That brought me up short, and my anger dissipated like mist under the sun. I had asked so many times; why now? Was it gratitude? Or guilt? Certainly it was the only gift I wanted from him. But it didn’t matter—I wasn’t about to question it. I found my voice. “What? What is it?”
He turned back to his bed and stared for a moment at the plate he’d left there. Then he broke a piece of bread off the sandwich and put it into the caladrius’s cage. She cocked her head shyly on her slender neck before dipping it down, delicate and precise, to eat from his hand. A winch in my gut wound tighter, but I was afraid if I asked again, he’d change his mind. “Navigation is not just about the maps,” he said finally, as though to the bird. “Part of it is belief.”
“Belief?” My mind was racing. “What do you mean?”
He brushed the crumbs from his palms and sat back down on his bed. “I’ve never been able to get to a place I didn’t believe existed. Doubt can stop a map from working.”
The edge of the Sutfin had started to curl; I ran my finger down the side. “So . . . you believe this map will work. That’s no secret.”
“If belief affects whether a map works, I’d think belief also affects what you find there.”
“You think, or you know?”
“Fine, I know.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair. “I know she’ll be there, and I know everything will work out.”
“How can you be sure?”
“It’s fate.” He looked at me—no, through me, as though just behind me was his future. “It’s inevitable.”
I ground my teeth, feeling tricked. “This isn’t about Navigation, it’s about delusion.” Disappointment was bitter on my tongue, but he didn’t flinch in the face of my scorn. Another breeze purled through the room, and I shivered. “I suppose if you’re going to see Lin again, we might as well throw all that overboard.” I flicked my hand toward the box under the bed. “You know she would hate to see it.”
His eyes refocused, and he met my stare with a steady gaze, but the silence stretched between us like a rope about to snap. Was that doubt? I turned my face so he wouldn’t see my expression, but when my eyes fell on the Sutfin map, my smug smile wilted. I wanted the map to fail, but why take joy in tormenting him? At heart, all he wanted was an escape, and that I understood—only too well. “Tell me more about Navigating,” I said then, too eagerly, breathless at the thought of freedom.
Slate laughed a little. “Why should I?”
“Because . . . because I asked.” He laughed again, louder, and I stiffened. “Please?”
He did not answer me. He was so quiet I couldn’t even hear him breathing. Finally I faced him; he was watching me and his expression was serious. “Why, Nixie?” he asked again, but it was clear he already knew.
Still, I did not answer. If I told him the truth—that I would leave him behind and never look back, that I longed to go anywhere and everywhere he was not—he would argue; worse, if I confirmed it, he would never teach me. “Because I helped you,” I said at last.
He made a face. “We don’t strike bargains, Nixie, not between you and me. We don’t haggle over things.”
I clenched my jaw. “I’ll try to remember that the next time you ask for money to buy a map.”
“This is a good map, Nixie,” he said, stabbing another dumpling. “There won’t be a next time.”
I went back outside, leaving Slate to his dinner. There was no sign now of the party; the deck was clear for tomorrow. I leaned on the rail, staring without seeing at the cars moving along the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. The warmth of the day had long faded, and the night air was quite cool; the condensation gave the headlights halos.
I pressed my thumb between my brows. I already regretted arguing with the captain. What had been the point? He was certain—or at least, he said he was—and nothing I could say would turn him from his tack.
At least I’d gotten something out of it. It was a small thing—one bright minnow in a school—but the captain had always been tight-lipped about Navigation. Now I knew why. Had he finally discovered the map I’d taken? No . . . he could have guessed I’d want to strike out on my own someday. Besides, he didn’t know his collection well enough to notice one map missing.
I’d tucked it away in my cabin, at the bottom of my sea chest, along with my entire life savings: six hundred and forty-two dollars, after today. The map was small, fragile, the color of tea: Carthage during Roman rule, 165 A.D. There, white salt, so cheap in modern America, could be traded for gold, or jewels. Or a small, fast ship of my own.
Slate had so many maps of his past; why shouldn’t I have a map of my future? I couldn’t spend my life stuck on my father’s ship, tossed by his tempestuous moods, waiting for the day when he managed to steer us directly onto the rocky shore where his siren sang. I wanted my freedom, even though it likely meant never seeing the rest of the crew again. Once I knew how to Navigate, nothing could keep me aboard the Temptation.