The Girl from Everywhere (The Girl from Everywhere #1)(35)

“Captain?” I said, and he startled. I took a breath, trying to sound firm. “The answer will be no, right?”

Slate blinked, slowly, as if he’d been dreaming. “I can’t answer that until I see the map.”

I stared at him. “We’re not going to steal that money. We can’t participate in this.”

“We’ll do what we have to.” Slate pushed off from the rail and walked toward his cabin.

“You may,” I said, calling after him. “Leave me out of this one.”

He stopped in his tracks and then swiveled slowly on his heel. “Did you forget our conversation last night? I told you, Nixie, I need your help.”

I met his eyes dead on. “Not as much as you need Kashmir’s.”

Slate stared at me, his face turning red, before going to his cabin and slamming the door.

I slid down against the bulwark and stared up at the clouds, pulling the pearl of my necklace back and forth along the chain.

“What does he need my help for, amira?” Kash was peering at me over the lip of my hammock. “What did the fine gentleman want?”

I sighed. “The contents of the treasury.”

“Khodaye man!” His eyes were round as coins. “What did the captain say? No, that’s a silly question. Of course he said yes.”

“Technically he’s still thinking about it,” I said. “We’re supposed to take a look at the map at some party next week.”

“How much money is it?”

“In the treasury? Nine hundred thousand dollars.”

He whistled low. “In all my life I haven’t stolen a tenth so much.”

I looked sideways at him. “There’s no reason to sound happy about it.”

“I shouldn’t take pride in my work?”

“Not when it’s wrong.”

“Robbing a king?” He gave me a crooked smile. “Even I’ve read Robin Hood.”

“The treasury doesn’t belong to the king, it belongs to the people.”

“I’ve tried that one before. It didn’t work. If you can get arrested for taking something, it’s not yours.”

“That’s what I’m saying. It’s wrong.”

“It’s illegal,” he corrected. “There are a lot of things that are illegal but not wrong. And probably more that are wrong, and still legal.”

“There has to be a line, Kashmir,” I said angrily. “A person can’t do just anything for love.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I would.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a thief. Your relative morality is already suspect.”

“Ah,” he said then, standing. “Well. I’ll leave the morality for those that like the taste of it. I always preferred bread.”

“Kashmir, wait!” But he didn’t. Instead he slipped down through the hatch. I waited to hear him slam his cabin door, but he did not oblige.

Left alone with my frustration, I went through my chores with a distracted energy, sweeping the deck, feeding the sky herring, even filling the big copper vat with water and tossing in one of the fire salamanders, followed by my dirty laundry. After the water was good and hot, I plucked the little creature out with a pair of bamboo tongs; his flat-mouthed expression was one of mild offense.

By the time I was hanging my clothes out to dry, I was calm enough to feel ashamed. Kashmir wasn’t the one I was mad at. I hung my last shirt on the line and went downstairs to knock on his door.

“Come.”

I opened the door a crack and peeked in. He was lying there on his back in the pile of ratty silk pillows he used for a bed, reading. He didn’t look up from his book.

I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry about calling you a thief.”

“Don’t be,” he said quietly, turning a page delicately with his finger. “It’s the truth, after all.”

“Only part of it. And not the most important part.”

“Well.” Then he put his book on his chest and smiled up at me, waggling his eyebrows. “What is the most important part?”

I kicked a pillow at him; he caught it. “Save it for the next time we’re at Commissioner’s,” he said, throwing it back at my head.

I sprawled down on one of the bigger cushions, sending up a puff of air. “Speaking of shore leave, there’s a ball coming up and I’ll need a handsome date. But you’ll have to do.”

“Only if I can wear my steel-toed shoes.” He arched one brow. “I’ve seen how you dance. So. You’re going after all?”

I frowned. “I need to take a look at the map. If it’s fake, the whole issue is moot.”

He propped himself up on one elbow. The book fell away from his hands, open on the pillows. “What if it’s not?”

I had no answer, so I picked up the book and closed it. It was well worn, with large print, the bright colors starting to fade. A version for children, like most of the books he owned. “The Jungle Book?”

“One of my favorites. I used to feel like Mowgli.”

“Feral?” I said pointedly.

His face stayed serious. “The laws of the jungle remind me of the laws of the street. When I came aboard, I had to learn a different set of laws. Everywhere we go there is a different set of laws. Most of them unwritten.”