A Mapwalker Trilogy

by J. F. Penn

  "Thank you. I'll definitely think about it."

  Sir Douglas gave her a long look, then nodded and swept out of the shop. Sienna sensed the space exhale as if it had been holding itself in check while he was present. She went over to the map he had touched, and sure enough, around the edges, faint charring had appeared, dark patches of soot as if it had been burned. She shook her head. What was going on here?

  Sienna went to the door and locked it, turning the sign to Closed. She didn't need any more unexpected visitors, and she wanted to look at the flat upstairs. Behind the desk at the back of the shop, a narrow wooden staircase wound up to the first floor. The stairs creaked as she walked up, the language of an old building, and she thought about her grandfather walking up here, footsteps heavy after a day's work.

  At the top, a faded red wooden door etched with a curious five-pointed compass blocked the way. Sienna tried several of the keys until one fitted the lock and she walked in.

  She had expected a musty old place, somewhere you'd expect an eighty-year-old to live, but her breath caught as she emerged into a wide open-plan living space. The walls had been opened up into archways, with picture windows looking out over the street on one side and a little courtyard at the back. A stylish kitchen and tasteful furniture made it into a modern flat, the type of place she'd only seen in magazines. Nothing like the chaos of her mother's house, packed to the gunnels with chests and boxes and bags. This was a haven and Sienna exhaled, relaxing into it.

  One long wall of shelves was piled high with books, and she stepped closer to see what they were. The Atlas of Improbable Places, books of photos from abandoned cities, and a shelf of journals. They were all black, leather-bound hardbacks in the same A5 size, each with an elastic band to hold loose papers inside. They were dated on the spine, one per year going back to the 1950s.

  Sienna's heart pounded as she considered them. They were her grandfather's private words, but he was gone, and after all, he'd left them here out in the open. She pulled one from the shelf and leafed through the pages. His handwriting was almost illegible, but it wasn't the words that caught her eye, it was the hand-drawn maps and sketches inside. The pencil lines were exact and confident, line drawings of temples next to a rough street map. She recognized the name of the place, but it didn't make sense. Babylon, a ruined city lost in time, but here, her grandfather had drawn it as if it were still alive, as if he had explored its streets.

  The journals only added more questions to the many she already had. Sienna sat back and looked around her at the light and airy flat. It already felt like home. The job wasn't working out in Oxford anyway, so perhaps she should move here. Let Sir Douglas sell the shop and keep this part, or rent it, or something. There were suddenly so many options. She needed a coffee.

  There was a little café over the street, so Sienna headed back downstairs, out the door and over to the Green Door. It bustled with customers, and the familiar smell of ground coffee filled the air. A young woman with pink curly hair and glitter in her eyebrows smiled in greeting as she arranged sweet pastries on the countertop.

  "What can I get you, my lovely?" Her broad West Country accent made Sienna smile. Bath was in Somerset, after all, home of cider, rolling hills and Cheddar cheese.

  "Just a black Americano, thanks."

  As the young woman made the coffee, Sienna looked around at the place. Students worked on laptops as two men engaged in a heated business discussion in one corner, while a well-preserved older lady read the paper opposite them. Sienna wondered if her grandfather had sat here sometimes, and a pang of regret shot through her at opportunities lost.

  She took her coffee out to the street and walked down Elizabeth Buildings towards Brock Street, wanting to catch the last rays of the sun. At the end, she turned towards the Royal Crescent where a group of tourists stood on the edge of the green lawn of Royal Victoria Park. Families sat enjoying the sun, playing games and laughing.

  Sienna looked both ways and glimpsed a young, mixed-race woman walking a golden cocker spaniel on the opposite side of the road. The little dog looked up and started wagging its tail as it saw her just as a double-decker tourist bus turned the corner. It sped towards them, going too fast for the little streets. The spaniel ran out suddenly into the road, barking in excitement, its eyes fixed upon Sienna.

