“Outsiders, you know. Like you. Now, there was one Ursari tribesman named Danior who was better at handling horses and elephants than the rest. He also had a clearer way of seeing things than most of the Ursari. It gets hard to like someone who’s always better than you, and the Ursari leader especially didn’t like Danior. Soon he began to downright hate him. So one morning Danior woke up alone in the desert. His tribe had left him high and dry. He had his tent, but no water and nothing to hunt with. And that’s sure death in the desert.

“He plodded along in the burning sand, looking for water. You can’t last long like that. Soon he lay down and waited to die. Then it struck him that he could hear something. It was the sound of many hooves. He thought maybe his tribe had come back for him, so he hefted himself up.

“But it wasn’t the Ursari. It was a group of gadje, and pretty important-looking ones at that. Seven mean-eyed warriors on horses were in the lead. Behind them walked an elephant carrying a man who was the most important one of all.

“Now, Danior recognized most of the horses and the elephant, too, because he had trained them. And who was the gadje on the elephant? It was none other than the desert king, who had a goldglittering wife and eleven pretty children.

“Danior raised his hands, asking the warriors for help. They stared straight ahead, like he didn’t exist. Then Danior begged the horses to help him. The horses, though, loved their masters like Danior trained em to. So the horses listened to their masters and ignored him.

“Then came the elephant. The desert king tilted back and forth on top, in a little house that was strapped onto the elephant’s back. Danior saw that one strap was loose and dangling down, and he reached for it.

“The desert king looked down, drew out his sword, and slashed it, cutting off every single finger on Danior’s hands.”

Petra gasped. “What happened then?”

“The elephant knew Danior for who he was, and she didn’t agree with the desert king’s treatment of him. So she reared up. She shook off the house and the wicked king with it. She reached out with her long nose and wrapped it around Danior. She ran off fast, faster than the horses and faster even than you, Pet. She took him to an oasis, where she lowered him into the water. She scooped up mud and patted it over Danior’s hands to stop the bleeding.

“The funny thing was, after his hands healed he discovered that the ghosts of his fingers were far better than his real ones. The ghosts were longer and dead quick. They could flash out and grab a desert hare by the ears. Danior hunted, and he learned to use his new fingers.

“But Danior had a score to settle with the wicked king. When he rode out of the oasis on his elephant, he headed straight for the capital city, where the white palace stood tall like a hard flower.

“That night, he snuck toward the palace. His invisible nails clicked open locked doors. Soon, he was in the nursery, looking at a row of princes and princesses snug in their beds.

“Danior was a fair man. He led away only ten of the wicked king’s children, one for every missing finger, and left behind one son. That prince grew up to hate the Roma for stealing his family, but he also hated them for not wanting him, too.

“When Danior reached the city gates, he loaded his new children into a big wagon, promising them kindness and freedom. He hitched the wagon to the elephant, and the great gray beast galloped over the sand.

“That’s how Danior began a new tribe of Roma called the Kalderash. They’re a secretive lot. Also too snobby for my taste. But that’s what comes from thinking your great-great-great-great-whatever-grandda was Danior of the Ursari, and that your relations were princes and princesses.”

“What did Danior do to the Ursari?”

“Do?”

“Well, they left him to die. He avenged himself against the wicked king. Didn’t he avenge himself against his tribe?”

Neel looked at her as if she had suggested the sky was orange. “You can’t avenge yourself against your own people.”

Petra saw what he meant. It was hard to say who had been crueler to Danior, the wicked king or the Ursari. But family is family, even if they abandon you in the desert.

“Are you a member of the Kalderash tribe?” Petra asked.

“Nope. The Lovari. We’re players—you know, we act and sing and juggle and fiddle and the like. But it sure doesn’t pay well.”

“You have magic skills.” She looked at him with respect. “And you’re so young.”

“I’m not. I’m older than you.”

Petra was skeptical. He was a few inches shorter than she was. “How old are you?”

