by S. E. Grove
Sophia rested a gentle, protective hand on his good shoulder. She could feel his chest rising and falling with each breath, and it reassured her to know that Theo was there, sleeping safely and soundly. It was well past one-hour when she finally fell asleep herself, and then she slept so heavily that it seemed only a moment had passed before Smokey was quietly stacking logs to light the fire. Sophia burrowed deeper into the blankets and squeezed her eyes shut to block out the light. Some time later she heard Smokey, Casanova, and Bittersweet talking near the door of the house. A fourth voice joined them, one she did not recognize. Then, quite unmistakably, the unknown voice said, “Shadrack Elli.”
Sophia’s eyes flew open. Theo was nowhere to be seen. She sat up and pulled her hair quickly into a braid. Padding up to the doorway, she saw Smokey, Casanova, and Bittersweet sitting around the ashes of a fire with a stranger. He had a gap-toothed smile, a bulbous nose, and a square-cut white beard. His head was entirely bald, and he was fanning himself with a canvas hat.
“Good morning!” he said merrily to Sophia. “You must be Sophia Tims! I have heard such a great deal about you. Not from these good-for-nothings, who are worthless as gossips, but from Miles Countryman, my friend and associate in Boston.”
Smiling at this peculiar greeting, Sophia extended her hand. “I am glad to know you.”
The stranger winked. “Well, you don’t know me yet.” He stood up and gave a little bow. “Pip Entwhistle, at your service. Trader, merchant, purveyor of fine goods and curiosities.”
“Do you also know my uncle, Shadrack Elli? I heard his name just now.”
“I do!” declared Pip. “The finest cartologer of our Age, and a man of discerning taste, I might add. He and I share an interest in pennies.”
“Pennies?” Sophia said, surprised. “He’s never mentioned that.”
“Oh, yes, indeed. Pennies.” Pip grinned. “Would you like to see one?”
Sophia, perplexed, glanced at Smokey and saw there a look of knowing amusement. She gave Sophia a small nod. “Why not?” Sophia replied.
With a flourish, Pip produced a penny from an inside coat pocket. He held it up but did not hand it over. “Did you know that the first copper pennies were made in 1793, before the Disruption?” Sophia shook her head. “They were not a great success. In execution, not conception. Everyone liked the idea. After the Disruption, New Occident began the manufacture of what we know as the clock penny.” He held up the familiar wheel of copper, as large as a chestnut. “And yet this special penny, which your uncle and I have a keen interest in, is a little different than most. Why do you think that is?”
He handed it over to Sophia, who examined it curiously, still wondering why they were discussing pennies, of all things. The penny had the twenty-hour New Occident clock on one side and a tiny map of the states on the other. “There’s something here on Upper Massachusetts,” she said, noticing a different texture.
“You got it! Right on the nose!” Pip exclaimed triumphantly, tapping the side of his own. “You would find, if you were to consult a jeweler, that it is rose quartz. Mined in Upper Massachusetts. And, we think quite suitably, embedded in the portion of map that depicts the region.” He beamed.
“Why rose quartz?” Sophia asked when it appeared Pip would not be explaining the obvious.
Pip winked. “Because precious stones are the stickiest things in the world.”
She was entirely baffled. “Stickiest?”
“Sticky for memories, that is. Precious stones seem to absorb memories at the lightest touch—it is simply remarkable.”
“Oh!” Sophia exclaimed, with sudden understanding. She turned the penny over to look at Upper Massachusetts again. “This is a memory map?”
Pip laughed with delight. “Yes! Shadrack and I had three hundred made in total. I put the pennies into circulation, and everyone who touches them leaves a few memories in the rose quartz. The pennies work their way around and around, from one hand to another. Eventually, some of them work their way back to me, and I pass them along to Shadrack. They are each a treasure chest of information. They have given us invaluable insights into what is happening here and in the Territories, and all without having to actually go there.”
