“I did, didn’t I?” Dee reached for a small ivory statue of an elephant that decorated the end table next to his chair. “This is lovely.”

“It’s yours. So, Madinia and Margaret could get from England to India pretty quickly, right?”

“Very quickly,” Dee said in a bored tone. “Especially since they are in India.”

Neel stopped pacing.

“Yes.” Dee smiled. “They like India. I saw no reason to send them home after they brought me there. They are amusing themselves in the Manvadar court right now.” Dee cradled the ivory elephant in his hand and traced one finger down its arching nose. “I suppose that if, say, you wanted them to visit you, a fleet ship and a few horses could make the trip there and back in a little more than a day.” Dee glanced up from the elephant. “Would you care to see them, Your Majesty?”

Neel choked on a fizzing mix of astonishment and eagerness. “Yes. Yes, I would. You see—”

“You’d like them to open a Loophole to Bohemia.”

“Can they? Would they? I—”

“I imagine that you’d prefer a location near the Austrian border, ideally along the route Rodolfo would take to be crowned emperor. Would Krumlov Castle do? Iris December is an old friend and has hosted my family before. Madinia will know the way there.”

Neel sagged into the chair across from Dee. The relief started in his stomach, traveled up his throat, and flowed out in laughter. “That’s perfect. Thanks, Dee. I don’t care what Petra says about you, you’re all right. You like that elephant? I’ll give you a case of ’em. I’ll—”

“My ambition ranks a little higher than ivory elephants.” Dee pulled a sheet of parchment from a deep, hidden pocket in his robes.

Neel took it. “What is this?”

“A treaty between your country and mine. After your rousing speech yesterday, I took the liberty of preparing this. It’s quite simple. You are about to embark on a war, and would like my daughters’ help—which is to say, England’s help. England has no love of Rodolfo, and no interest in seeing him on the Hapsburg throne. In fact, we would not be sad to see the Hapsburg Empire crumble. That would allow, well, other countries to become more powerful after its downfall. You and my queen are in a position of mutual interest. Therefore, Madinia and Margaret would be glad to help you—as glad, I’m sure, as you will be to help England.” Dee pointed to the bottom of the beautifully written page. “Sign here.”

Neel narrowed his eyes. He began to read the treaty—but not before he noticed a twitch of surprise on Dee’s face. “You thought I still couldn’t read,” Neel said. “You assumed I’d sign it right away, because I’m desperate. You assumed I wouldn’t show it first to an adviser who could read, because I’m too proud.”

“I assume nothing,” said Dee, yet his words sounded hollow.

“It’s fine. You act in the best interests of your country. I’ll do the same for mine.” Neel took the paper to a nearby desk. He took his time reading it, because it was still difficult for him to string each word into a sentence—and it wouldn’t do any harm to let Dee worry.

When Neel reached the end of the page, he unscrewed an inkpot and dipped in a quill. He scratched out a few sentences, then scribbled changes in the margins. “If this is all right by you”—Neel brought the treaty back to Dee—“I’ll sign it.”

Dee’s face changed as he read the treaty. “You have altered the most important clause. My queen would like her own set of globes.”

“Pity. I don’t have any to spare. I’m sure you understand my position. But if Queen Elizabeth ever wants to borrow a set, I’ll send someone who’ll use them for her, and lead your people where they want to go—so long as the queen’s plans don’t conflict with the Roma’s. I’ve written all that down in the margins.”

“Yes,” said Dee, “in very poor penmanship.”

“Look, I’ll tell you what. I’ll throw in a little something extra. See, the Vatra makes great coir rope. Normally we wouldn’t sell to Europe, but we can make an exception for you, and give you a good deal. England’s an island. Ruling the sea around you is as important to the English as it is to us. You must want good ships. With our coir rope, you can have the best. What do you say, Dee?”