  "Zippy! Come back!" the young woman shouted as the bus barreled down on them.

  3

  Sienna dropped her coffee and stepped into the road.

  She swept the little dog up into her arms as the bus horn blared and she darted back to the pavement. The spaniel licked her face, and she laughed, heart pounding at the near miss, wondering what the hell had made her step in front of a bus for a random dog.

  The young woman crossed over the road. She was early twenties, similar to Sienna's age, but her features were a dark opposite. Her black curls were cropped close, her eyes almond-shaped with high arched eyebrows. She wore a plain black t-shirt and jeans, and she had tattoos down one arm. A globe intertwined with geographical symbols and a five-pointed compass, just like the one on her grandfather's door.

  "I'm so sorry," the woman said. "He suddenly pulled out of my grip when he saw you." Sienna cuddled the little dog close as he nuzzled her neck. The woman frowned. "It's odd though, he doesn't do that with many people. Do we know you?"

  Sienna shook her head. "I've just arrived." She pointed back down the street. "The map shop was my grandfather's."

  The young woman's eyes widened in recognition. "You're Michael's granddaughter?"

  "You knew him?"

  She nodded. "Of course, yes. Oh, my goodness. I'm so sorry about his death." Sienna thought she could see more than just regret in the woman's eyes. Did she know something more? "Did you see Bridget already?"

  "Yes, she gave me a key for the shop. Does everyone know everyone here?"

  The young woman laughed. "It's a small city, and the map community is tight knit, for sure." She put out a hand. "I'm Mila Wendell."

  Sienna put Zippy down and shook Mila's hand. "Sienna Farren."

  "I helped your granddad out in the shop sometimes and often manned his stall at the map fairs in London if he was too tired to travel."

  Her words cut through Sienna. She should have been the one helping. "I met Sir Douglas Mercator as well. You must know him?"

  Mila's expression darkened. "Yes, of course. He's … Well, he doesn't usually come around this part of town much. He and your grandfather didn't get on. Actually, that's an understatement. What did he want?"

  Sienna turned back towards Elizabeth Buildings. "To buy the shop."

  Mila shook her head. "The old bastard's been trying to take it over for years. But before you make a decision, you should know a bit more about what Michael stood for. Did you find his compass?"

  Sienna shook her head. "No, Bridget just gave me a letter."

  "I know where it's kept. I can show you if you like. I know he'd want you to have it."

  Together, they walked back to the map shop. Mila tied Zippy to a bench outside, and he lay down facing the shop, clearly used to the place. When they walked in, Sienna felt the maps warm to them both, and she sensed that Mila was welcome here. She didn't know how she knew it, and there were more questions piling up, but for now, Sienna was just glad to have someone around who knew her grandfather and seemed to love the shop.

  Mila walked over to a chest of drawers with a glass display cabinet on top. "Michael kept some of the most precious maps here, away from sticky wandering fingers." She looked up. "Do you know anything about maps, about how much this is all worth?"

  Sienna shook her head. "I studied Geography but it wasn't so much about maps, and I don't know anything about the antique or collectable side." She paused, looking around at what was left of her father's side of the family. "But I want to learn."

  Mila met her eyes and then she nodded. "There's more to learn than you think." She knelt down and pulled a round wooden box out of the drawer, frowning as
she felt its weight. She pulled the lid off to reveal an empty velvet case. Mila's face fell. "They must have taken it from him."

  "Who? The people who killed Granddad?" Sienna knelt down next to her. "Do you know who it was?"

  Mila took a deep breath. "It's complicated. I don't know what to tell you about his death, but a Cartographer's compass is his most treasured possession."

  Sienna stood up. "This is all so crazy. This morning I woke up in Oxford and everything was fine, and now I'm here, and Granddad is gone. Murdered. I have this shop, but I also have an offer for it. Should I just take the money and run?"

  Mila smiled softly. "If your life is elsewhere, then of course. I know Michael would understand. He would have wanted you to have a full life without the weight of family expectation. Bridget can help you sell the place if it's what you want."

