THE SETTING SUN looked like a juicy orange, dripping color onto the mountainous island as the Pacolet sailed toward the Vatra. The shelves of limestone just beneath the waves created a natural defense around the island that caused unfriendly ships to crash and sink miles off the Vatra’s shores. The Pacolet’s captain, however, knew the secret dance to reach the island safely. The ship swerved left, bore right, and swooped around the cove.
“What if there is no place in the Vatra for me?” Astrophil murmured to Petra.
“What do you mean?” She gently lifted the spider from her ear so that she could face him as he stood on her raised palm. “You will always belong wherever I am.”
“Yes, but … what will be my role? When Prince Rodolfo stole your father’s eyes and you decided to retrieve them, my purpose was to keep you as safe as possible. When we were trapped in John Dee’s London house, I helped you analyze an air spirit’s cryptic prophecies. How can I aid you here? I cannot even do research for Master Kronos’s cure.” He added woefully, “The Roma do not like books. They will have no libraries.”
“They use writing for special occasions,” Petra pointed out. Dangling from a leather cord around her neck was a miniature iron horseshoe that Neel had had engraved in Romany. “Some of them can read and write, and maybe they do have books. They just don’t trust the written word. The Roma believe that it makes things seem permanent, when they’re not.”
“I know,” said the spider, but still looked glum.
“Astro, I’ll always want your advice, whether there are books or not.”
“Really? Even though you are now an adult? Perhaps you do not need me anymore.”
Sternly, she said, “That is the only absolutely brainless thing you’ve ever said.”
“Ah. Well. Very good.” He relaxed on her palm, leaning his shiny back legs against her curled fingers.
They heard the rattle and splash of the ship’s anchors being dropped and knew it was time to disembark with the crew, who began boarding small boats strapped to the Pacolet’s sides. Petra and Astrophil climbed into a launch with Tomik, Neel, Treb, and the globes, and watched the island grow larger as they rowed to shore. Through the twilight, Petra saw a palace etched into the island’s mountain. The cliffs were encrusted with man-made walls and terraces.
“Queen Iona is going to praise me to the pearly skies,” Treb said gleefully, patting the two chests that each contained a globe.
“Us,” said Neel. “Us to the skies.”
The launch’s hull scraped against the shore, and the passengers leaped into the shallow water. Dark, warm waves lapped against Petra’s calves as she helped push and then drag the launch onto the beach.
“Of course, Neel. Us.” Treb beckoned for another sailor to help him lift the trunks out of the bottom of the boat. They were heavy, for the globes were not made of merely wood and paper. Each globe had a large glass sphere hidden at its center. “Our gift’s going to let the Roma wander the world wide with a speed like we’ve never known, now that the globes can show us how to get through Loopholes,” he said, referring to hidden gaps in space that allowed someone to travel instantaneously between two places, even if they were thousands of miles apart. “The globes will go to the queen, but whatever she decides to do with them won’t be worth more than a fish bone since the Maraki will soon inherit the throne, and then the game changes.”
Petra glanced at Tomik. He didn’t care about Roma politics or the globes, she could tell. His smile was like a lit candle behind a screen that showed his thoughts clearly: he was thrilled to be here, for his own sake as well as Petra’s. In the Vatra he might be able to study his magical ability to manipulate glass, an opportunity he would never have in Bohemia. Their country boasted an excellent university for the practice of magical arts, but only students from high society were admitted to the Academy.
The crew plodded up the beach, some carrying the two chests, others holding Tomik’s colored lanterns high so that they could see their way to the foot of the cliffs. Cut into the rock were winding stairs that would lead them through the stone city and up to the palace.
After what felt like an eternity of steep steps, sweat oozed down Petra’s back and her feet ached. She was grateful when the rough stone stairs became smooth marble trimmed with coral tiles. She heard the sailors behind her lowering the two chests to the ground, and looked up to see the pillars of the Romany palace.
Someone was waiting for them: a man who stood like a thirsty flower, his body slender and his shoulders slightly stooped. He was framed by the palace entryway, which had no doors. Torches blazed inside the hall, transforming the entrance into a rectangle of red-gold light.
“I am Arun,” the man said. “Queen Iona’s chief adviser. You must be the Pacolet’s sailors.” His gaze flicked over them, pausing at Neel and then resting uncertainly on Petra and Tomik. “The Vatra has heard that two gadje sail with you. Bohemian, are they not? Prisoners, passengers, or crew?”
“Well, Tom’s a bit of the first and last,” said Treb. “For a while, we planned on selling him in Morocco, but then he became too valuable to part with. As for Petra…” He studied her. “She’s a passenger,” he concluded, but Petra had seen his features soften for a second, and suspected that he didn’t want to hurt her by telling the truth: she was a refugee.
Arun pointed to Astrophil, who clung to Petra’s shoulder. “And what, precisely, is that?”
“I am a spider,” Astrophil gravely replied.
Arun lifted one brow. “If you say so.” He turned again to Treb. “You are the Pacolet’s captain, I assume?”
“Well spotted,” said Treb. “Guess you couldn’t miss my air of authority. I’m a natural leader, like my brother. You know him, I’m sure: Tarn of the Maraki, heir to the Roma crown.”
An emotion flashed across Arun’s face, too quick for Petra to identify. “Tarn happens to be here in the Vatra, and”—Arun spoke over Treb’s noise of delighted surprise—“we are also well aware of the gifts you bring for your people.”
“That’s right,” Treb said proudly. “I suppose the queen would like to feast her eyes on the Mercator Globes.”
“All in good time. She has more important matters to attend to first. There is someone among you she needs to see right away. A youth. Perhaps you’ve left him on the ship, or down by the shore, but I think he’s here with you now.”