The Girl from Everywhere (The Girl from Everywhere #1)(77)

At sunrise, we sailed into Hana’uma Bay, escorted by a pod of dolphins, and we dropped anchor in the still, protected waters while they played tag between the hulls. Honolulu Harbor wasn’t an option; if we were inspected, I could not think of a single way to explain the silent terra-cotta warriors or the ancient junk to the harbor master, or to anyone else.

Hana’uma Bay was thankfully deserted. Someday Elvis Presley would stand there on the beach in the movie Blue Hawaii, but in 1884, the entire bay was still part of the estate of Princess Pauahi, and no one dared to swim or fish on the royal beach without permission. The water was pristine; peering over the rail, I could see the bright colors of the fish shimmering in the coral twenty feet down.

Slate had risen early in the morning with his disgusting coffee and a distracted air. “It’s going to be a long hike to Honolulu,” he said to me.

“Yeah.” I sighed, pushing away from the rail. I knew what was coming.

“I want you and Kashmir to make final preparations, so we can set a day to . . . to conclude the transaction.”

“Right.” I watched him blow the steam off his coffee. “Any preferences?”

“D and Kashmir can work the schedule out between them. Oh, and find a place to hide the treasure. Not on the beach like some cut-rate pirate story. The erosion will expose it too quickly.”

I licked my lips. Since my outburst in the tomb, I had been considering where we’d leave the gold. “I already know a place.”

“Really?”

“I promised to help, didn’t I?”

He nodded. “Okay. Good. The trip to Honolulu is twelve miles or so, and the terrain’s not easy. It may take you a whole day. Bring supplies, and enough money for lodging and so forth. You’ll need to stay in town until you hear from Mr. D.”

“Aye, Captain.” I started downstairs to make ready, but he called me back. “Yes?”

He was quiet for long enough I almost turned again to leave, but then he smiled at me. “You did good, Nixie.”

Something in my chest came loose like a knot slipping, and I smiled back, so wide it hurt. “Thanks, Dad.”

He leaned close, as though he were about to tell me a secret. “I always find—for me—knowing I have a . . . an escape . . . makes a situation less difficult. I am hoping, now you know you have an alternative, we might keep course together awhile longer.”

I regarded him for a moment, and the words formed and reformed themselves in my head, but I was too much of a coward to tell him what Joss had told me—that he would never reach 1868 with me aboard. “As long as we can, Captain,” I said finally.

He blinked at me. “Well. That’s more than I hoped for.” Then he grinned and came at me low, wrapping me up in a hug as he had back outside of Christie’s, before we’d come to this place. I locked my own arms around his neck, and I didn’t let go until after he did.



Slate himself rowed us to shore, beating the water vigorously with the oars, as though he were trying to best it. When we reached the beach and stepped out into the warm water and the soft, shell-studded sand, Slate saluted us before he pulled away.

“He’s in high spirits,” Kashmir said.

“He’s happy it’s nearly over.”

“Aren’t you happy, amira?” Kashmir said.

“Sure,” I said, and I tried to mean it. Slate was right; I had an alternative. I could set out on my own if I liked. This was what I’d always wanted . . . only now I understood the meaning behind the old curse, “May your every wish be granted.”

I pushed the thoughts from my mind as I rolled down the cuffs of my trousers. I’d eschewed a dress for our hike, and packed simply: a change of clothes, a handful of coins, and a letter that I’d written in private, in haste, and shoved in the bottom of my bag.

Hana’uma had been formed by a volcanic cone, and it was a long, steep climb up a winding trail from the beach to the lip of the crater. We walked in silence, the path too steep to speak easily, but we listened to birds serenade from the scraggly trees that shaded the path. At the top of the dead volcano, we stopped to rest and drink. Below us, the water lay like a sapphire cabochon in a partial capture of the shore, marred only by the ships like flaws on the stone.

I sighed, and Kash quirked up an eyebrow. “It’s so beautiful,” I said, in answer to his unspoken question.

“This?” Kashmir shrugged. “It reminds me of Bengal.”

“It’s unique,” I insisted.

“Unique like everything else you’ve ever seen.”

I took another mouthful of water to consider my response. Then I reached out to grab Kashmir’s arm. “Look!” I pointed at a small black bird sitting on a branch above our heads.

Kash stared dubiously. “Does it heal things?”

“Wait till it flies away,” I said. “There are yellow feathers under each wing. The Hawaiian chieftains used them to make their golden cloaks.”

The bird called out, and Kashmir cocked his head. “Pretty melody, at least.”

“Fifty years from now, the last one will sing his final song somewhere on Mauna Loa.”

“Ah.”

We watched the bird fly. “Doesn’t that make you sad?” I asked, exasperated.

“Why? It’s here now, amira.”