by Heidi Heilig
“Don’t give me this choice, Nixie.”
“I don’t think I am, Captain.” At my words, he raised his eyes to mine, and I did smile then, because I saw the truth in them now. “Sometimes fate makes choices for us.”
I went out on deck into the light, shutting the door behind me and leaning on the warm wood. I took a deep breath. Then another. Kashmir was there on my hammock, Bee was at the helm, Rotgut was fishing. Topside, everything seemed just as it always was. “He’ll be wanting to cast off again soon,” I said at last.
Kashmir sat up straight and met my eyes. “Where are we going?”
I shrugged, feeling whimsical. “How about somewhere perfect?”
He slid out of the hammock and came to stand beside me. “But no one believes in such a place.”
“You’re a good liar, Kashmir.” I grinned. “Maybe you can convince me.”
“And . . . when do we leave?”
“Whenever the captain’s ready,” I said, but the door to the cabin had opened again.
“Well, I’m not ready,” Slate said. “Not yet.”
“No?” Then I noticed that he held his wooden box, filled with all his precious things.
“No.” He paced the deck slowly, tipping the box back and forth between his hands. “I haven’t got a good map,” he said, his brows drawing together as he peered over the rail. Then he rubbed a streak of green verdigris on the copper.
“I need you, Nixie,” he said firmly. “Go in the cabin and find me one, would you? Maybe something where we can make some honest cash this time? But you’ll figure something out, you always do.” He squared his shoulders. Then he hefted the box in his hands once, twice, leaned back, and flung it, spinning, tumbling, into the deep blue sea.
There was quiet on deck for a long time, and I was acutely aware of the sound of the waves brushing the hull, the wind trembling in the sails, my heart drumming against my ribs. Then Slate smiled at me, one of his brilliant smiles, as though nothing was wrong, or ever had been. “I’ve made my choice, Nixie.”
I sought out Kashmir. There was a question in his eyes, but he found the answer in mine, and he nodded a little. My home had always been the Temptation.
That evening, we left 1884 behind us for good. Blake came out on deck to watch the island grow smaller in our sight until it was a gray smudge on the horizon, and even after. Billie, standing beside him, howled once—“Roooooooooo!”—and then trotted toward the bow to face the open sea. The sun arced overhead; the sea turned from cobalt to sapphire as the light made the deep water glow. The sails snapped in the breeze as we clipped along, heading away from the island, but toward what?
When I checked the captain’s cabin, the wide drafting table was empty. I came back out on deck, and Slate was at the helm, his strong hands on the wheel, looking for all the world as though he intended to remain there. He called out to me.
“Well, Nixie? Where are we going next?
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In a book like this, there is a fair bit of reality to help ground the fantasy. Certainly the Kingdom of Hawaii existed; almost certainly a time-travelling pirate ship does not. Between the two poles, what is fact and what is fiction?
THE HISTORY
On December 1, 1884, fifty pirates sacked Honolulu, looting the treasury and the homes of the wealthy, making off with $3 million in coin and plate without firing a single shot. This daring theft was only mentioned in a single newspaper article, in the Daily Alta California, which reported that over the course of nine hours, no attempt was made at resistance. Indeed, the locals were said to “thrown down their weapons without waiting for the opposing force to fire a single shot.” On the night in question, the Honolulu Rifles, a militia controlled by the Hawaiian League, was very fortuitously out of ammunition.
The pirates were led by a tall man who seemed to know his way around the island, although no one claimed to recognize him, and by morning, they had disappeared without a trace. Where they disappeared to, no one seems to know.
The article emphasized how helpless Hawaii was, at the mercy of any band of determined men, which was a rather pointed accusation about the inability of the king to protect his citizens. Indeed, not a decade later, U.S. soldiers helped the Hawaiian League to overthrow the monarchy for the same reason—to protect the citizens—this time, from the queen, in whose garden the league had planted a cache of rifles.
The Hawaiian League (also known as the Committee of Safety or, in quieter tones, the Annexation Club) was a secret society, so official records were not kept, but the group’s constitution was drafted by the prudish Mr. Lorrin Thurston. Mr. Sanford Dole, businessman and lawyer, was also a member of the group, and later he became the president of the Republic of Hawaii. Mr. Samuel Mills Damon, who had ingratiated himself to parties on both sides, helped to negotiate a peaceful resolution to the overthrow, whereby Queen Liliuokalani surrendered under protest.
From first contact between Europeans and Hawaiians—in 1778, during Captain James Cook’s third voyage—to the overthrow of the Hawaiian monarchy 115 years later, foreigners coveted Hawaii’s paradisiacal bounty, first in the form of victuals, later in sugar and pineapples. Of course, Cook’s attempt to capture a Hawaiian monarch ended in Cook’s death, while the Hawaiian League’s final attempt was clearly much more successful.
THE FAIRY TALES
Healing Springs and Hu’akai Po
Almost any hike in Nu’uanu Valley will lead to a beautiful waterfall, and there are several legends concerning healing springs in Hawaii, including Kunawai, at the base of the valley, and many springs throughout the island that were kapu, or forbidden to commoners. If you go in search of Blake’s sacred spot, watch out for the Hu’akai Po; the legend of the Night Marchers was a tale I was often told growing up. Only the young and the foolish seek out the warriors, and I have been both. Several nights, while visiting a boy who lived in Manoa Valley, we saw torchlight wavering on a mountainside too steep to climb. We spent many days hiking together but never found the source.
MYTHS AND MAGIC
The mythological items mentioned in the book are all inspired by real legends. The sky herring that light the lamps are a reference to the ancient Swedish name for the aurora: sillblixt, meaning “herring flash.” Fishermen thought the lights were the reflections of huge shoals of fish.
