik that they had another problem, and it involved Neel. He was nowhere to be seen, but Tomik knew Neel well enough to guess at his feelings. Neel wouldn’t relish the thought of being kept like a high card up someone’s sleeve—even if it was a queen’s sleeve—and then slapped down on the table of Roma politics to beat all the other players. Neel was himself an incorrigible cheater at cards, but the last thing a trickster likes is to see his own tricks played on him.

  When Tomik and Petra tired of arguing about whether to return to Prague, they would argue about hunting for Neel. Petra insisted on finding him.

  “He wants to be alone,” Tomik said. “We should respect that.”

  Petra fell silent for a moment, and Tomik entertained the astonishing thought that he had persuaded her—stubborn, fiery Petra—of something. Then, in a low voice, she said, “It’s not always easy to understand what someone wants. What’s important is for us to show Neel that we are there for him. We are his friends, whether he’s the Romany king or just Neel. How will he know that, if we don’t tell him?”

  Tomik glanced at Astrophil. The spider slightly lifted two legs, like someone might raise his brows in surprise.

  “Let’s look for him on the beach,” Tomik said.

  But Neel was not on the beach, nor by the tide pools in the heart of the island’s jungle, nor on the city streets that spiraled up the mountain.

  They found him high on a palace wall, tossing small, puffy animals down the waterfall that poured from the cliff on which the palace stood. The creatures squealed as they fell.

  “Neel!” Tomik shouted. “What are you doing?”

  They ran to him, and Petra snatched a furry animal out of Neel’s hands. “I know you’re upset,” she said, “but—”

  “The scoots like it,” said Neel, startled. The fuzzball squirmed out of Petra’s hands, bounced onto the stone railing, and leaped off into thin air. “It’s how they learn to fly.”

  Tomik and Petra saw the falling scoot puff out, then puff further, then puff into a balloon shape that caught the wind and sailed toward the trees.

  “A scoot.” Astrophil peered at one clambering up Neel’s leg. “I have never heard of a scoot. And I have read many books on zoology.”

  “Yeah, but your gadje books say zero about the Vatra.” One of the scoots clung to Neel’s shoulder. “This fellow ain’t keen to jump. Guess he’s not ready yet.” The scoot nuzzled his ear.

  “Maybe he just likes you,” said Petra. “Like we do, Neel.”

  He looked at her. “Oh.” He smiled slowly. “Well, course you do.”

  Tomik knew that cocky attitude came when Neel was at his most vulnerable, so he kept his patience and said only, “Will you stop hiding from us now?”

  “I’m not hiding from you. I’m hiding from everybody.”

  “We know that you need to make a decision—”

  “To accept the queen’s offer to be her heir,” said Petra, “or turn it down. But she can’t make you be king, can she?”

  Neel frowned. “Nope. And believe me, Tarn and Treb would be a whole lot happier if I told the queen to stuff it. I’d be better off, too. Being king … it seems like an awful lot of work.”

  “Have you discussed it with your mother?” asked Astrophil.

  “You mean Damara? My ma who ain’t my ma? See, when I said I was hiding from everybody, I really meant I was hiding from her.” The scoot on Neel’s shoulder chittered and put a three-toed paw on the boy’s head. Neel leaned his elbows on the stone railing and looked out over the jungle, which made the scoot nervously clutch him with all four stubby legs. “Shh, there, little fuzz.” Neel backed away from the railing. “I get it. No jumping for you yet.” He turned and looked again at his friends, then more closely at Petra. “You seem happier.” His troubled face lit up. “You’ve got good news, don’t you? A cure for your da! I knew you’d find the secret here in the Vatra.”

  “No.” Astrophil sighed.

  “Then…” Neel paused. “Oh. I know that look on your face, Pet. You’ve got a plan.”

  Tomik’s heart tightened. He wished that Neel weren’t so skilled at reading Petra’s emotions. “Help me talk her out of it, Neel. It’s too risky.”

  “Risky?” Neel’s laugh had an edge. “What isn’t? You can play life’s game and think you’re being oh so smart, and then it’ll flip you on your head, and everything’s upside down, and you didn’t do anything, nothing at all.” He looked at Petra. “Tell me. Tell me everything.”

  “Neel—” Tomik protested, but Petra was already eagerly spilling forth her plan.

  “Impossible,” Neel said when he’d heard everything.

  “Thank you,” said Tomik.

  “Well, it’s possible,” Neel amended, “but it ain’t gonna be easy. It’d take forever just to get back to Prague. The globes belong to the queen now, and traveling there without them … I’d say that’s a year’s worth of sailing and hoofing it, no less.”

  A silence fell, and Petra’s eyes were suddenly too shiny. Her body went rigid, and Tomik could almost feel her holding her breath against the tears. “Petra—”

  “If I were king,” Neel said thoughtfully, “I’d have gobs of power. Oodles.” He dropped his hunched shoulders and one hand twitched oddly in front of him, as if he were tapping his chin with his invisible fingers. Then he spread his arms wide. “I could do anything!” He gave Petra a smile. “I could help you.”

  Petra exhaled, and looked as if she didn’t dare speak. Then one tear did fall, slipping down her cheek. She hugged Neel fiercely, scoot and all, and the Roma laughed as the scoot jumped from his head to hers.

  “Excuse me.” Astrophil bristled, pointing one leg at the creature. “This is my mistress, and only I have the honor of sitting on Petra’s head, or ear, or shoulder, as the case may be.”

  Tomik looked at them, at the tangle of boy and girl and scoot and spider, and told himself
that the hug Petra had given Neel was no different from the countless times she had embraced him over the years.

  This only made him feel worse.

  Neel lifted his chin from Petra’s shoulder. “Good.” He nodded hesitantly, as if to encourage himself. “Good,” he said again, more firmly. “A king. Why not? I’ve always wanted to be the boss.”

  8

  The Coronation

  “A BASTARD KING,” the people muttered when Neel announced his decision to the court. “A king of rags and tatters.”

  “You’re on your own,” Treb told Neel before turning to walk out of the royal chamber with his brother.

  Damara said nothing as she tried to catch her son’s eye, but Neel avoided her, glancing at Petra and Tomik as if for help. Finally, he looked at the queen.

  Iona’s laugh was horrible, scraping: the sound of seashells breaking under someone’s boot. Thankfully, it did not last long, and when it stopped, she threw everyone but Neel out of the room. She grabbed his ghostly fingers with her own and tugged him close.

  “You cannot trust them,” she said.

  “I know,” he muttered. “The Maraki’re gonna get feisty over this.”

  “Of course. However, I did not mean them. The gadje boy and girl. They don’t belong here. They will use you.”

  Neel arched one black brow. “Guess you’re right,” he said coolly. He nodded as the queen listed the Kalderash goals for the future, and smirked in agreement as she hissed the flaws of the Lovari, Maraki, and Ursari tribes. Anyone who knew Neel well knew he was a smooth liar. But the queen did not know her son well. So she talked until her eyes grew feverish and her voice hoarse, and when she eventually slumped in her throne with exhaustion, she was satisfied with her heir. “Hold it.” She thrust the golden scepter at him, and for the first time since he’d made his choice clear, a crack showed in his proud façade. Ever so slightly, he shrank away. Then he took the scepter with his invisible fingers. He couldn’t quite bring himself to let it touch his skin.

  “It’s a curse,” Iona whispered. “Yet it is a gift, too.”

  “It’s still yours.” He gave it back to her.

  “Not for long.” She chuckled and waved him away.