The Mapmaker's Sons

by V. L. Burgess

A grandfather clock in the corner of the room began to chime. Tom glanced at the clock’s face. Midnight.

  Umbrey smiled. “Well done, lads. Well done, all of you.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THE JOURNEY HOME

  The ceremony began promptly at noon. Standing on a platform before the crowd, Mudge—looking embarrassed, proud, anxious, and happy, all at once—was presented with both the Sword of Five Kingdoms and a black leather book containing a code of laws dating back to Salamaine’s day. A coronation of sorts, Tom supposed, though there was no crown for Mudge. No velvet robes, no regal throne, no jeweled scepter. It was a ceremony completely devoid of pomp and circumstance.

  Mudge did wear decent shoes, along with clean pants and a shirt of fine blue cloth. The only noteworthy item of attire, however, was the clasp that held his plain linen cloak in place. Instead of an all-seeing red eye, Mudge wore the oval piece of metal with the initials STH engraved in the center, directly over his heart.

  The townspeople who’d assembled to witness the event were similarly dressed. Clean and simple. No formal gowns or displays of riches. No one had any to display even if they had wanted to. But Tom did notice something. Just as Mudge wore his small metal plate, dozens within the crowd had pinned ancient family crests to their clothing. A lion or a boar, a fleur-de-lis, a star and sickle. Family crests that had been hidden away, passed down for centuries since the time of Salamaine’s reign, were once again worn openly and proudly.

  Tom was amazed at how quickly it had all unfolded, given that Keegan had only been defeated in the minutes before midnight. Then he reconsidered. The townspeople had had more than hours to prepare. They’d been waiting for this moment their entire lives.

  The swearing-in complete, musicians struck up a lively tune, and tables were brought out, upon which was stacked a feast unlike any Tom had ever seen. The food and wine was courtesy of Keegan’s private larder. That had been one of the first things the townspeople had raided.

  Mudge stepped down from the platform. He appeared lost for a moment, overwhelmed by the size of the crowd and the enormity of the role that had been thrust upon him. He scanned the mass of people and, upon seeing Tom, smiled in relief. He moved to stand before him.

  “Majesty,” Tom said, giving a low bow. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

  “I’m already different?” Mild panic crossed his face.

  “Absolutely. You bathed.”

  Mudge smiled. His hand went to his belt. “And I’ve been given a sword.”

  “So I see. One that’s nearly as large as you are. I hope you don’t intend to wear it everywhere you go.”

  It had been meant as a light, teasing comment, but Mudge considered it at some length. “I think I will, at least for now,” he said. He ran his fingers lightly over the hilt. “Something about it … I don’t know. It feels like it’s guiding me. Leading me in the direction I’m meant to go.”

  Just as the map had done. “Then you should trust it,” Tom said. He looked harder at Mudge and noted that a change had already begun to occur. Mudge’s face was watchful, attentive—older somehow than the boy Tom had met in Bromley Market. “Let’s see what kind of king you become, Mudge,” he said, then stopped. “Mudge? That’s not a very proper name for a king.”

  “My father’s name was John.”

  “King John,” Willa said, coming to stand beside them. “A kingly name that is.” She looked at Mudge. “Your people are waiting for you to begin the feast.” A group of men and women stood near the banquet tables, watching Mudge intently. They looked kind and well-meaning, but a bit uncertain, as though they too had roles they were unfamiliar with. It was a fresh start for them all.

  Mudge looked at Tom. “You’ll come back?”

  Tom could feel Willa’s gaze upon him as well. “If I can.”

  Mudge didn’t like the answer, but he seemed to accept it. He threw his arms around Tom in a brief hug, then released him and walked toward the tables and the waiting feast.

  “You think he’ll be all right?” Tom asked.

  Willa nodded, her eyes on Mudge. “He’ll grow into it. He’ll learn.” She smiled. “Marrick’s known to be a pretty good judge of character.”

  “And you’ll stick around to help.”

  “I will.”

