The Celestial Globe: The Kronos Chronicles: Book II by Marie Rutkoski

pulled away, and looked at Treb. Nervousness flickered in the boy’s eyes.
    “You’ll be all right, coz,” said Treb. “Vulo’s an expert scryer. That’s why we came to him.”
    “Treb’s correct,” the Owl said soothingly. “Don’t be afraid.”
    “Who said I was?” Neel shot back.
    Vulo placed his oily hands on either side of Neel’s face. “Just look at me, and relax.” Vulo ran his thumbs across the boy’s cheekbones. Neel stared back. He blinked once. A minute passed. He blinked again. Two minutes passed. Finally, Neel’s yellowy eyes were wide, and as flat as coins. His face was empty of any expression.
    “Look in the mirror, Indraneel of the Lovari.”
    Neel did.
    “What do you see?”
    “Nothing.” Neel’s voice was hollow.
    “Are you sure? What do you see?”
    “My face.”
    “Good.”
    “A blue wall. A golden bird.”
    Vulo pursed his lips. Without tearing his eyes from Neel’s, he said, “Treb, I worry that the boy is seeing random images, which is dangerous to his sanity. I want to wake him quickly. Ask your question.”
    Suddenly anxious himself, Treb stammered, “Where . . . Indraneel, where is the Celestial Globe?”
    Neel didn’t reply.
    There was a rustle from an unexpected corner as Tomik leaned forward and asked in Romany, “Where is Petra Kronos?”
    “Shut that
gadje
up!” Treb yelled.
    Tas clamped a hand over Tomik’s mouth, staring at the Bohemian in shock.
    “London,” Neel intoned. Then he said an English word: “Cotton.”
    “What do you mean, ‘cotton,’ and why are you speaking in English?” Treb leaped to his feet. “Where’s the globe, Neel? Is it in London?”
    “London. Cotton.”
    “The globe or your blasted friend?” Treb pressed.
    “Enough.” Vulo released Neel. The boy slumped forward, his jaw hitting the mirror with a crack.
    “There now.” Vulo lifted him up. Neel’s head lolled.
    “Is he all right?” Andras asked worriedly.
    Vulo frowned at Treb. “I
told
you not to push him.”
    Treb’s face tightened with shame. “I know. I didn’t mean to. It’s his fault!” He hauled Tomik to his feet and shook him. “Why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut?” he snarled, not caring that he was shouting in Romany, and that the boy looked confused. “If you’ve hurt Neel I’ll—”
    “I’m fine,” Neel mumbled. “Just woozy, is all.”
    Treb dropped Tomik.
    “Looks like I got another bruise.” Neel rubbed his chin. “Why’s everyone so determined to uglify my good-looking face?”
    Outside Vulo’s house, just below a rounded window, the goatherd listened to the relieved laughter of the Roma. He slipped away from the wall. As he walked away from the Owl of Sallay’s house, he stepped ever more quickly.
    “Y OU ’ RE EARLY .”
    “Yes, Master Novak.” The goatherd stepped forward, and lowered his hood. His face and hands had been dyed with walnut juice, to blend in with the dark-skinned Moroccans, but his features were European, and he spoke Czech. “I have news.”
    “Another tale of piracy?” Novak sighed, leaning back against his chair. “How dull. What is the point of being a spy if no one has any interesting secrets? I might as well go back to Prague.”
    “I’m here to tell you about something
very
interesting. And Prince Rodolfo will think so, too.”
    Master Novak had an ordinary face, the kind you forget minutes after seeing it. But now his eyes flared with intensity.
    “I heard someone in the market talking about the Mercator Globes,” the goatherd continued. “I thought they were just a myth, but—”
    “Tell me everything.”
    The goatherd did. “I couldn’t understand them once they began speaking Gypsy, but the ship’s called the
Pacolet
, and its sailors already have the Terrestrial Globe.”
    Novak pursed his lips. “Only one Mercator Globe? One is worthless. You need both to navigate through Rifts.”
    “One is better than nothing,” urged the goatherd. “Having one globe means that