According to Slate, the Coast Guard in New York had always been a pain, but much worse, of course, since 2001, far nosier and almost impossible to bribe. Nothing like the eighties, in the uncivilized city of my father’s youth. To make it worse, the Coast Guard was full of people who loved boats, and they couldn’t keep their hands off the Temptation.
She was a striking caravel, her black hull copper clad below the waterline to keep out worms (and worse, depending on what waters we traveled). She rode on a keel fashioned from what looked like the rib of a leviathan, carved with labyrinthine runes from stem to stern, and at the prow, a red-haired mermaid bared her breasts to calm the sea.
Even if the Coast Guard wasn’t inclined to search us, they would take any chance to stand on the deck and spin the wheel and tell Slate how they played pirates when they were children. Of course, once on deck they were bound to hear the tigers roaring. I gritted my teeth and waited for the captain as below, our illicit cargo growled in their rickety cages.
Just as I was about to knock again, Slate emerged from his cabin with the radio hissing, but he stared at the Coast Guard ship for a long time, blinking slowly in the fading glow of sunset. My heart sank; his pupils were the size of dimes. “Captain?”
My voice startled him to action. He lifted the microphone. “New York Coast Guard, New York Coast Guard, New York Coast Guard, this is the ship Temptation, Temptation, Temptation, over.”
A brief crackle of static, and then a hiss as we waited. Bee gnawed her finger. “Did he find another map?”
I shook my head. “He can’t Navigate now, not with them watching.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Bee said.
“Shouldn’t,” I said. “People will report it. Or film it and put it on YouTube.”
“Privacy is important,” Bee said. “You get little of it in prison.”
“New York Coast Guard, New York Coast Guard.” Slate bounced the microphone impatiently in his hand. “This is the ship Temptation, over.”
The lights off the stern were getting closer; another roar reverberated through my feet. “What do we do if they don’t answer?”
Kashmir made a face. “We could throw them overboard.”
“The drugs?”
“The tigers.”
“New York Coast Guard,” Slate repeated. His brow shone with sweat. “This is the ship Temptation, over.”
No answer, and the lights grew closer still. “Captain—”
Slate swore and dropped the radio to the deck, striding toward the helm. “Bring me a map, Nix!”
“What map?”
“Any map!”
“But—”
“Nix!”
The speaker crackled then; we both froze. “The Temptation, this is the New York Coast Guard, please switch to channel sixty-six, over.”
Kashmir scooped the radio off the deck and handed it to the captain. “New York Coast Guard, this is the Temptation, switching to channel sixty-six, over.” Slate did so, the speaker still hissing softly.
“The Temptation, this is the New York Coast Guard.” The accent was pure Brooklyn. “Slate?”
“Yes.” It was almost a sigh of relief. “This is Slate. Is this Bruce? Over.”
“This is Bruce. We got a call reporting suspicious activity.” Bruce gave a bark of a laugh, making the speaker crackle. “Thought it might be you, over.”
“A black pirate ship always scares the yachters, Bruce. Never thought she’d worry the Coast Guard.”
“Worried? Nah, they just want to visit with you,” Bruce said. “The Eagle’s got our newest cadet on board. My nephew. Never been on a tall ship. Would you mind showing him the ropes?”
“Ah.” Slate took a breath, his eyes roaming across the deck, over the sea, to the boat approaching. “I’d love to, Bruce, but, uh—” His eyes fell on me. “But we’re a little busy. It’s my daughter’s birthday. We’re having a party and everything. Over.”
My eyebrows went up. “My birthday?”
“Oh, man, your daughter? What is she now, fourteen?”
I shook my head, but he wasn’t paying attention.
Slate’s brow furrowed. “Yeah . . . ?”
“Dangerous age, Captain.” Kashmir snorted.
“Hey, don’t let me interrupt the festivities,” Bruce continued. “Say happy birthday for me. I’ll tell the boy he’s gotta wait. Probably for the best, he’s a handsome kid. Welcome home, over.”
“Bruce, thanks, over and out.”
“Yeah, thanks, Bruce,” I said under my breath.
Slate shut off the radio. It was only another few seconds before the ship behind us slowed and changed course. I pushed my hair out of my face and watched their lights fade. Slate dropped the radio on the deck and dragged his hands down his jaw.
“Finally a bit of luck, amira,” Kashmir said with a half grin.
I grimaced. “Only a bit, though.”
“Yes, too bad about the handsome nephew.”
“Why?” I said. “You were hoping for a pretty niece?”
He winked at me, but not even teasing Kashmir could lift my mood. We were nearing the Hamptons now, and no closer to our destination. In fact, the tigers prevented us from getting into the harbor at all; Bruce, who Slate never failed to bribe with good liquor when he got the chance, might be able to call off the Coast Guard, but the harbormasters would notice the roaring as soon as we tied up to the dock.