“Look.” Petra reached into the net, pulled forth a corked bottle, and shook it. Something rattled. “What do you think is inside?”
Neel snatched the bottle from her and tossed it overboard.
“What’d you do that for?” she protested.
“We’re in the Arabian Sea,” he said. “Look to the east and you’ll find India. But Persia’s in the west, and folk there are always trapping nasty spirits in bottles and tossing them into the waves. You already managed to summon an air spirit back in England, and that was a mite too scary. You want to unleash a bottled-up fire spirit, too? Fine. But not around me.”
Tomik rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you believe those silly Persian fairy tales.”
“Tales have got to have some truth, else why would people tell ’em?”
“What about the Vatra?” asked Petra. “Are there Romany stories about that?”
“Of course,” said Neel with such a satisfied smile that Petra suspected he had only tossed the bottle in the sea to make her ask that very question. “Long ago, there were only three Roma tribes: the Lovari, Maraki, and Ursari. The Lovari danced and sang. The Maraki built swift ships and roved the waves. The Ursari had an uncanny way with animals: horses and hares, camels and cats, dogs and—”
“Elephants?” This was starting to sound familiar to Petra.
“Them, too,” said Neel. “And there happened to be an Ursari named Danior, who was as keen-eyed and handsome as a hawk. He—”
“I know this story,” Petra interrupted. On the first day she had met him, Neel had told her about Danior, who had the same magical talent as he.
“Well, don’t you know everything,” said Neel. “Guess I’d better not breathe another word.”
But the story was new to Tomik, who pressed Neel to continue.
Petra listened as Danior was cast out by the Ursari and left to die in the desert. A cruel desert king sliced off every one of Danior’s fingers and, even as the blood dried, Danior discovered that his dead fingers had become magic ghosts. They were longer, stronger, and quicker than any human fingers could be. Danior rode his loyal elephant into the king’s city with vengeance on his mind.
Neel said, “Danior hatched a plan, and had something to do before he could take revenge on the king. He strode into a merchant’s shop and offered to swap his one valuable possession, a jewel that shone like a star on his right ear.”
“You never told me that,” said Petra. “About the jewel.”
“What’s the fun in telling the same tale twice? Every story’s got to change, or it dies.” Neel frowned. “Interruptions aren’t great for its health, either.”
Petra stayed silent as Neel resumed his story. “Danior wanted a large wagon like a house on wheels. The merchant asked to inspect the jewel, so Danior suggested that the merchant’s pretty daughter take it out of his ear. ‘I can’t rightly do it myself,’ he said with a grin. The girl passed the earring to her da, who agreed to Danior’s trade as soon as he clapped eyes on the jewel.
“That night, Danior used his ghost fingers to pick every lock in the wicked king’s palace. He stole ten of the king’s children and led them to the wagon he had hitched to his elephant. But Danior had a surprise waiting for him. For who was in the wagon but the merchant’s daughter, with the jewel in her hand? A touch of Danior’s ear and she was mad for him, and swore to go where he would go.
“With his new wife and children, Danior founded the fourth Roma tribe, the Kalderash. You might guess that a kidnapper wouldn’t be kind or wise, but Danior was a good father, husband, and leader. He had the idea of binding all the Roma tribes together by creating a homeland. With the help of the other tribe leaders, he built the Vatra and became its first king.”
“In London, you told us that the Romany queen is a Kalderash,” said Tomik. “Why do the other tribes let the Kalderash rule all the time?”
“They don’t,” said Treb, who had appeared behind them. He picked up one of the shrimp squirming on the deck and popped it into his mouth, tail and all. “We rotate.”
“The leader of each tribe gets to rule for four years,” explained Neel. “Queen Iona’s got about two years left.”
“Unless she dies first,” Treb said, chewing. “Which is likely, from what I’ve heard.”
“Her husband’s dead and she’s got no kids,” said Neel. “She refuses to name an heir, so if she croaks now there’ll be no Kalderash to take over, and the next tribe will get two years plus the usual four.”
“Which tribe is next in line?” asked Tomik.
“The Maraki,” said Treb.
There was a glint in the captain’s eye that made Petra gasp. “Not you?”
“King Treb!” Neel snickered. “Oh, I can’t breathe, that’s too funny.”
“I’d make a fine king,” Treb growled.
“Treb’s older brother will take over,” said Neel, still giggling.
“It’s no laughing matter. The Maraki have been waiting years for this, and we’ve got plans.”
“It’s a shame, though.” Neel caught Treb’s furious glance. “Not that the Maraki will rule, but that no one knows who’ll speak for the Kalderash after Queen Iona keels over.”
“True,” said Treb. “She is a direct descendant of Danior, and the line’s been unbroken for hundreds of years.”
“And you”—Neel wagged his finger at Tomik—“who’s so sure there are no facts in fairy tales, just wait until you meet the queen.”
“Which won’t happen,” said Treb. “Not one of you is important enough to rate an audience with the queen. I, on the other hand—”
Neel ignored his cousin. “I’ve never met the grand lady myself, but word has it that she wears Danior’s earring. The very same one of the legend. They call it the Jewel of the Kalderash.”
“How close are we to the Vatra?” Petra suddenly asked, staring straight off the ship’s prow.
The others turned, and saw the green, scribbled outline of an island.
“Why, very close,” said Treb. “Very close, indeed.”
3
The Queen’s Command