The Jewel of the Kalderash

by Marie Rutkoski

  The head cook was a Lovari, and she trembled to see him enter. The king was younger than most Roma rulers, which would have made some people fear him less. But the cook’s experience told her that youth could be unpredictable, and savage in its vengeance.

  “Please, Your Majesty,” she said, “it wasn’t me. I didn’t touch your food.” She began to babble. “I mean, of course I touched it. Don’t think I’d leave the preparation of the king’s food to underlings! I cooked your meal with these very hands. But I didn’t poison it. I tasted it myself.” A sudden thought made her clap a hand to her mouth. “Not that I was eating your food! I was just tasting it from time to time to make sure it had enough salt and spice.” Her eyes widened. “Not that your food was germy! I am a clean woman. Never a sick day in my life. And I cleaned the spoon each time before I dipped it in for a taste.”

  Neel winced. “I don’t believe this.”

  “All right,” the woman said miserably, “that was a lie, about the spoon. I didn’t wash it each time. But it started out clean, I swear.”

  “No, I mean I don’t believe you think I came down here to accuse you of trying to kill me. Why would you? You’re Lovari. The Lovari are about the only Roma happy to see me on the throne.”

  “Well … not all of them. Some of them think you’re a turncoat. You know, because your blood’s Kalderash.” She gasped, then added, “Not that I think you’re a traitor to your tribe!”

  Neel fought a smile. “Course not. Even if you did, even if you wanted me trundling off to the cemetery in a one-way wagon, I don’t think you’d try to kill me in a way so easily traced back to you—unless you wanted to be caught, or were kind of dumb.”

  “To tell the truth”—the cook lowered her voice—“I never was very smart.”

  “You’re honest,” Neel corrected. “Maybe you’re playacting, but my guess is you’re just calling things as you see ’em, and a killer wouldn’t go out of her way to give me more reasons to say she’s guilty.”

  “You’re right!” said the cook. “You see? I couldn’t have done it.”

  Neel smiled. “That’s what I thought. Now, tell me the path the food took from here to the ballroom.”

  The cook swore with professional pride that she had brought the king’s dishes to the ballroom herself, on the most fancy silver platter in the palace. “When I set it on the table, you were dancing with a girl. Karim was watching you. The other tribe leaders were at the table, and your ma, too.”

  Neel nodded. “Anyone else hovering around?”

  “Your advisers, of course. Arun and Gita—and then Karim threaded his way through the crowd, looking disgusted and like he was bursting to tell them something.”

  So Karim hadn’t liked him dancing with Nadia. No surprise there, but it wasn’t Neel’s greatest concern. “Thanks,” Neel told the cook, and would have left, but she begged that he stay until she had roasted some sugared almonds for him. Then she said he was too skinny to fill himself up on treats, and he had better sit until she’d fried some fish with her special saffron sauce. Neel let her stuff him with food until his stomach was heavy, and listened to her complain about the Roma rulers she’d seen come and go in her time. “And I’m old. Guess how old. I’ll tell you: I’m fifty and sixteen, which is a nicer, younger-sounding way of saying I’m sixty-six, don’t you think? I’ve cooked for many a king and queen, and it’s always the same. Every ruler pushes for his own tribe. If it’s an Ursari on the throne, you can bet the Vatra will be teeming with animals, and horse manure up to your eyes. If it’s a Kalderash, we learn that the palace needs new wings and a star-gazing tower or some such, because the Kalderash like to build things. I suppose it can’t be helped. It’s the way we rotate who rules. If you’ve spent twelve years watching three other tribes heap up goodies for themselves, when it comes your turn you got to do the same.” She piled more food on Neel’s plate, and asked, “So what are you going to do for your people?”

  Neel swallowed a mouthful of fish and mumbled something. He didn’t want to think about her question. He could only think of one thing, and that was the six names of the people who had had an opportunity to poison his food: Tarn, Jasmine, Shaida, Arun, Gita, and Karim.

  And his mother, too. But he refused to consider that.

