He awkwardly lay face down. He heard the rustle of banknotes filling the suitcase. The snap of the latches.
“Didn’t I tell you to count?” she said.
He sneezed. Dust filled his eyes. “How long am I counting?”
“To a thousand. I’ll be back to check, so you better not stop.”
She poked him with the barrel on the back of his neck. He began counting aloud, his voice weak. “One. Two. Three. Four . . .”
He heard her footsteps retreat, then the tinkle of the bell. Still, he counted.
“ . . . ninety-eight. Ninety-nine. One hundred.”
Simão paused. He strained to listen. Just the distant sounds of the street.
Cautiously, he pushed himself to his feet and crept to the door. It stood ajar. He peered out, looking both ways. The girl from Pota Pras was gone.
He hurried to the back room, stomach churning. He had to leave town before someone else came. Someone without mercy.
The face of the White Fox with the silver rings in her face came immediately to mind.
But how could he run now? He had nothing?—
Simão drew up short, blinking in surprise as he peered into the depths of the safe. He couldn’t believe it. She’d left him about a third of his stash.
And that wasn’t all.
He picked up the stone. Watched it turn blue, then red, then violet.
“Thank you,” he whispered, filled with shame once again.
Kal shuffled forward with the crowd waiting to board the ship. A port official moved down the line, checking identity cards. She handed hers over with a smile.
He glanced at the forged documents, then at her face, then back to the papers. Sweat gathered at the small of her back despite the cool breeze coming off the water.
“Purpose in Iskatar, Miss Jentzen?” he asked.
“Family visit,” she replied with a smile. “My cousins live in Lagash.”
The official handed back her papers with a disinterested nod and moved on to the next passenger. She exhaled and crossed the gangplank with a bounce in her step.
The steamer was a workhorse with peeling paint and a barnacle-crusted hull. Not the elegant cutter she dreamed of, but it would get her to Iskatari capital. From there, she planned to buy her own ship, hire a crew, and set sail for the corners of the map. Someplace beyond the reach of witches and angels both.
Kal found a spot at the rail and set the suitcase between her feet. She scanned the docks, looking for a young man with dark hair and eyes that had a habit of subtly changing color. Who had blood like quicksilver. She still didn’t know who Levi worked for. Didn’t even know what he was. But the forged papers he gave her were good enough to fool a customs official.
Of course, she didn’t see him. Levi would be searching the docks and train stations in Arjevica, not Kota Gelangi.
She felt a pang and berated herself for a fool.
The deck vibrated as the steamer pulled away from the wharf. The gap of dark water widened. Kal looked back at the sprawling city of Kota Gelangi, at the distant smudge of the Zamir Hills. She wondered what D’Amato was doing right now. If he was smart, he’d take the money she left him and run. The funny part is that the gun wasn’t even loaded. She’d used up all the bullets shooting at the blue emperor.
Kal slid a hand into her pocket, folding her fingers around the clay disk stamped with mining license 009-735-021. And under that, in fading letters, D. Padulski.
She would gladly trade the contents of the suitcase at her feet for a chance to go back and do things differently. Pick a different jeweler this time. Or better yet, figure out what they’d found before it was too late.
But she couldn’t. So she’d do the next best thing and make all of his schemes come true. Travel the world and build a fortune to beggar the queens of old.
“You did it, bitch.”
