Free The Celestial Globe: The Kronos Chronicles: Book II by Marie Rutkoski Page B

pile of sand. Sitting up straight, he emptied his pockets and felt more grains sifting down onto the pile. It wasn’t much, but it would have to be enough. Andras had said they would reach Sallay tomorrow.
    Tomik pressed the sand under his hands. He wasn’t sure if this would work. He had no fire. But, then again, he did have the heat of his will.
    T HE MORNING BEGAN with an argument. Two sailors were yelling at another one. Finally, Treb stepped in, pushing the three apart.
    “They’re fighting over you,” said a voice at Tomik’s side. It was the boy from the beach, the one who spoke Czech so well. “Klara and Brishen just refused to be part of the group taking you to the slave market. Seems to offend their delicate natures.”
    Tomik shrugged. “People don’t like slaughtering livestock, but they’ll eat the meat.”
    “You ain’t the first to make a comparison like that, little lamb.”
    “Stop using nicknames. It’s just something you do so you can forget I’m a human being.”
    “Why no, Pinky. I call things as I see them. Anyway, you never did tell me your name.”
    “Like you care,” Tomik scoffed. He walked to the railing of the ship and looked out. He was transfixed by what he saw.
    The boy went to stand next to him. “Oh. Sallay.”
    The sea was bursting against the rocks around the harbor. The port bristled with ships, and their masts thrust into the sky like a forest of tall trees. “There are so many boats,” Tomik murmured.
    “Plenty of rigs,” the Gypsy agreed. “You got every kind of ship in that port: carracks, caravels, galleons, pinks, junks, snows, lateens—”
    “Are all the sailors on those ships like you?”
    “What d’you mean? You mean, are they all Roma? Nah. But most of us who dock in Sallay are trying to see where we can pick up extra gold on the waves.”
    “Pirates.”
    “Not many sailors like that word, and those who own up to it . . . well, you don’t want to meet
them
. The ones who stop lying to themselves are the real danger.” The boy worriedly rubbed his forehead. “Look, I’m not jumping for joy at the thought of selling you. It’s not the way I think things should be. But Treb’s our captain, and it’s his call. Doesn’t mean he lacks a heart, though. Him and me have got business to attend to in the city, but before we do that we’ll make sure to find you a good home. We won’t set you up on the auction block. We’ll ask around, see where the slaves are happy. I’ll sort it out with Treb. He owes me.”
    Tomik made no reply.
    “And I’m sorry,” the Gypsy muttered. “For whatever it’s worth.”
    “Not much,” said Tomik.
    T HE
GADJE
WAS QUIET as the small group of Maraki walked along the dock. His hands were bound behind his back with a cord of stout rope. Treb had tied the knots himself, since Andras had given him a dark look when asked. The sailors made their way into the market, which sprang up just beyond the docks that brought so much trade.
    If you could name it, you could buy it here: camels, indigo, American corn, eastern jade, weaponry, spices—and people.
    Neel had been to North Africa before, but never to a city that hummed with so much life, with scents that he wanted to bury his face in, and wares that were so tempting. He was just thinking about stealing some fruit when Tas shouted, “He’s gone! The
gadje
disappeared!”
    The sailors halted.
    “What do you mean, he
disappeared
?” Treb bellowed. The Maraki scanned their surroundings. The Bohemian had vanished. “You were supposed to be watching
him
, not the Persian silver and the Moroccan ladies, you lackwits!”
    “But he was tied up!”
    “Nope.” Neel bent to pick up the frayed rope. “He sawed through it.”
    “With
what
?” Treb raged. “His fingernails? One of you slipped him a knife, you sad, worthless, pathetic lot of guppies!”
    Neel examined the rope. There was blood on it. Ignoring the Maraki as they traded blame, he scanned the ground and saw a