  It wouldn’t be easy. There was an entire government to rebuild. An army to lead. Tom’s gaze moved to the Djembe warriors standing off to one side, warily observing the festivities. Though the warriors and the people of Divino had been united through battle, the blending of two cultures was never a simple task. Then there was Keegan, his trial to be endured. And The Watch, men who’d been willing to carry out Keegan’s dark orders. Men to be gone after and arrested. But Tom pushed those darker matters aside. For now, they would simply enjoy how far they’d come.

  So there it was. Mudge had a council in place to help him set up a new structure of order; Willa and Porter were there to protect him; and the Sword of Five Kingdoms was at his side to lead him in the right direction. It was a good beginning. As good as Tom could have hoped for.

  He turned to look at Willa. She looked very pretty in a dress of simple cream linen, with delicate braids woven through her hair. He told her so.

  She blushed. “And you finally look like one of us,” she returned.

  Like the other men gathered there, Tom wore a belted tunic that reached to his thighs and dark brown linen pants, all procured by Porter. His own clothing, having made it through a night sleeping with goats, the Dismal Swamp, and a swim in an underground lake, had been beyond repair.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  She glanced at the long tables groaning with food and shook her head. Her eyes went instead to the group of people their age who’d gathered near the musicians and were whirling about in a happy procession.

  “Care to join me for a dance?” she asked him.

  Panic shot through him. That had been the last thing he thought she’d suggest. He gave his head a wild shake. “No. I can’t. I don’t know how.”

  She laughed at his obvious horror. “You looked less frightened when we faced the swamp dogs.” Taking his hand, she pulled him toward the other twirling couples. “I’ll teach you.”

  “Looks like you made a new friend,” Tom said, moving to stand beside Porter. His gaze fell on a beautiful girl with long dark hair who’d been sending Porter shy smiles since the dancing began.

  “I was about to say the same thing to you,” Porter replied, nodding toward Willa. He turned to face Tom directly. “You won’t stay.” It was more a statement than a question.

  “I can’t.” Too many people would be hurt if he simply disappeared and never came back.

  Porter gave a tight nod, accepting the decision.

  Silence fell between them. There was one item Tom had carried on his person from the moment he’d crossed over. One thing he hadn’t let go of, that he carried still. The map. He removed it from its worn skin case and passed it to Porter.

  “Here. Something to remember me by.”

  Porter made no move to accept it. “I’ll remember you.”

  Tom looked at him and nodded. “You should keep it anyway. For posterity, I guess. Maybe it should go in the king’s chamber or something.”

  A small smile crept across Porter’s face. “You mean Mudge’s room.”

  Tom smiled as well. “Right. Mudge’s room.”

  Porter took the map.

  Tom was suddenly aware of someone watching them. Umbrey stood a short distance away, waiting for him. It was time to go. He sent Umbrey a nod and turned back to Porter. A heavy silence hung between them.

  “How does the passage between the worlds work?” Porter asked.

  “I don’t know yet. Umbrey said he’d teach me.” Apparently the details were in Lost’s journal. It had to do with time and tides and storms—something about the electrical charge in the air during violent storms. As a sharp breeze blew around them, Tom scanned the sky. A bank of dark thunderclouds
was heading their way.

  Porter looked at him. “So you’ll come back?”

  He repeated the promise he’d made to Willa and Mudge. “If I can.”

  Tom searched for words. It was harder than he thought. Good-bye seemed too permanent. Nice meeting you or Catch you later, too casual. Nothing adequately summed up who they were or what they’d done. Then the band struck up a celebratory tune, and Tom remembered what day it was. He smiled.

  “Hey,” he said, “happy birthday.”

  Porter smiled back. “To you as well.”

  Tom turned and followed Umbrey away from the festivities, leaving Willa, Mudge, and Porter to their new kingdom.

  The passage to the Other Side sealed behind them, Tom trailed Umbrey out of the woods. The Lost Academy loomed in front of them, a darkly Gothic structure that seemed to blot out the sun. As they strode across the lawn, Tom’s friends surged toward him, welcoming him back with congratulatory shouts and slaps on the back. Apparently the rumor that he’d been temporarily suspended from school following his stunt on the roof had been widely accepted. Tom returned their smiles as best he could and feigned an equal enthusiasm to be back.