* * *

TOMIK TOUCHED THE PINK ROSE in its beaker. Fiala looked up from her work to shoot him an evil glare, but said nothing when he plucked a petal and put it in his pocket. He could hear Petra and Astrophil talking in the bedroom. Their muffled voices rose and fell in a duet, with the spider’s voice piping in a tinny whistle, and Petra’s low like a flute. An impatient flute. She was searching for something to wear that wasn’t a shredded nightgown stiff with dried slime. It was their fourth day in the Tank. Petra had discovered a privy that funneled away waste with a push of a button, and a glass closet in the bed-chamber that sprayed water, so they’d managed to stay more or less clean. But for the longest time, Petra couldn’t bring herself to do what Zora had done—wear Fiala’s clothes. Tomik could imagine Astrophil’s glee as Petra tried things on. The spider loved to see Petra dressed her best.

The friends had fallen into a steady pattern on the underwater ship. They knew now how to steer it well—as the Decembers were doing at the very moment—and had figured out many of its secrets, like a panel that opened to reveal dried food, a faucet that poured river water for drinking, and a button that shot metal spears out of the Tank’s bow. Soon they would have to figure out how to stop the ship and dock it, because they would arrive in Krumlov later that day.

Fiala cleared her throat, deliberately rude. Tomik glanced at her. “Give me that,” Fiala said. She leaned against the fabric that bound her to the chair and pointed.

He gripped the flask that had made the many-mouthed creature grow more arms. It was the chief weapon they had against Fiala. He shook his head. “Say how much you want, and I’ll pour it in a glass.”

She huffed with impatience. “A drop.”

When Tomik had given it to her, Fiala poured it into the potion that filled the brass bowl in front of her. She set fire to the oily liquid, which erupted into flame.

“Hey!” Tomik hauled Fiala, chair and all, away from the worktable. “What do you think you’re doing?” He reached for water to douse the fire.

“Shut up! Don’t do that!” Fiala slapped at him. “It’s part of the process. Let me handle it.”

Zora stepped from the cockpit, took in the situation, and put her finger on the purple button that had sprayed water from the ceiling on their first day aboard the Tank. “Handle it, then,” she told Fiala coolly. “I’ll put it out if you don’t.”

Fiala looked over her shoulder at Tomik. “Push me to the table, you fool.” The flames climbed higher.

Tomik shoved the chair. Fiala clapped another brass bowl over the fire, lifted it, and held an open vial over the bitter smoke. She stoppered it with a cork. “There.” She set the smoke-filled vial on the worktable. “One Gristleki cure, forced out of me by a bunch of rude infants with no respect for me or my cat.”

Petra entered the laboratory with Astrophil on her shoulder. She had managed to find what was perhaps the only non-pink dress in Fiala’s wardrobe. It was pearly white, with simple, elegant lines. Tomik noticed how it brought out the brightness of Petra’s light eyes, and the richness of her dark hair. She had begun to look more like herself as Iris’s dyes, which required daily application, had faded away. As Petra stood there, her eyes resting on the vial as if beholding a miracle, Tomik realized that, not so long ago, his pulse would have raced to see her like this. Yet now his heart was as steady as the Tank’s constant thrum.

“You did it?” Petra said to Fiala. “You made the cure?”

“Well, how am I supposed to know?” Fiala said. “Do you see a Gray Man here, for me to test it on? Maybe it will work.” She shrugged. “Maybe not. I added a touch of Regeneration—my very own invention—which might cause the human organs inside a Gray Man’s body to produce blood. Or it might make your father grow a few arms. Oh!” Her eyes widened. “What a beautiful idea! A Gristleki with ten arms! Fiala Broshek, your ingenuity astonishes me. Now, little girl,” she said to Petra, “bring me my cat. I would like a cuddle.”

But Petra was no longer paying attention to the woman. In fact, she appeared to be paying attention to nothing at all. She gazed into space, her head slightly tilted as if straining to catch a whisper.

“Petra?” Now Tomik’s heart was racing—with urgency, as he thought back to their mountain trek and how she had somehow known, through her mind-magic, that the Gristleki would attack. What danger lurked in the Vltava waters?

A smile glowed across Petra’s face. “Neel is there—he’s in Krumlov Castle. With…” She frowned, and seemed to continue to listen to something no one else could hear. “John Dee. And … Madinia and Margaret?”