  Mila's words struck a chord because she didn't have a life elsewhere. Not really. Sienna knew she'd been aimless and wandering for too long, unable to choose a path forward. Her father had made his choices and paid the ultimate price. Her grandfather too had met his end because of something to do with the maps. Her curiosity burned to know more, but there was a touch of fear there too. If she walked away now, she could go to London, patch things up with Ben, start anew with money in her pocket, student loans paid off, maybe even have enough to buy a place. And yet …

  She touched the maps in the case before her, sensing a texture in the air around them, like running her hand through a field of wheat. There was something anchoring her here, and she wanted to know what the hell was going on, why Granddad died, and how there could possibly be sketches of long-dead cities in his journals upstairs.

  Mila walked over to the globe and spun it around a little way. "Michael kept your ancestral history from you, but perhaps it's time for you to make your own map, Sienna."

  The doorbell rang again. Bridget walked in and smiled to see Mila. "I'm glad you two found each other already."

  "Zippy saw to that." Mila laughed, then she turned serious, indicating the empty case. "Michael's compass is gone."

  Bridget frowned. "Then things are going to get worse. Sienna, I know you're confused. Michael tried to keep you away from all this, but now you have to know. Come with me to the Ministry of Maps. Come and see what your grandfather worked on. And your father too."

  "My father? You knew him?"

  Bridget nodded and her eyes softened in remembrance. "John and I trained together. We were … friends before he was lost. There are many things for you to know if you want to."

  Sienna's phone buzzed. She pulled it out and looked at the name on the screen. It was her mother again. She wouldn't want her daughter getting involved. But something tugged at Sienna. She had to know.

  She rejected the call. "I'll come with you. But I haven't made up my mind about keeping the shop yet."

  Bridget nodded. "Of course."

  Sienna grabbed her bag, and they left the shop. Zippy jumped around, nuzzling against Sienna's leg as Mila untied him. "He likes you. He adored Michael, too, but right now, I need to take him back to the boat. I'll meet you at the Ministry later." She headed off up the hill.

  "So what is this Ministry?" Sienna asked.

  "Suspend your rational side for a moment," Bridget said as they walked. "It can be hard to fathom, but we have to start somewhere." She took a deep breath. "Bath has two different sides. The city is a World Heritage Site with two thousand-year-old Roman Baths, the medieval Abbey, Georgian architecture and boutique shopping. That's what most people see. But it also has an unseen dimension you won't find on any terrestrial maps. It's a portal to the Borderlands, a place where this earth bleeds into another. There are other portals in ancient places where borders blur: Athens, Rome, Damascus, Varanasi, Jerusalem. Places where people have been written in and out of history. The Ministry protects the borders, and it keeps the Borderlands from slipping back over here."

  They emerged into The Circus side by side, the police still working in the center. Bridget sighed. "Your grandfather worked for the Ministry, and this is where the border opened last night. He stopped whatever might have come through. He gave his life to protect the city, not that most people can ever know about it."

  Sienna heard her words and saw the bloody tree, but how could this be real? Her mind reeled with questions. They walked around the edge and headed down the hill past the shops and the Bertinet bakery, past the Guildhall, until they reached the Abbey Church of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, known locally as Bath Abbey. Its Gothic presence dominated the central city, a hub for tourists and photographers for its carved facade of climbing angels and ornate wooden door. The Bath stone glowed with a golden light as the late sun touched the tower. Bridget paused as they reached the thick walls and they stood for a moment under the flying buttresses and magnificent stained glass windows.

  "The Abbey was built on a pagan site, founded as a convent, then turned into a monastery in the seventh century. It's been rebuilt several times, grander with every incarnation. The Ministry is based in the levels beneath and in some of the surrounding buildings. We also have a training facility up at the University on the hill."

  "Why here?" Sienna asked.

