He startled, seeing me, his eyes widening. I stumbled away, my fingers cold, my face hot. He came toward me, one hand out; not stopping to think, I ran into the study and pulled the door closed leaning against it so he couldn’t follow.
Kashmir and Mrs. Hart! What a disgusting flirt—the both of them! All this time I’d been fending off Blake, and there he’d been, with her and her blond curls and her tiny shoes and her faux-charming mispronunciation of Arab, while we were supposed to be concentrating on the map!
The map.
I shoved Kashmir out of my mind. He’d found a completely different distraction. There was no time for me to do the same.
The portfolio was on the desk where we’d left it. I took it up with shaking hands just as the floorboards creaked in the hall. Kashmir coming in? No . . . there were two men’s voices, speaking low, right outside the door. I darted left a step, then right, but there was no place to hide.
A latch clicked—the hinge creaked—my heart stopped—
“Amira!”
I whirled around. The side door was open, and Kashmir beckoned me from the next room.
I ran through, pulling the door shut just as the men entered the study. I leaned on the heavy mahogany door, my blood pounding in my ears, willing my heart to slow down.
“What were you doing in the hall?” Kashmir whispered fiercely, but before I replied, he put his hand over my mouth. The men were speaking behind the door.
“Sir,” Mr. Hart said, “I am in debt to every single one of them! If I comply, they forgive the sum, but if I do not, they will ruin me!”
“You would be far away, and more than rich enough, besides.” That was the captain’s voice. “You could pay the debt twice over if you chose!”
“I could,” Mr. Hart said slowly. “But if I were to betray them, we would have to leave immediately. Mr. D, he—he would contact the authorities . . . with lies, to be sure, but you must understand, though my brother was a scoundrel, he was quite well liked—”
“We could sail this evening.”
“And where would we go?”
“Anywhere you like.”
“Anywhere?”
My back was pressed against the door, and Kashmir was pressed against me, the portfolio sandwiched between us, one of its corners jabbing my thigh. Slowly he lifted his hand away from my mouth. There was frustration in his eyes, and it made me furious. I responded by lifting the portfolio and raising my brows, but he only shook his head. Then he stepped back from me on quiet cat feet and picked up a roll of paper leaning against the side of a blue upholstered chaise, giving it a little shake.
The map.
I ground my teeth and leaned the empty portfolio against the wall. “When did you—”
He put his finger to his lips. Then he beckoned me to step away from the door, but I took one step and his hand flew up again. He pointed down near my feet.
The hem of my new dress was caught in the door
I grabbed a handful of the fabric to pull, but Kashmir’s frantic gestures stopped me. He handed me the map and reached up over his shoulder, drawing a short knife out from under his collar.
Mr. Hart was speaking again. “But there is one more thing you must do for me.”
“If I can,” the captain said.
“If you cannot, there is no hope elsewhere.”
“What is it? Well?” Slate’s impatience was palpable.
“They say . . . you and your crew have access to . . . all manner of strange and mystical items. And it is . . . I am not proud to say it, but I—I require . . .” The pause was so long I wondered if they’d left the room, but finally Mr. Hart continued. “I require a love potion.”
So Mr. Hart knew too. Not only about our ship, but about Mrs. Hart. What would Slate say? I had asked him about love potions once, and he’d scoffed at the notion, disgusted by the very idea of forcing someone to fall in love. Still, mythology is rife with potions, powders, Cupid’s arrows. Love as something taken, rather than something given.
I pressed my lips together. Kashmir was still flushed with anger . . . or was it shame? He avoided my eyes; his knife whispered through the silk.
“It would mean the world to me, sir,” Hart continued. “You understand? You told me why you want the map. You know what a man will do for love.”
“Fine,” Slate said at last. “Yes. I . . . as I’ve said, I am not the expert. But my . . . Nix will find one. She can find anything.”
“Ah, excellent! Excellent!”
Kash stepped back; I was free of the door. I handed him the map and made a shooing motion, but he looked at me quizzically. “The captain,” I mouthed, nodding back toward the door.
My plan was simple: barge in, tell the captain I had a message from Bee to return to the ship immediately, and whisk him out of the room before Mr. Hart could object. But I couldn’t explain it all to Kashmir, who shook his head and gestured for me to follow him.