“How do you read them?”
“Thumb on the quartz, forefinger on the map, and your other hand on the edges. Otherwise, everyone would be reading the map by accident, you understand.”
Sophia followed his instructions and held the penny in both hands. Brief but vivid memories flitted through her mind: Pip, laughing and waving good-bye at the entrance of a tavern; a messy kitchen with broken crockery; a country fair where cows wore blue ribbons and pies sat on a long, checkered cloth; a watch shop in which the proprietor bent over his work, examining minute gears to the music of chiming clocks; and Pip again, holding up a contraption that looked like a telescope. “How wonderful,” Sophia said, smiling, as she handed it back.
“Entirely devised by your uncle Shadrack,” Pip said, taking the penny in his palm. “He is shockingly ingenious, if I do say so myself. Shockingly ingenious.”
“We were speaking of your uncle, Sophia,” Smokey put in, “because Pip has brought me a new map.”
Sophia raised her eyebrows. She saw now that a map lay unfurled on Smokey’s lap, and, on either side of her, Casanova and Bittersweet had been studying it. “A map of what?”
“Shadrack has been sending us maps of the troops’ movements. It is part of his effort to avoid bloodshed in this war.” Smokey smiled. “You should be very proud of him—he has done a great deal in a short amount of time.”
Sophia sank down beside Bittersweet, and Smokey passed her the map. “He sends them to you?” she echoed.
“Here’s how it works,” Pip said, drawing himself up importantly. “I take my goods to Boston, as I have done from time immemorial, and of late I always make a point of stopping by Shadrack Elli’s house, in case he has any interesting maps to sell, which I pay for with copper pennies.” He winked broadly and tapped the side of his nose.
“Oh, I see!” Sophia exclaimed.
“I usually find at least a few interesting maps, you may not be surprised to hear. Then I travel back to my usual circuit, here on the border of New Occident and the Territories, and I stop in on half a dozen acquaintances, and since I excel at trade and barter, I am usually able to persuade them to take one of these peculiar maps off my hands. In exchange, they give me some scribbles that I tuck away and carry back to Boston next time I go. It works very well,” he said, pleased with himself.
“Every week Shadrack sends us updates,” Smokey said, rather more directly, “and we keep him informed of things here. This map shows the troop movements since the start of the war and, as far as he knows, where they are headed.”
Sophia considered the map. It was the first new map of her uncle’s that she had seen in months, and the familiar hand made her ache. It was clear that he had rushed, but as usual, he had not compromised on precision. A line of arrows, annotated with dates, showed the progress of the troops since July. She found Oakring, just south of the Eerie Sea, and to the southwest of it was a shaded cloud marked August 20 or thereabouts. All of the lines with arrows pointed to it. Sophia frowned. “And they are all meeting up there?”
“We were discussing this as you came out,” Smokey said. “It seems Broadgirdle plans a large-scale confrontation. He is amassing almost all the New Occident forces there later this month. General Griggs will lead the armies, which almost certainly means that Fen Carver will be bringing the Territories’ troops to the same place. “
“It’s not far from here,” Sophia murmured. “Is it even in the Territories?”
“You’ve hit upon the problem,” Bittersweet said, his voice heavy. “This place is not in the Territories at all—it is Turtleback Valley.”
Sophia looked up at him, horrified. “No!”
&nbs
p; “I’m afraid so.”
“But the grove . . . We can’t let them harm it—we must stop them!”
“I know,” he agreed. “I fear that with a force so large, the old one’s influence will be useless. The grove would be destroyed. And there is more. Pip, do you have a pen or pencil in that massive pack of yours?”
Entwhistle, who had listened to this exchange with some bewilderment, reached into his jacket and withdrew a blue pen with a silver nib. “Here you are. Manufactured in Charleston. Flawless construction. Never leaks.”
Bittersweet took the pen without comment and began marking the map with small Xs, dating each one. “There,” he said, holding it up. “It’s just as I thought.”