  * * *

  NIGHT HAD FALLEN, and Neel was holed up in his sitting room, reading a book he had taken from the library. It was hard work moving from each printed word to the next, but every time he turned a page he was surprised by how the sound of it—that quiet rasp and rustle of paper—pleased him. He was reading a book of Lovari tales. He had been sure he’d know them all, but there was one he didn’t: the story of how the butterfly came to be. He paused and smoothed a finger over the last line on the last page. He touched the dot that marked the end of the sentence. A period. That’s what Nadia had called it. “That’s how you know when to stop,” she’d said. “To take a breath and think, or stop reading altogether.”

  A shivery feeling stole over him, and Neel eagerly shut the book. Petra’s voice rang in his head like a bell. The plans have changed, she said.

  There was a taut quality to her words. She sounded determined, but shaken, and if Neel didn’t know any better he’d say she was close to tears.

  He had hoped to ease his buried fear of another attempt to kill him by discussing it with Petra. Now he set thoughts of that aside. He asked, What’s wrong?

  She told him about the destruction of the Academy. We’re in Prague now. It’s dusk, and the carriage is going over Karlov Bridge. Once we get to the Decembers’ house, I don’t know what will happen.

  The sound of Petra’s voice, so close, made her seem far away. I remember that bridge, Neel said. We walked on it once. He pulled the Romany coin she’d given him from his pocket and tilted it until it caught the candlelight. He wished he had something to give her. That was the day we met. And you know what I thought of you?

  The question seemed to surprise her. It made her pause, anyway, and when she spoke there was a thin thread of humor in her words. I’m afraid to ask.

  That you were smart, and sweet-hearted. Neel felt nervous for some reason. He lightened his tone. Course, I didn’t know you so well then.

  Your opinion of me has changed, I gather.

  Neel imagined the look she would be giving him, were she here. There would be an arch slant to her eyes. She wouldn’t smile, but she’d be ready to. And he would say something funny, like he always did.

  Yet he didn’t this time. Maybe I see you differently. Yes, I do. You’ve always shown me a warm heart and a quick mind. But I didn’t realize, that day on the bridge, what kind of friend I’d made. He held the closed book with both hands and considered how to comfort Petra, because he felt that comfort was what she needed. It occurred to him that the truth might be the best thing he could give her. How could I know then what I do now? That you’ve got a light inside you that’s true and clear. Like the North Star. Even when there’s a storm, that star’s shining under all those dangerous clouds. What I’m saying is this: I think you feel a little lost now, but you’ll find your way.

  I hope so.

  I know so.

  There was a short silence that tasted of distraction, and Petra’s attention seemed pulled somewhere else. Abruptly, she said, We’re here.

  Wait.

  Yes?

  Petra … my sis is still in Prague. I sent for her, but she hasn’t come and there’s no sign she’s skipped town. I … Neel fiddled with the frayed bookmark. I’m worried. If you can, stop by the Riven brothers’ silk stall near Staro Square. They’ll know how to reach her. Tell her to come home. Will you? Please.

  Her answer was soft. I will, Neel. I promise.

  Then she was gone.

  Neel’s mind echoed with her absence. He thought of all the things he hadn’t said, and the things he should have said better. He groaned.

  “Your Majesty?” Gita was standing in front of him. Neel had no idea how long she had been there, wat
ching him stare into space. He hadn’t even heard her enter. “Someone has arrived in the Vatra. A gadje.”

  “What?” There were few outsiders in the world who knew of the Vatra’s existence, and only two knew how to get there: Petra and Tomik.

  “He wants to see you. He says his name is John Dee.”

  27

  The Queen’s Offer

  “HOW GOOD OF YOU to see me immediately,” John Dee said when he stepped into the Vatran throne room. Neel sat calmly as Dee approached, though his fingers were sweaty as they gripped the golden scepter. Dee lifted his foxy face and pinned Neel with a sharp brown gaze. Then Dee’s eyes ranged around the room and acknowledged the many guards with a small smile. “I’m flattered to see how wary you are, Your Majesty, of one unarmed man. And yet you have chosen to meet me without your advisers, or other tribe leaders. Intriguing.” Dee sat in the chair at the foot of Neel’s throne.