“Well … I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

He shifted uncomfortably and began eating again. “Truth is, it’s not uncommon to have long fingers like I’ve got.”

Petra considered pressing him to explain why he didn’t know how old he was, but then it occurred to her that she also had things she didn’t want to share. Instead she said, “Really? Lots of Gypsies can do what you do?”

“Roma.”

“Sorry. Roma. Are they all long-fingered?”

“Nah, not all. But plenty. The Gift of Danior’s Fingers runs strong with the Kalderash, but it pops up everywhere in the Roma, cause of marrying across the tribes. It’s very useful for us Lovari, since I can pick a pocket or two whilst my cousins put on a puppet show. Though other people aren’t supposed to feel it when you use them. Which makes you”—his yellowy eyes narrowed—“right odd.”

They were both quiet for a moment. Neel ducked his head down and continued eating his stew in silence.

Perhaps, Astrophil offered, he is wondering what he has gotten himself into. Might you not do the same?

Neel settled back in his wooden chair and patted his stomach. There was still a very small portion of stew left in his bowl. “That was good. Well, I’d better find the privy. I’ll finish eating when I get back.” He winked.

Petra looked at the bowl and suddenly remembered, as Neel was getting up, the empty pockets he had shown the officer. He started to turn away.

Her hand flashed out and seized one of Neel’s wrists. “You can just go in your trous,” she said angrily. She was sure he was about to leave her behind. He would slip out the back and she would never see him again. She would have to pay the bill and walk out of the Shorn Lamb alone, and wander this crowded, stinking city alone.

Astonished, Neel sat back down in his chair and shook off her grip. He hissed, “What’s the matter with you? Always resorting to a ruckus. You’re attracting attention, jumping around like you’re full of fleas. And that” —he wagged his finger at her—“will always get you caught. Always.”

Petra glared. She was in no mood for a lesson in thievery.

“Listen, I’m sorry,” Neel said. “I’ll let you leave the pub first. It’s harder to leave second, cause then you leave an empty table and folks notice. It’s true it wasn’t decent of me to leave you in second, because I’m more experienced. So you go on ahead and I’ll follow after.” He gestured toward the exit in a manner that might have been called courtly.

Petra felt a little better knowing that he had not been planning to trick her, but she was still troubled. “What about the people who work here? Don’t they deserve pay?”

He sighed. “Maybe those who can’t look after what they got don’t deserve to keep it.”

Neel’s words made her think instantly of her father and his stolen eyes. By Neel’s logic, her father’s blindness was not a cruel torture. It was something he had brought upon himself.

Petra had not cried once since the day her father was brought home in the cart, and she refused to do so in front of this lithe and untrustworthy thief. She had to get out of the tavern. Right then she felt like a sheet of thin paper soaked with dirty water, and just one more drop could make her disintegrate into shreds.

Petra reached for her purse and beckoned to the tattooed woman. “I’ll pay. Just go.”

He stared. Then, to her surprise, he ducked under the table and seemed to rummage for something. Just as the woman reached them, he straightened up and held out a filthy coin. “We’ll go halves.” He smiled at her expression. “Always keep your money in your shoes, Pet. It’s nigh impossible to nick it that way.”

After they had paid, Petra walked quickly through the airless rooms, eager for the open warmth of the sun. Neel was close at her heels. When the heavy pub door slammed shut behind them, he continued to trail after her. She wasn’t sure which way to go, but she didn’t care.

“What’s got you so riled?” he shouted at her as they pushed past a swell of people. It was noon, and the streets of the city were bursting with noise and bustling bodies. “I paid, didn’t I?” When Petra did not respond, Neel’s voice rose in frustration. “Fine, I get it. You got some high-minded ideas about what’s right. That’s because you can afford them. Me, I got a family of fiddlers and puppeteers, and only my sis can get real work because her skin is light enough. So I’ll take what I can get and if that’s stew that’s fine by me. I’m glad that you told the scratch what you did and saved me from a hanging, but I’ve got no need to keep company with some hoity-toity type.”