The bottomless bag is from the Welsh epic Y Mabinogi, and can never be filled unless a person steps inside. The golem is a Jewish myth wherein a figure of clay can be brought to life and made to toil, although their great tragedy is that they cannot speak.
There is a lovely illustration of the caladrius curing a king in the Aberdeen Bestiary. And of course, Katz’s pastrami and Di Fara’s pizza have attained mythological status but are decidedly, deliciously real.
THE EMPEROR’S TOMB
As yet largely unexcavated, the description of Qin’s tomb is based on the Shiji, as mentioned in the book, as well as on speculations by archaeologists who have used ground imaging technology—sonar and the like—to map out the sprawling necropolis. Unusually high amounts of mercury in the surrounding soil give credence to Sima Qian’s account of underground rivers and seas; perhaps one day, if exploration continues, we’ll learn just how accurate he was.
Any imperial dragon depicted in the tomb would likely have five claws; the more proletarian dragons make do with three.
THE BLACK SHIP
The Temptation is based on a ship called the Notorious, a replica caravel built by Graeme and Felicity Wylie after the legend of the Mahogany Ship, an Australian shipwreck. The Temptation’s keel, a huge bone carved in runes, is a reference to the myth of Ullr’s bone; apparently, the Norse wizard Ullr used “a certain bone, which he had marked with awful spells, wherewith to cross the seas, instead of a vessel; and that by this bone he passed over the waters that barred his way as quickly as b
y rowing.” That quote is from Saxo Grammaticus’s twelfth- century work Gesta Danorum.
The Temptation’s figurehead is fashioned after the first girl Slate ever kissed. Slate is a terrible romantic.
SAILOR’S SUPERSTITIONS
Sailors have a great many omens and superstitions about being at sea, some of them contradictory. Women aboard were usually considered bad luck, although they were thought of as the very best navigators. In addition, the sight of a woman’s breasts was thought to shame the storm right out of a rough sea; to this end, most figureheads are bare-breasted women.
Sailors also considered the sight of an albatross to be a good omen, although in “Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” a sailor who kills an albatross brings hardship and misfortune to his ship. Albatross are very long lived, and typically mate for life, spending months—sometimes years—apart but always reuniting, parting only in death.
KASHMIR’S BACKGROUND
In 1704 or thereabouts, Antoine Galland translated One Thousand and One Nights into French, adding some stories that were not in the original Syrian text. The work became very popular in Europe over the next century, with people publishing their own versions and translations, some more fanciful than others. Thus, Kashmir hails from the Vaadi Al-Maas, or Diamond Valley, which is a reference to the story of Sinbad and the Rocs. He shares other characteristics with some characters in the stories attributed to Scheherazade, which of course Nix had read. He speaks Farsi, Arabic, English, and French, befitting a man from a fairy-tale version of “Arabia” as seen through the eyes of an eighteenth-century French cartographer.
Yalla (Arabic): Let’s go!
Vite (French): Quickly!
Ya sidi (Arabic): Sir.
Khahesh mikonam (Farsi): You’re welcome.
Khodaye man (Farsi): My God!
Negaran nabash (Farsi): Don’t worry.
Cher (French): Dear.
Baleh (Farsi): Yes.
Pourquois non (French): Why not?
Viens (French): Come.
In shaa’ Allah (Arabic): God willing.
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Many myths include quests, and many quests include helpers without whom the hero would fail. Writing a book is not heroic, but those who have helped me along the way have been.
My keepers of knowledge, Rebecca C. Brown on maps, Duncan Stephenson and Gordon Young on ships and sailing, Matteen Mokalla for Farsi, and Haatem Reda for Arabic, who gave me as much information as any good god of wisdom, without too many of the demands for worship, thank you.
Those who encouraged me when I first needed it—Diane Drotleff, Michelle Elliot, Rob Hartman, Karen Henderson, Lisa Sindorf, Lori Steinberg, Sana Qu, and particularly Robert St. John—I owe you all drinks. Where did I put that bottomless pitcher of wine? I am also grateful to Zach Fornaca, for his willing sacrifice, and to my shaman, Curtis Zimmerman. And to the philosophers, Anthony Gregory and Tommaso Sciortino, thank you for holding up your lamps.
I am so lucky for my first readers, Sharon Rader, Bruce Lamon, Thekla Hansen-Young—I put my heart in your hands and you didn’t feed it to Amut. To my first fan—ever, not just of this book—Diana Hansen-Young, thank you. I love your work.
My incredible agent, Molly Ker Hawn—like Hermes, intercessor between me and the gods—you are definitely the answer to a prayer. My amazing editor, Martha Mihalick, all-seeing, all-knowing goddess of Greenwillow: I worship you just a little bit. And to the team at Hotkey, Sara O’Connor and Naomi Colthurst—thank you for smiling on this author.
And finally, to Felix, little egg that hatched a dragon, and to Bret, like Hephaestus, hammering out the plot on your forge, it’s always been true: I need you.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
HEIDI HEILIG grew up in Hawaii, where she rode horses and raised peacocks. She has haggled for rugs in Morocco, hiked the trails of the Ko’olau Valley, and huddled in a tent in Africa. She holds an MFA from New York University in musical theatre writing, and she’s written book and lyrics for several shows. She lives in Brooklyn with her husband, son, and pet snake.
www.heidiheilig.com
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CREDITS
Cover art © 2016 by Ray Shappell
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COPYRIGHT
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used to advance the fictional narrative. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
THE GIRL FROM EVERYWHERE. Copyright © 2016 by Heidi Heilig. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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The text of this book is set in TK.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data TK
EPub Edition © August 2015 ISBN 9780062426178
ISBN 978-0-06-238075-3 (hardback)
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