  “How did you get here?” Neel asked.

  “Ah. I wondered whether ‘how’ or ‘why’ would be your first question.”

  “Answer it. You’re on my turf, Dee, and I can toss you into prison for the rest of your creepy life.”

  Dee leaned back in his chair. “You have met my daughters.”

  “Madinia and Margaret. Nosy, noisy things. What have they got to do with…?” The significance of Dee’s suggestion registered with Neel as he remembered the girls’ magical powers. “No. They can’t have made a Loophole to here. Madinia can only open a Loophole to a place she’s already been to, and if she’s been to the Vatra—if someone brought your daughter here—that someone’s going to pay.”

  “My daughters once visited India with me. They are well-traveled girls. It was little trouble to pass through a Loophole to the Manvadar palace in the western region of India, and to then travel to the Vatra by more ordinary means. As you see”—Dee spread his hands—“here I am. Now, King Indraneel, there is no need to try to wipe the anger from your face, or even to feel any. I hope you will see my presence here as a good thing for your people. As for the existence and location of the Vatra, that has been known to me for longer than you have been alive. If you truly want to ‘make someone pay’ for revealing it to me, I wish you good luck in punishing an air spirit.”

  “Ariel.” Neel had met the creature before, when it had nearly killed him.

  “Before I released Ariel from my service, it gave me many useful secrets. Ariel is made of air, after all, and little can be hidden from the wind.” Dee rested a palm against his bearded cheek as he studied Neel. “That you would take the Romany throne, however, was something I couldn’t have known, or guessed. But it is a nice surprise.”

  Neel’s mind stretched for Petra’s, but she wasn’t there. She could give him no advice for how to deal with the man who had once been her captor. Neel looked back at Dee, who tapped his long-nailed fingers against the side of his face as if listening to music no one else could hear. “Why are you here?” Neel asked.

  “Delightful. Now we have come to the why of things, which I always enjoy much more than the how. I have come to make an offer on behalf of my queen.”

  Neel blinked. Why would Queen Elizabeth of England have any interest in the Vatra, or him? “What is she offering?”

  “Me.”

  “You?”

  “Queen Elizabeth offers me as the English ambassador to the Romany kingdom. You are welcome to choose an ambassador from your people to send to England, in return.”

  There was a murmur from the startled guards.

  “We don’t have ambassadors,” Neel said flatly. “We don’t take ’em, we don’t make ’em, we don’t send ’em.”

  “Yes, because the Roma have long thought that keeping the Vatra secret would protect its people. And has it? Has hiding protected the Roma from Prince Rodolfo?”

  Neel’s heart spoke the answer, yet everything he knew about John Dee made him not want to be on the man’s side. “Say we were a country. A real one—at least in the way you gadje think things are real. What kind of power could we have in the world? We’re no empire. We’re just a small island.”

  “So is England,” said Dee. “Don’t underestimate the assets of the Roma. You have a deep knowledge of different cultures at a time when international relations are becoming very important. You have access to markets all over the world, and produce goods many people want to buy. You could be a significant military power. If I’m not mistaken, the Roma possess the Terrestrial and Celestial Globes. They would give you the ability to transport troops in an instant, surprise an enemy, and retreat with few losses. Your people are generally well trained in fighting. They’ve had reason to be. They are not liked in Europe.”

  “But apparently Queen Elizabeth likes me.”

  “She likes being first,” said Dee. “If England establishes diplomatic ties with you, other countries will follow.” He opened his hands. “King Indraneel, don’t you want to demand respect for your people? Why keep up the guise that the Roma are homeless travelers with no government to protect them?”

  The guards were openly muttering now. Neel shot them a dirty look. They shut their mouths.

  Dee leaned forward in his chair. “Can I persuade you to dismiss your guards, Your Majesty? I assure you that you do not need them—and if you did, they would be of little use.”

  Neel quirked a black brow. Then he laughed. “Go on, get out of here,” he told the guards, and when they’d left he said to Dee, “I’m not defenseless myself, you know.” His ghostly fingers could strangle a man.