  Instead of returning him to his dorm room, Umbrey marched Tom to the administration building and rapped jauntily on Professor Lost’s door. Without waiting for a call to enter, he swung it open and breezed inside. “Ah, my good friend,” he said, greeting an astonished Lost, “you may put your fears to rest. We are safely returned.”

  Lost rose from his chair, his thin lips curving downward in displeasure. “Umbrey,” he said. “Thomas Hawkins.” His beady eyes scanned them both. “Am I to infer from your gloating demeanor that your business has been satisfactorily concluded?”

  “It was indeed,” Umbrey returned. “Brilliantly accomplished, I must say.”

  Lost thought for a moment, then gave a tight nod. “Very well, then.”

  “You’re the scribe,” Tom said. “You knew all along about Marrick’s prophecy, about my parents, my brother, about everything, but you never told me.”

  Lost’s jaw tightened. “I couldn’t tell you.” He shook his head. “Not when I swore a sacred oath to your father to keep you here, safe, until he came for you.”

  “So? That doesn’t matter. I should have known.”

  “And what would you have done if you had known?”

  Tom thought of the unnamed longing that had driven him up to the rooftops. A longing so strong it had kept him awake at night. And that was before he understood who he was and where he’d come from. If Lost had shared that with him, there would have been nothing the headmaster could have done to hold him back. He would have found the passage to his family somehow. He said as much. Lost gave a curt nod. “You understand my predicament, then.” He reached into his drawer and withdrew a small envelope. “Given recent events, however, I am now at liberty to give you this.”

  Tom opened the envelope to find a small portrait of a handsome dark-haired man and a beautiful blond woman smiling up at him. “My parents.”

  “Yes.”

  Lost turned and lifted a thick stack of books, dropping them with a thump in front of Tom. “Mr. Hawkins,” he said, resuming the air of stern headmaster, “I have taken the liberty of assembling the classwork you missed while you were away. You may thank me later.”

  Tom surveyed the pile with a sinking heart.

  Before he could reply, a bell rang out, echoing shrilly across the room. Professor Lost removed a watch fob from his pocket, checked the time, and gave a curt nod. “You will be relieved to know the bells have been restored to perfect working order,” he said. “That means you have returned in time for Principles of Geometric Theory. I suggest you arrive promptly.”

  Tom managed a nod. “Yes, sir.”

  “Very good.” Lost slipped his watch back into his pocket. “I trust that we can put this unpleasant episode behind us and that there will be no further foolishness.” He moved to the door, then hesitated a moment, turning back to Tom.

  “See to it that you change into your proper uniform before you return to class. That knit shirt looks like women’s clothing.”

  Tom’s head snapped up. A ghost of a smile flitted across his face. He watched Professor Lost’s narrow back as he exited his office, closing the door firmly behind him.

  Umbrey slapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously, giving a satisfied smile. “Well, there you are. The Principles of Geometric Theory. Exciting. Right back in the thick of things, eh, lad?”

  Tom lifted his gaze to Umbrey. “So that’s it? That’s the end of it?”

  Umbrey’s brows shot skyward. “The end? You think that was the end? Don’t you remember me telling you that your father was the greatest cartographer the world has ever known? Do you truly believe he only drew one map?”

  He pulled back a set of dull brown draperies to reveal a narrow wooden door. Opening it with a flourish, he motioned for Tom to enter. Tom hesitated, then brushed past Umbrey and stepped inside.

  The room was slightly wider than Lost’s office and twice as tall. Maps were plastered on every wall, piled on every shelf. Maps spilled out of cabinets. Maps dangled from the ceiling like flags from faraway countries. Tom walked through the room in a daze, the maps brushing against him like soft skins. It was as though he were traveling through a vast upside-down maze of ancient parchments. They were everywhere he looked. Ancient maps of distant lands, long-lost legends, raging seas, and mythical beasts.

  “The end?” Umbrey repeated, smiling broadly. “My dear lad, this was only the beginning.”