  "Bath is an ancient energy center," Bridget explained. "With the confluence of ley lines that run across Britain, the river and the underground hot springs, it has drawn people through the ages. The Freemasons in the Georgian period concentrated the energy into The Circus and so the Ministry is here to protect the area."

  "Is it part of the church?"

  Bridget shook her head. "Not in a religious fashion, but our facility is wound into the structure of the Abbey. You'll see when we go below."

  She lead Sienna round the back of the Abbey, past the inscription marking where the first king of all England, Edgar, was crowned in 973 AD. A statue of the risen Christ emerging from the grave, shroud bandages still around him, stood marking an entranceway with thick stone steps down to a tiny door.

  "It doesn't look like much," Bridget said. "But wait until you get inside."

  Sienna followed her down. At first, it seemed the stone steps must lead into some equally ancient crypt, but Bridget turned when they reached the bottom and faced the stone wall.

  "You can walk on into the museum below the church, but the Ministry is this way."

  She touched a groove in the wall, and the stone cracked open. The outline of a door emerged, and Bridget pushed against it. On the other side, there was a library, the walls lined with books of maps and easy chairs placed next to low tables for reading. Sienna didn't recognize many of the names on the spines and part of her longed to stay here and escape into the tomes. But Bridget marched straight through, entering a code on a door on the other side and leading her on.

  They emerged into a long hallway with doors leading off it, each labeled with a different title. Antiquities, Restoration, Misinformation, Illustration. They passed one door stained a deep red with the words Blood Gallery etched into the wood.

  Sienna took a step towards it, but Bridget held her arm. "That's not for you just yet. There will be time to learn it all if you choose, but first, you must meet the Illuminated Cartographer. This way."

  The corridor walls were full of photographs, exuberant faces of explorers around the world. As they walked by, Sienna scanned them for a glimpse of her family. She stopped in front of one where her grandfather stood in front of the temple he had sketched in his journal. "Is it really Babylon?" she asked.

  Bridget turned and came back to look. "Yes, I know it's hard to understand. But there are places that have been lost Earth-side, but remain in the Borderlands. Some of us cross those borders through special maps. We are Mapwalkers, Sienna. Mila and me. Your grandfather. Your father."

  Sienna turned at her words. "Is there a picture of him?"

  Bridget nodded and walked along a little, searching amongst the faces. "Here."

  Sienna looked up at the picture. Her dad stood with four others, two men and two women.
His face was broad with a smile, his titian hair shining in the sun, his beard longer than she'd ever seen it. He wore khaki shorts and held a bulging backpack. Behind the group, what looked like a South American city stretched into green jungle. Sienna touched his face with a fingertip.

  "I don't even have a grave to visit."

  Bridget looked surprised. "Of course not. Your father isn't dead."

  4

  Mila walked along the canal path, Zippy running along next to her, excited to be out in the warmth of the afternoon. He sniffed in the hedgerows and snuffled in the reeds as a pair of iridescent dragonflies flitted about his head. Mila thought about Sienna. The young woman didn't know anything about her Mapwalker heritage and it made Mila wonder what her own life would have been like if she'd never known.

  A robin trilled in the hedgerows by her side, then the peep-peep of new ducklings came from the canal as the little balls of fluff paddled fast beside her hoping for a crumb. With every step, she was grateful. Grateful that she wasn't in London, in the tower block she grew up in, where she could barely walk a meter or so along the corridor. She used to run up and down the flights of stairs just to expend some of her energy, and to stay away from the other kids in her foster family. Although the word family barely applied, at least it was a roof over her head. She didn't know much about her birth parents, only hints that her father had been a student from war-torn Sierra Leone. In London, mixed-race was normal, but here in Bath, her darker skin and almond-shaped eyes stood out and sometimes, she liked being different.

  Back then, Mila would escape to the canals of London, walking for hours alongside the slow-moving water. She longed to get in, to let the cool slide over her body. She wanted to open her mouth and let it flood into her lungs, to slit open her wrists and let her blood mingle with the canal, become one with it.