“I don’t care if you do or don’t believe me. Just pretend to believe me for a spell. Course, if you don’t want to hear my story, a Roma story that normally someone who isn’t Roma wouldn’t hear …”
“Tell me.”
Neel smiled. “Hundreds and hundreds of years ago, our people lived in the desert. They trained horses and elephants. Now, both are beasts you can train and ride. But they sure don’t think alike. If a horse loves you, he loves you across hot coals and battlegrounds and buggy swamps. But an elephant needs to know why you want something. He has to agree that what you’re doing makes at least some sense.
“The Roma used to be split into three tribes, not four like we’ve got now. The Ursari is the tribe best at training animals. Fact is, they still sell animals to the gadje”
“What’s the gadje?”
“Outsiders, you know. Like you. Now, there was one Ursari tribesman named Danior who was better at handling horses and elephants than the rest. He also had a clearer way of seeing things than most of the Ursari. It gets hard to like someone who’s always better than you, and the Ursari leader especially didn’t like Danior. Soon he began to downright hate him. So one morning Danior woke up alone in the desert. His tribe had left him high and dry. He had his tent, but no water and nothing to hunt with. And that’s sure death in the desert.
“He plodded along in the burning sand, looking for water. You can’t last long like that. Soon he lay down and waited to die. Then it struck him that he could hear something. It was the sound of many hooves. He thought maybe his tribe had come back for him, so he hefted himself up.
“But it wasn’t the Ursari. It was a group of gadje, and pretty important-looking ones at that. Seven mean-eyed warriors on horses were in the lead. Behind them walked an elephant carrying a man who was the most important one of all.
“Now, Danior recognized most of the horses and the elephant, too, because he had trained them. And who was the gadje on the elephant? It was none other than the desert king, who had a goldglittering wife and eleven pretty children.
“Danior raised his hands, asking the warriors for help. They stared straight ahead, like he didn’t exist. Then Danior begged the horses to help him. The horses, though, loved their masters like Danior trained em to. So the horses listened to their masters and ignored him.
“Then came the elephant. The desert king tilted back and forth on top, in a little house that was strapped onto the elephant’s back. Danior saw that one strap was loose and dangling down, and he reached for it.
“The desert king looked down, drew out his sword, and slashed it, cutting off every single finger on Danior’s hands.”
Petra gasped. “What happened then?”
“The elephant knew Danior for who he was, and she didn’t agree with the desert king’s treatment of him. So she reared up. She shook off the house and the wicked king with it. She reached out with her long nose and wrapped it around Danior. She ran off fast, faster than the horses and faster even than you, Pet. She took him to an oasis, where she lowered him into the water. She scooped up mud and patted it over Danior’s hands to stop the bleeding.
“The funny thing was, after his hands healed he discovered that the ghosts of his fingers were far better than his real ones. The ghosts were longer and dead quick. They could flash out and grab a desert hare by the ears. Danior hunted, and he learned to use his new fingers.
“But Danior had a score to settle with the wicked king. When he rode out of the oasis on his elephant, he headed straight for the capital city, where the white palace stood tall like a hard flower.
“That night, he snuck toward the palace. His invisible nails clicked open locked doors. Soon, he was in the nursery, looking at a row of princes and princesses snug in their beds.
“Danior was a fair man. He led away only ten of the wicked king’s children, one for every missing finger, and left behind one son. That prince grew up to hate the Roma for stealing his family, but he also hated them for not wanting him, too.
“When Danior reached the city gates, he loaded his new children into a big wagon, promising them kindness and freedom. He hitched the wagon to the elephant, and the great gray beast galloped over the sand.
“That’s how Danior began a new tribe of Roma called the Kalderash. They’re a secretive lot. Also too snobby for my taste. But that’s what comes from thinking your great-great-great-great-whatever-grandda was Danior of the Ursari, and that your relations were princes and princesses.”
“What did Danior do to the Ursari?”
“Do?”
“Well, they left him to die. He avenged himself against the wicked king. Didn’t he avenge himself against his tribe?”
Neel looked at her as if she had suggested the sky was orange. “You can’t avenge yourself against your own people.”
Petra saw what he meant. It was hard to say who had been crueler to Danior, the wicked king or the Ursari. But family is family, even if they abandon you in the desert.
“Are you a member of the Kalderash tribe?” Petra asked.
“Nope. The Lovari. We’re players—you know, we act and sing and juggle and fiddle and the like. But it sure doesn’t pay well.”
“You have magic skills.” She looked at him with respect. “And you’re so young.”
“I’m not. I’m older than you.”
Petra was skeptical. He was a few inches shorter than she was. “How old are you?”
“Well … I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
He shifted uncomfortably and began eating again. “Truth is, it’s not uncommon to have long fingers like I’ve got.”
Petra considered pressing him to explain why he didn’t know how old he was, but then it occurred to her that she also had things she didn’t want to share. Instead she said, “Really? Lots of Gypsies can do what you do?”
“Roma.”
“Sorry. Roma. Are they all long-fingered?”
“Nah, not all. But plenty. The Gift of Danior’s Fingers runs strong with the Kalderash, but it pops up everywhere in the Roma, cause of marrying across the tribes. It’s very useful for us Lovari, since I can pick a pocket or two whilst my cousins put on a puppet show. Though other people aren’t supposed to feel it when you use them. Which makes you”—his yellowy eyes narrowed—“right odd.”