He didn’t want to think about his family and Petra. He knew the Stakans would worry and grieve. But he wasn’t dead, and he wasn’t in danger—none that he knew of, at least. Still, Tomik would imagine his family in tears, and Attie howling at the door, and a wave of guilt would overcome him.
So he avoided remembering the Sign of Fire. He also tried not to think about Petra, because just as Treb worried that the Pacolet was sailing toward her and not the globe, Tomik feared that the opposite was true.
Tomik pulled the horseshoe necklace from underneath his shirt and studied it. Neel seemed to have forgotten about it. This surprised Tomik, because it was obvious that the trinket meant something to him. Tomik didn’t guess that this was exactly why the other boy acted as if it didn’t exist.
He flipped the horseshoe over. In tiny letters, and in a formal tone that was unusual for Neel, the horseshoe said, This is Petali Kronos. Be kind to her, for she is bound by blood to Indraneel of the Lovari.
Tomik didn’t understand all of this, but he understood what mattered.
“Blood,” he muttered, with a fresh flare of jealousy. “That’s nothing compared to thirteen years.”
Tomik trusted his friendship with Petra like he trusted his lungs to breathe and his bones to bear the weight of his body. But reading the horseshoe made him feel like spoiling for a fight.
That was when Neel, who was feeling much the same way, slammed into Tomik’s shoulder as he strode across the deck.
Tomik’s chest hit the railing. He gasped in pain.
“’Scuse me,” said Neel sweetly, and kept walking.
“Guess I’m not surprised.” Tomik’s voice was quiet, but there was no wind, so it carried.
Neel turned to face him. “Say what you mean,” he said, switching from Czech to Romany. “If you can.”
“Walk away,” Tomik haltingly replied in Neel’s language. “Your gift.”
Neel stepped closer. “Speak more clearly, lambkin.”
“Bohemia—your fault.”
Neel laughed. “I’ve been blamed for many things, most of ’em true, but no one’s caught me ruining a whole country.”
Tomik shook his head.
“What happened in Bohemia is my fault?” Neel still had a smile on his face, but it was dangerous. “Which is what, exactly? Did your crops fail? Do you feel the need to blame some Gypsy for it? Or maybe you’re thinking of something a mite more personal? I know you can’t blame me for Petra, ’cause her getting attacked by the prince’s beasts happened on your watch, not mine. Wait—silly me, here I’m assuming that you have some kind of watch, that you might look out for her, since you’re supposed to be her friend. But I can’t help remembering that you were nowhere in Prague when she was alone and needed someone, and found me.”
Tomik shook his head again. He summoned all of his concentration to make what he had to say count, and cut deep. “No. Roma, on Loophole Beach. All Bohemia. That is your fault. Why prince lock up Roma? You stole. Prince search you. You are—you make mess. You walk away.”
The Maraki weren’t sure who threw the first punch, but no sooner had the words left Tomik’s mouth than he and Neel were a yelling, twisting mass of limbs.
Two hands reached in, grasped both boys by their hair, and yanked them apart.
“A nightmare, that’s what this is,” said Treb. “I keep thinking I have an extra purse of gold and a cousin with brains, and then I realize I’ve got this.” He shook the boys and they winced. “Neel, why are you more trouble when you actually get your way? This mess is your fault.”
“It isn’t!” he shouted, not realizing that Treb hadn’t heard the whole exchange between him and Tomik. Treb was referring to their fight, nothing more.
Treb released them, and they staggered.
“Go to the crow’s nest, both of you,” he said. “You can yowl at each other all you like up there.”
“Treb!” Neel protested.
“Don’t whine at me, coz. I know you can’t stand him. I can’t stand him. But if you won’t learn how to hate and be silent about it, then shimmy on up there and get it out of your system and out of my way!”
Tomik didn’t understand this conversation. The Romany words were said too quickly. But he couldn’t miss what was expected when Treb hauled him up by his shoulders and set him on the ratlines, the ladderlike structure made from ropes that stretched from the deck to the top of the mainmast.
Treb pointed to the sky. “Up.”
“Maybe he’ll fall,” Neel said hopefully.
Treb reached for him.
“Don’t get grabby with me!” Neel leaped for the bottom rung of the ratlines. “I’m going!” He swung himself up and began to mount the ropes, passing Tomik.
Every day on the Pacolet, Tomik had seen sailors climb the ratlines to reach the sails on each of the two masts. The sails were square-shaped, and grew smaller as they neared the top. Neel passed the course sail. He looked back. “Careful!” he called. “Or you’ll go splat and dead!”
Tomik decided that he didn’t like heights.
The rope creaked beneath his hands and feet. He followed Neel, and began to climb along the topsail. The rocking of the boat grew more violent the higher he went, and the crow’s nest still looked like a brown speck he would never reach.
Tomik squeezed the rough rope until it began to blister his palms. His right leg shook with the strain of his fear. The deck was far below. He froze.
Neel clambered inside the crow’s nest and looked down. “I spy a coward!”
Tomik lunged ahead. His foot slipped, sending his leg into space. The rope snagged the back of his knee. Tomik straightened, caught his breath, and continued to climb. The ratlines angled closer to the mast now, and he climbed past the topgallant sail.
Tomik hauled himself into the crow’s nest, which was little more than an open wooden barrel, and he collapsed on the floor.
Neel was lounging—as much as the small space would let him. The crow’s nest tilted back and forth. “Remember,” he said, “we still got to go back down.”
Tomik glared.
“It gets easier,” Neel said, his voice losing its mocking edge. “A fellow can get used to anything.”
Tomik stood up and leaned over the edge of the barrel. The deck below looked like a slipper. The horizon was a hazy line. His pulse was just beginning to slow when a seagull flew by and dropped a white-green glob on his head.