“What?” said Tomik. “Why would Neel be in Krumlov? And how do you—?”

Petra raised her hand. “There’s more.” Her smile grew wider. “Neel has an army.”

41

Plan of Attack

“WHEN I SAID you were welcome to visit me any time,” Iris had told Dee earlier that day, “I didn’t say you could bring ten thousand people with you. And their horses! Do you have any idea how much manure they will spread all over my grounds?”

“It will be good for the soil,” Dee said smoothly.

“You’re lucky the ground is still hard. It’s spring, you know. If that army had arrived a few weeks later, it’d be floundering in mud. Oh, and another thing—my castle is off-limits to anyone carrying a weapon. I won’t have it, you hear? They’ll sleep outside.”

“We’d prefer to sleep in tents anyway,” said Neel.

“Ah-hah.” She peered at him. “I remember you. You’ve grown up some. King Neel, is it?”

“Indraneel, technically.”

“Well, I don’t care who you are, you’re still a whippersnapper to me, got that? I’m not taking orders from you.”

“I wouldn’t give them.”

“Stop being so agreeable! What’s wrong with you?”

“He’s not very much fun,” Madinia confessed. She was the more freckled of the Dee girls. “He’s a real bore. I don’t remember him being this serious, do you, Meggie?”

“Madinia.” Margaret’s voice was low. “How can you expect him to be otherwise? He—” She stopped, but the entrance hall of Krumlov Castle seemed to echo with her unspoken words.

Neel glanced away. It seemed that, every day, he could remember Sadie’s face less clearly. It was unfair that even her memory was being stolen from him. It helped, sometimes, to stare at his mother’s face. They looked so much alike. But Damara had chosen to stay in the Vatra. “Don’t do this,” she had told him. Her large black eyes had accused Neel of cruelty, and wept at the thought of losing both children. “Don’t go,” she’d begged, yet he had.

Neel became aware that, in the silence of Margaret’s unfinished sentence, all eyes had turned toward him. Iris’s pursed mouth had gentled. “Come,” she said, “search my house for anything you need. Krumlov Castle is at your disposal.”

* * *

IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON when Neel burst from his tent and raced through the weak light. He searched the rows of peaked tents stretched like small mountain chains over the hills surrounding Krumlov Castle.

He found Treb swearing at a soldier. “I’m a sailor, and I can shoe a horse better than that!” Treb yelled.

“Treb.” Neel caught his shoulder. “We need to gather the tribe leaders, and the leaders of the divisions. We have to talk. Petra is arriving today—tonight—with Tomik and—”

“Petra? Why should I care about one Bohemian girl? I’ve got a would-be emperor to kill. Anyway…” He frowned. “How does she even know we’re here? And if she is coming, how would you know that?”

“She told me.”

“She … oh.” Treb’s face screwed in distaste. “A mind-link, eh? With a gadje.”

“Treb, the mind-link is the least of our concerns. She said—”

“Hey, it’s your mind, lad. I think what you’ve done is as weird as a three-legged fish, but who knows? Maybe it’ll come in handy during this little enterprise of ours.” He waved a hand proudly over the view of hills dotted by tents.

“Treb, listen to me. It’s not a little enterprise. Everything’s bigger than we thought—a lot bigger. Rodolfo isn’t strolling through the countryside with frilly courtiers. He has soldiers with him—the entire Bohemian army.”

* * *

NEEL WENT DOWN to the river to meet Petra. The metal ship surfaced with a growl of turning gears. A hatch in the top of the long-bodied part of the ship flung open, and a girl Neel didn’t recognize—Zora, he told himself, remembering what Petra had said—crawled awkwardly over the ship’s slick hull. She slid, and jumped in the shallow water. Then Tomik hauled himself out, and a ribbon of gladness to see his friend threaded through Neel, then twisted with a darker feeling he didn’t want to examine too closely.

Tomik was reaching below to tug at something. He dragged out a woman that could only be Fiala Broshek. Bound at the arms, she screamed at Tomik until she managed to wrench herself away from him—and fall into the water.