The Girl from Everywhere (The Girl from Everywhere #1)(71)

“Is it poisonous?” Bee whispered, staring down at the silvery pool five feet below her. Her voice echoed oddly in the tomb.

“I . . . I don’t know. Qin believed it was an elixir, but—never mind,” I said. “Just let me . . .” I half-turned toward the hatch as the thought occurred, and even that slight motion made the ship slip sideways. Rotgut’s scream echoed in the tomb.

“Kashmir?”

“Amira?”

“The bag.”

“What bag?”

“The bag on the nail, the one I use to bail the bilge. Can you go down and empty it?”

He didn’t bother answering; he unclipped his jack line and moved along the rail, hand over hand, until he was in line with the hatch. Then he let go and slid down, catching the opening with his fingertips and swinging inside. Rotgut screamed again as he slid another foot down the wall.

We waited on deck, keeping our positions as though a gorgon had flown through. My palms were slick on the wheel, but I did not adjust my hands. I did not move a muscle but to tighten my grip until my arms shook. Rotgut sighed then, and after what felt like an eon, the ship began to tilt back aright.

As soon as I could let go of the wheel, I scrambled over to the mast. Slate was already loosening the halyard. I shimmied up toward Rotgut, slowly at first, but the ship was more and more stable. I grimaced as I came eye to eye with the side of his shin; it had been skinned from knee to ankle, and blood dripped down his leg and off his toes. He screwed his face into the semblance of a smile.

“It’s not broken. Looks worse than it is.” He wiggled his toes and then hissed through his teeth. “But it feels worse than it looks.”

The crow’s nest was smashed, but the pulley below it was intact. I clipped Rotgut’s harness to the halyard, and Bee and Slate lowered him to the deck. I climbed down after him, and by the time I’d arrived, Slate was using his shirt to staunch the blood. He looked up at me. “It’s like road rash.”

“You know I’ve never ridden a bike.” I wrinkled my nose at the sight of the wound; when daubed clear of blood, the scrape was the pale pink of the bottom of a rose petal. “There’s a first-aid kit in the cupboard under the desk.”

Slate put Rotgut’s arm around his shoulders and helped him stagger to his feet. “Come on. I’ve got some painkillers.” Rotgut laughed, and I made a face as they hobbled off toward the map room.

I found Kashmir downstairs, sluicing water from his bare arms. I picked up his shirt—he’d tossed it in a wet linen puddle on the floor—and wrung it out into the open hatch of the bilge. “Good job,” I said to him, tossing him the shirt.

“Quick thinking,” he replied, clapping me on the shoulder. Then he smelled his shirt and wrinkled his nose. “I think there was a dead whale in that bag. A small one, but still.”

I laughed. “Change, then. I know you have plenty of clothes.”

I went into my own cabin then, to get Joss’s map, but I stopped when I stepped in a puddle. The porthole was shut—the water had come from Swag’s bucket, upended on the floor by the starboard side. I grabbed it and swore; the little dragon was nowhere to be seen. I pawed through my things, but he wasn’t under my quilt or in my jewelry box.

My hands stilled, and I chewed the inside of my cheek. There was nothing else I could do. He knew where the pearls were when he wanted to come back. I threw a couple of dresses over the puddle to soak up the water and grabbed the map case, slinging it over my shoulder.

I joined the others back above deck. When I saw Kashmir, I shook my head, impressed. I was still bedraggled from the rain during our journey, but he’d even combed his hair.

I stood beside him at the rail. The air was chilly in the tomb, and it soaked into my wet clothes and curled next to my skin. Together, we peered into the dim gloom. Waves from our sudden appearance still rippled against the sculpted shore to portside, the representation of the coast of China, where the emperor rested in the central place of honor. His servants would be elsewhere.

All except one. His favorite.

“It’s very quiet,” Kashmir said.

“It is.” The sound of the water, the ship, our voices, all were swallowed by the darkness, and nothing came back out of it. Beyond the circle of light from the ship, there was no sign of life. The only movement here was our own.

Kash sighed and shrugged one shoulder. “Better than the alternative, I suppose.”

My head was still light from the thrill—or from exhaustion—but I could still clearly recall the map I’d used to bring us here. “The terra-cotta armies would be in a side chamber,” I said, crossing carefully to the bow. The sea of mercury was bordered by the stone wall; was that deep shadow halfway down its length a doorway? “We’ll need to row over there.”

Together with Kashmir, Slate and I stared at the dinghy.

“It’ll tip without ballast,” Slate said.

“I know.” I wrinkled my nose. “It won’t be pleasant rowing in a tub of bilge water.”

“Tell me about it,” Kash said, shaking back his wet curls. “The bag is empty anyway. You don’t have a magic pocket full of lead, do you?”

“This might be the only time you’ll find me regretting giving up that aboriginal water toad.” I folded my arms and sighed, trying to think. “We need something very heavy.”