“What is?” Sophia asked.
He handed her the map. “Each X is where Datura has been. It didn’t make sense to me before, because I didn’t know all the troop movements, but look. In every single case, the crimson fog precedes New Occident forces. They send in Datura first, and then they come afterward with fire. Destroy what little survives.”
Sophia caught her breath and Pip gave a low whistle. Casanova shook his head grimly. “I am sorry to say that it does not surprise me.”
“That must be why this war has moved so quickly,” Smokey said.
“No doubt,” Bittersweet agreed, his expression aggrieved. “They are using her as a weapon, clearing the way for New Occident troops.”
Sophia gazed at the map, appalled by all that it contained. “What is the purpose of destroying these places so completely? Not just the crimson fog, but gunfire, and—fire? Why?”
“It ruins crops, and it ruins morale,” Casanova told her.
“I cannot believe that Broadgirdle would do this,” she declared.
“He is capable of anything,” said a voice from the doorway. Theo stood there, looking tousled but better than he had the previous evening.
“Theodore Constantine Thackary!” Pip cried, standing up once more. “How good to see you again, though I would prefer to see you with fewer bandages.”
“How are you, Pip?” Theo greeted him, putting his arm carefully around the older man.
“I am perfectly well. You, on the other hand, were in better condition last time I saw you,” Pip said disapprovingly.
“We stayed with Pip when Miles and I traveled west in the winter,” Theo explained to Sophia. “A lot has happened since then,” he told Entwhistle.
“Yes, yes—I know,” he replied gravely, stroking his beard. “Sit down, sit down. This Broadgirdle has wreaked havoc on New Occident, but I know he has been devilish to you in more particular ways.”
“What has he done now?” Theo asked.
Sophia handed Theo the map. “He plans to amass the New Occident army in Turtleback Valley. Where the grove is. And Bittersweet says that the troops have followed in the wake of the fog.”
Theo studied the map in silence. “Well, we needed no proof that Graves is a monster.”
“Graves?” Pip asked, eyebrows raised.
“I know him from the Baldlands,” Theo explained. “He’s not even from New Occident. When I knew him, he went by Wilkie Graves.”
Pip’s eyes lit with understanding. “Oh, ho, ho!” he said, slapping his knee. “Wilkie Graves. Wilkie Graves!” he said again.
“You know him?”
“Pip knows everyone,” Smokey said, looking at him thoughtfully.
“I do indeed, I do indeed,” Pip declared. “And it doesn’t surprise me at all, now, to find he is at the root of this disastrous war. Not at all. He has a very violent past. Did you know him as a slave trader?”
Sophia caught her breath. “A slave trader?”
“I did,” Theo assented, his tone guarded.
“Well, I knew him from even before that, and his earlier past is even more colorful, shall we say. And now we find him at the head of government and leading an army.” He shook his head and rose to his feet. “My friends, I know you have much to discuss and much to do here. But I have work of my own to take care of, and this very helpful bit of information will speed me along.” He looked at Theo meaningly. “I may not return for longer than usual,” he told Smokey. “So I’ll send word to you somehow—I hope before August twentieth, our day of reckoning.”
The group rose to bid good-bye to Entwhistle, who shook hands all around, pulled on his canvas hat, and lifted the leather pack that sat beside him. He waved as he walked off down the hill toward Oakring, his boots squelching in the mud.
Sophia watched him go, but the moment he was out of sight she turned her attention back to the map. “What are we going to do?” she asked, looking in turn at Bittersweet, Casanova, Smokey, and Theo. “We have to stop them marching into Turtleback Valley.” She was grateful that none of them tried to argue that it was impossible or unnecessary. Their faces told her how seriously they considered the question of what to do.
“A distraction somewhere else?” suggested Theo.
“What kind of distraction?” asked Casanova. “It would have to be dramatic.”