  “I do know. After all, you have survived two attempts on your life.”

  “What do you know about that? You just got here.”

  “Did I?” said Dee. “Or did I linger in the city for a while after my ship docked, learning what I could about this country’s new king?”

  Neel sighed. By now, the entire Vatra knew about the poisoning, and since his mother had urged him to tell his advisers and guards about being shoved off the palace wall, Neel guessed that that was public knowledge, too.

  Dee tucked his hands inside the sleeves of his long robe. Neel couldn’t understand why the Englishman wasn’t sweating rivers, wearing such heavy fabric in this heat. Dee’s face was cool and dry. Neel felt a twinge of jealousy. He wished he could be so untouched by everything around him.

  “May I ask, Your Majesty,” Dee said, “how you will investigate these attacks?”

  “What business is it of yours?”

  “My queen would like for you to stay alive. If you die, the throne goes to Tarn of the Maraki. He is not an open-minded man. He wouldn’t even consider accepting an English ambassador, as you are doing.”

  “I’m not considering—” Neel broke off when he realized that, yes, he was.

  Dee said, “I would like to offer you my help.”

  “Petra doesn’t have a high opinion of your help.” Neel was surprised to see a wince of something—frustration? irritation? regret?—cross Dee’s face. But Dee merely said, “You have a high opinion of her. Ask her, then, whether you can trust me.”

  Neel was uneasy. “She’s not here.”

  “Ask her when you next speak with her.”

  Neel didn’t like this. Dee talked as if he could see the mental link between him and Petra branded on his face.

  “I simply want to offer some advice,” Dee said. “I’ve investigated many murders. Several of them were politically motivated.” He smiled. “I am an expert.”

  “Fine, know-it-all. What’s your advice? And let me tell you I’ll take it or leave it, as I please.”

  “Very well. Let’s start by assuming that only one person has tried to kill you, instead of several.”

  Neel’s brain spun. He imagined the three other tribe leaders shoving him off the palace wall, or his three advisers pouring poison on his food. He hadn’t even thought that there could be more than one would-be assassin.

  “We could be wrong,” said Dee. “But we’ll start simply, with one attacker, until evidence s
uggests otherwise. Now, how would you discover his or her identity?”

  “I guess by figuring out who most wants me dead.” Tarn, Neel thought. It was clear.

  Dee tsked. “You want the motive. You want the why. I understand. The why is enticing. But in this case, the how is just as important. Consider the two attacks. Describe them, with just one word. First, you are pushed to your doom on a moonless night.”

  “Impulsive.” The word had popped out of Neel’s mouth. “Don’t you think? The fellow—lady—whatever—saw an opportunity and took it. Me staring out into space, talking to a scoot”—Neel’s heart constricted as he thought of the poor animal—“my back turned. The attacker was impulsive.”

  “Good. Now, the second attempt. Your food is poisoned during a ball. A killer would have to be careful not to be seen.”

  “Planned,” Neel said. “That one was planned.”

  “Yes, and for full effect. The poisoner hoped to see you die, dramatically, in front of the entire court. What does that tell you?”

  Neel understood what Dee was driving at. “That whoever it is won’t stop. That if he—she—wanted me dead to begin with, that wanting’s growing fiercer.”

  “Yes.”

  Neel’s gaze swept around the room, at the blue wall, the red one, the yellow, and the green.

  Now, he thought, how can I use this to my advantage?

  28

  The House on Molodova Street

  PETRA STOOD IN FRONT of the carved wooden door illuminated by a green-burning brassica lamp set in a stone wall. The horses stamped impatiently as the carriage waited and Tomik glanced up and down the street with an awed look. He had never before been to Mala Strana, the most luxurious part of Prague, and Petra supposed that he was impressed by the many-storied houses with their marble trimmings of birds and dragons and flowers. Probably he was wondering how the glass windows managed to be free of frost on this cold night.

  Petra knocked at the door. A servant opened it, and Petra hoped that the light of the brassica lamp showed the woman nothing too strange. Just a pair of young, wealthy travelers.