Petra stopped abruptly. “Then why are you following me?”

Neel spread his hands. “I just happen to be going the same way as you. Aren’t I allowed to go meet my sis? Cause she’ll tear my hide if I don’t.”

Petra did not want to reveal that she did not know where she was going. So instead she asked, “Where are you meeting your sister?”

“Why, at the castle. That’s where she works.”

Petra paused. “Your sister works at the castle?”

“That’s what I said, ain’t it?”

They had stopped in the middle of the street. People milled around them, jostling their sides. “Keep moving!” shrilled a woman with rash-red cheeks.

Neel tugged Petra to the side of the street, where they stood against a wall that smelled of wood rot. Petra asked the boy, “Is Neel your real name?”

“Well, no.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away.

It was as Petra had thought. He couldn’t even be trusted to be honest about the most trivial thing.

He continued, “It’s Indraneel. It means ‘blue.’ But I’m not blue, and ‘Indraneel’ isn’t easy to wrap your mouth around. So it’s plain ‘Neel’ for me.”

Petra then said, “Would you introduce me to your sister?”

11

Crossing Karlov Bridge

THEY SOON REACHED the Vltava River. There they crossed the Karlov Bridge, which was a magnificent construction lined with statues of Bohemia’s heroes. The bridge was brand-new. Prince Rodolfo had commissioned it to celebrate his graduation from the Academy. He had named the bridge after his father. Some might say that this was unnecessary. After all, he had already changed the name of Argos University to Karlov University when he was thirteen or so. But one can never flatter an emperor too much.

Neel had no idea who any of the statues were supposed to be. He confessed that, like many Roma, he couldn’t read, and didn’t know much about Bohemian history. “Who cares about gadje history anyway? My people got better stories.”

Petra had to admit that this might be true. But she gladly told him about the statues. It was rare for her to be in the position of teaching anyone something.

“Who’s that moony-eyed lass?” He pointed to a statue of a woman holding a pail of water high.

“That’s Lady Portia. Eight hundred years ago, people used to burn anyone with magical powers at the stake. She convinced the Tribunal of the Lion’s Paw that this sort of thing had to be outlawed.”

“What’s the Tribunal of the Lion’s Paw?”

“It’s Bohemia’s highest legal court. It’s made up of seven judges, who are picked by the prince. They have almost the final say on any legal matter in the country.”

“Who gets the final say, then?”

My goodness, has he been living under a rock? Astrophil’s words buzzed in her mind.

Don’t make fun of him, she ordered the spider. She told Neel, “The prince. The Lion’s Paw recommends laws to the prince, and he decides whether he likes them or not. After the law was passed, Lady Portia revealed that she herself had magical talent. At first, people thought that she had pushed for the law only to protect herself, but it turned out that her talent was the ability to withstand any heat. She could suck on hot coals like candy. No one would have been able to burn her at the stake anyway, so it’s clear that she fought for the law only out of the goodness of her heart.”

Neel shrugged. “They could’ve drowned her instead.”

Next came Florian, Duke of Carlsbad. “He founded the Academy,” said Petra. “Then he left tons of money after he died to enlarge the school’s castle. They added running water, Turkish baths, a theater, three hot-air balloons, and a lot of other things they keep secret.”

They saw Emperor Vaclav the Clever, who looked shorter than Petra had always imagined. “He’s the reason why you can’t attend the Academy unless you belong to the gentry,” Petra explained. “His tribunal passed that law almost two hundred years ago, when he was only the prince of Bohemia. This led to the Peasant Rebellion, which was basically suicide for the hill-folk. Vaclav flattened the rebel forces. Their surrender was only accepted because they met the most important condition of the agreement: the rebels named everyone they knew with a magical power. Those people were arrested and never seen again.”