“A weirwind would be distracting. A weirwind as long as the valley.”
“The old one isn’t even listening to me these days,” Bittersweet said, shaking his head. “Persuading it to make a weirwind is out of the question.”
“Perhaps they could be led in the wrong direction somehow,” Sophia offered tentatively.
As she spoke, Nosh ambled up to them and rested his head lightly on Bittersweet’s shoulder. He exhaled noisily. “That’s a nice idea, Nosh, but it’s impossible,” said Bittersweet.
“What?” Sophia asked.
“He said we could show them the valley from the old one’s perspective, and then they would not want to harm it.” He rubbed the moose’s chin. “Nosh is such an idealist.”
Sophia frowned. “But wait a moment. It’s not such a bad idea . . .” she said. As she considered Nosh’s suggestion, she spoke her thoughts aloud. “If you put it that way, then yes, it sounds unlikely. But if they somehow saw—really saw the Clime for what it was . . .” She trailed off pensively. “The old one remembers more than anyone, is what my map from Ausentinia says. I wonder. When I arrived at the edge of Ausentinia, I saw the Clime’s past—its memories of how it had been. I was—” She shook her head. “They were overwhelming. What if we could somehow make that visible to others? Yes,” she said eagerly, the notion taking shape in her mind. “Through a memory map. A map that shows the memories of the Clime. Wouldn’t that have the power to change someone’s mind, to show them something they cannot ignore?” She looked around at the others.
“It could work,” Smokey said slowly. “From the little I’ve seen of Elodean memory maps, they do have incredible power. To be immersed in the Clime’s memories . . . If we gave it to someone in the right position, General Griggs or General June, it might just be impressive enough to make one of them pause.”
“But how would you make such a map?” Casanova asked.
Smokey clearly did not like having to give the answer. “I only know one person who has made such a map—a memory map of an old one.” She looked meaningly at Bittersweet.
Bittersweet looked back at her. “It is much too dangerous, Sarah.”
“If there were any time to court danger, this would be it,” she replied.
“We could not go, you and I. It would have to be the three of them, and they are ill-equipped to reckon with her.” Bittersweet pressed his lips together. “But perhaps you are right. Perhaps this is the time.”
“Who are you talking about?” Theo asked.
Bittersweet addressed Smokey. “You tell them.”
“Borage,” Smokey said solemnly. “She lives north of here, in the Eerie Sea, in an Age of her own making. Only two other people live with her. Sage and Ash. They are the three sisters—cast out by the Elodeans and banished from Oakring.”
2
9
The Exiles
—1892, August 13: 7-Hour 57—
I have also noticed interesting tendencies in how the various traditions imagine good and evil. In some traditions, notably in the Closed Empire and the Papal States, evil is external and unalloyed—what is evil has always been and will always be evil. What is good is in peril, threatened by the potential corruption of evil. In contrast, the Elodeans (Eerie) almost always characterize evil as something that comes from within, and it can coexist with good. That is, a person is not entirely good or bad—she can be both. And it is not just a matter of changing over a lifetime—good falling into disgrace, evil redeeming itself—but actually preserving the two in oneself at the same time.
—From Sophia Tims’s Born of the Disruption: Tales Told by Travelers
“WHAT DOES THAT mean?” Sophia asked, in disbelief. “An Age of her own making?”
Nosh shuddered and turned away, as if avoiding her question. Bittersweet and Smokey stared at the cold ashes of the fire. “You said Goldenrod told you that one of the Elodeans had tried to practice the Ars, did she not?” Bittersweet asked.
“Yes, but she didn’t say what that meant,” Sophia pressed.
Smokey cleared her throat. “Well, let us be frank,” she said. “Neither one of us has been there, so much of what we know is secondhand. What we know is this: Borage, Ash, and Sage were—are—Weatherers like Bittersweet. Wildly talented, so that even to the Elodeans their feats sometimes seemed like magic.”
