“So the New World really exists, then? America’s not just a myth?”
“Oh, it’s there all right. Haven’t seen those lands with my own eyes. But just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it ain’t there.”
Tomik glanced at him. “You’ve got some kind of magic, don’t you? You were choking me. I couldn’t feel any hands on my neck, but I could barely breathe. And when we were fighting, I couldn’t break away.”
“How much did Petra tell you about me?”
“I know you’re an expert thief,” Tomik said with disdain, “and that you’re great at picking locks. You helped Petra break into the Cabinet of Wonders so you could raid it for gold and jewels. Other than that, Petra hasn’t said much about you.”
“Well, all I know about you is that you weren’t there with her in Prague.”
Tomik pressed his lips together.
“And that you’ve got a gift for glass,” Neel added reluctantly, “that kind of saved our hides in Salamander Castle.”
Tomik flicked a hand, as if tossing Neel’s words away. “And you—do you possess some kind of mind control? Is that why I couldn’t continue punching your face in? Because, in a fair fight—”
“Says the gadje with the knife to the unarmed man! If I could order minds around I’d lie to mine and forget I ever had any interest in saving your snobby self from a lifetime of cleaning Moroccan privies!”
“Sorry,” Tomik muttered.
Neel rolled his eyes. “Sure you are. The only thing you’re sorry about is that I got invisible hands that can knock you flat. Well, your fate’s a sad one, but you’d better learn to live with it. Yeah, I got a gift, one only those with Roma blood inherit. It’s called Danior’s Fingers. I can steal a purse with no one feeling a thing. And you couldn’t do my ghost hands any harm, so don’t even think about it. Even if you’d slashed the air with that shiny knife of yours, you wouldn’t have been able to chop off one invisible pinkie. And the more I concentrate, the farther my ghost hands stretch. I work at it. Gets easier as I get older.”
“I’m an adult,” Tomik said. “Are you of age?”
“More or less. Listen, fall back with me a bit. Let the Maraki walk ahead of us.”
Curious, Tomik slowed his pace. The gap between them and the backs of Treb and the others widened. Goats milled around the boys’ legs, braying and baaing.
Neel’s voice dropped. “Their Czech’s not great, but Treb speaks it decently. I don’t want them to listen in on this.”
“‘This’ what?”
“This secret. A plan.”
“I’m not sure why you picked me to be your confidant, but if you’re so concerned about privacy, should we really talk around him?” Tomik nodded at the shabbily cloaked goatherd who walked close by.
Neel snorted. “The chances that fellow speaks Czech are slimmer than a starved snake. We’re in Sallay. He’s a goatherd. Your country is the size of a bug on the map of Europe. Think a little.” Neel tapped his head. “I’m just worried about them.” He nodded at the sailors’ retreating backs.
Tomik shrugged. “It’s your secret.”
“Look, it ain’t necessary for us to like each other.”
“Good.”
“But you’re Petra’s friend.”
“Since the day she was born.”
“Do you think she’s dead?”
The expression on Tomik’s face was that of somebody facing a question he had done everything in his power not to consider. He remembered how the light of the Glowstone had vanished on the beach. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
“But if you knew she was alive,” Neel pressed, “what would you do to find her?”
“Anything.”
“Would you help me track her down?”
“Help you?”
“No need to sound all cowardly,” Neel said with scorn. “The risk’d be nothing to you.”
“Is your Czech so bad that you have problems with the translation of ‘anything’? If the fact that I’m stuck in Morocco with a band of Sea-Gypsies and a herd of stinking goats”—he pushed away one that was chewing on his shirt—“isn’t proof enough that I’d do whatever it takes to make sure Petra’s safe, I don’t know what else would convince you. I’m just . . . confused. I mean, what do you care? You and Petra were partners in high-risk crime, but you helped her because there was something in it for you. Petra’s said that you’re a friend. But what was she to you but a golden opportunity?”
“She sure was. Maybe not the way you think, though.”
Tomik’s eyes measured Neel. “All right. What can I do to help find her?”
“Have you ever heard of the Mercator Globes?”
Behind them, the hooded head of the goatherd raised a little. Neither boy noticed.
“No,” Tomik said, bewildered. “What does that have to do with—”
“The Loopholes. Remember the Loopholes? How I said they were all over the world? Gerard Mercator was Flemish: a gadje, but a real savvy one. When he discovered that there were ways to leap from a river to a mountain, from one country to the next, he decided that the knowledge of where all the Loopholes are, where they lead, and how to wiggle through them would be more valuable than any price he could name. He spent his life traveling until he was rimed with sea salt and his skin was as brown as a walnut. And he must’ve had a magic way to him, for he crafted two round maps with the power to guide anyone through hundreds of Loopholes: the Terrestrial Globe and the Celestial Globe. From what we know about Mercator, he was a jealous, grasping sort of fellow, and he didn’t want anyone to navigate the Loopholes unless they went to him first. Course, there were plenty of folk who would have been pleased to swipe that power out from under his nose, but Mercator was a step ahead of them. You know how it’s a bad idea to keep all your gold in one place? Well, that’s why Mercator made two globes, and why you’ve got to have both to make them work properly. The globes aren’t small, and it’s harder to steal two hefty things than one, so at least Mercator knew that even if someone managed to steal just a single globe from him, that thief would still have no luck with the Loopholes.”