The Glass Sentence (The Mapmakers Trilogy)

by S. E. Grove

  All the different pieces of the puzzle were there: the Lachrima from Shadrack’s note, the glass map, Montaigne, and the Nihilismians who traveled with him. There had seemed to be no connection, but suddenly there was, at least for some of the pieces, because she remembered what she had been unable to recall before. Back at East Ending Street, while learning to read maps, she had asked Shadrack about a map of the world, and he had told her about something called the carta mayor: a memory map of the entire world, which he had said was a Nihilismian myth. Could it be that the Nihilismians believed the glass map would show the carta mayor? Maybe the map of the world isn’t really hidden, Sophia thought. Maybe it’s hidden in plain sight. She held the glass up before her and gazed through it at the dark night sky. “You will see it through me,” she whispered. The stars on the other side of the glass winked, fluttered, and stared like thousands of distant eyes.

  —6-Hour 37: Port of Veracruz—

  THE SWAN COASTED into port early the next morning. The city of Veracruz, eastern entry to the realm of Emperor Sebastian Canuto, gleamed like a white seashell. From the deck of a ship, Veracruz appeared like a jeweled promise; it belied the vast, fragmented landscape that lay beyond it. The cities—Nochtland, Veracruz, and Xela—preserved and even heightened their luster year by year, leaching all the wealth from the surrounding towns and flourishing in a state of exaggerated, heady splendor. Princess Justa, from her perch in the shining castle at the heart of the Canuto empire in Nochtland, could pretend that the entire land enjoyed such luxury. Her father, Emperor Sebastian, who had traveled north to pacify the bands of rebellious raiders, knew better. He understood that beyond the walled cities of the Triple Eras, the empire existed only as a smattering of besieged forts, impoverished towns, and miserable farms surrounded by wild, unexplored terrain. Sebastian had long since abandoned the goal of unifying his empire. He fought the northern raiders now less to subdue them and more to avoid the prospect of returning to a castle that he had come to understand ruled almost nothing. The thought of once again donning the meaningless robes, the glittering crown, the air of courtly gravity, depressed him and filled him with dread. He would leave such illusions to his daughter, to whom they were better suited.

  Yet in the Triple Eras, to both visitors and inhabitants, the illusion appeared most convincing. Sophia stood on the deck of the Swan and looked out with trembling excitement: a cluttered dock; a sprawling town of white stone; and past the town, palm trees and sand as far as the eye could see. Gulls flew low, their cries hungry and urgent. She could see the muddled movement of a hundred ships crowding the shore. The discovery of the glass map’s properties had opened an unexpected door, and she had the sense that she was about to burst through it. The whole vast world of the Baldlands lay before her, its mysteries waiting to be uncovered. She was finally arriving—after what felt to her like one long, fevered age—and one step closer to finding Veressa. Her stomach jumped and then, to her great relief, suddenly grew calm as the Swan eased into port.

  Burr gave the crew special instructions: apart from Grandmother Pearl and Peaches, who would be staying with the ship, they were granted a week’s holiday. Burr announced that he and Calixta would be accompanying some of their merchandise into Nochtland, and that he would carry parcels or messages for anyone who planned to avoid the trip inland. “We’ll be sailing at eight the night we return,” Burr told the crew. “And don’t forget we’re on the nine-hour clock here. So when I say eight, I mean eight on the Baldlands clock.”

  The pirates dispersed, and Burr joined Calixta, Theo, and Sophia. “It’s market day. Why don’t I go in to find Mazapán?” he asked his sister.

  Calixta gave him a look. “I think we should just hire a coach. You’re being cheap.”

  “Is it expensive to get to Nochtland?” Sophia asked worriedly, realizing she had no idea how far New Occident currency would take her.

  Calixta waved her hand dismissively. “You and Theo are guests of ours, darling, so don’t even think about spending a penny. The coach hardly costs anything anyway,” she said to Burr.

  “Mazapán has a cart,” Burr said. “There’s no sense hiring a coach when he can take us. I’ll go find him, come back for the crates, and we’ll be off in an hour. You stay here and collect marriage proposals, eh, dearest?” Calixta walked off in a huff. Burr settled his broad hat comfortably onto his head. “Sophia, Theo—any wish to see the market?”

  “Do you think we’re—is it likely we’ve been followed to Veracruz?” Sophia asked worriedly.

  “Possible,” he admitted, “but unlikely. Your admirers in New Orleans may have discovered our intended route, but they can’t have gotten here before us.”

  They needed no further persuading. “While we are there, would I be able to post a letter to Boston?” she asked.

  “Best to leave it with Peaches. He’ll take it to the next paquebot bound for the Indies, and from there I’m sure someone will be traveling to Boston.”

  As they crossed the crowded dock, Sophia found it easy to keep Burr in sight because of his enormous hat, but somewhat difficult to keep up with his long stride. He easily dodged men carrying crates on their backs, a swinging load of timber, and a runaway pig that was screaming its way to shore with its owner close on its heels. The Boston waterfront seemed a quiet and orderly place in comparison to Veracruz.

  The tumult of leaving, loading, unloading, and boarding was made worse by the activity just beyond the docks, a dense network of stalls, carts, and makeshift counters. The mass of people around them seemed to be carried by a tide that flushed them through like grains of sand: streaming along quickly, piling up and clogging the way, and spilling over irresistibly. Beyond them and slightly to the right, a white border of stucco buildings—the city of Veracruz—made but a feeble dam against the market’s onslaught. As Burr pushed through the crowd, Sophia clutched her pack and at the same time took a firm hold of one of his coattails.

  Once they had entered the market, it was difficult to see clearly, because Sophia was immediately sandwiched tightly between Burr and Theo. As they inched along, she caught glimpses of vendors selling tomatoes, oranges, lemons, cucumbers, squash, onions, and dozens of kinds of produce that she had never seen before, spread out on blankets or piled high in baskets. They passed a stall with bags of white and yellow powders that she realized were flours, and another that sold fragrant spices: cinnamon and clove and pepper filled the air. A woman with a small tent set up about her had cages full of chickens, and just past her was a man with pails full of fish. Sitting placidly beside the man, wearing an awkward collar around its slippery neck, was a toad the size of a full-grown man. Sophia’s eyes widened, but all of the people around her ignored it, as if nothing could be more commonplace. The vendors hollered as they passed, some in English and some in other languages, naming their prices even as they wrapped their wares for customers and counted change.

  Beyond the wave of murmurs and shouts, Sophia could hear another sound: wind chimes. At least one dangled from every stall, and many of the vendors sold the chimes that hung along their tents’ edges. The air was filled with a constant melodic chiming and tinkling and ringing that reminded her of Mrs. Clay’s upstairs apartment.

  Burr took a quick turn to the right, and they abruptly passed through a row of fabric stalls. One vendor after another called out her prices and displayed bolts of cloth colored in brilliant red and blue and purple. An old woman whose broad smile had a few missing teeth waved a flag made of ribbons to the passersby, jangling the chime that hung above her. The stalls that followed sold feathers and jars of beads and spools of thread. Sophia took it all in with wonderment, but Burr was quickening his pace and she had to walk briskly to keep up. He turned to the left, by stalls selling soap and bottled perfumes and incense, and then suddenly the air went from soapy to sweet, and she found herself surrounded by confections. Candies of all shapes and sizes were laid out in boxes: nougat and caramel and spun sugar and meringues. Many of the stalls
sold candies she had never seen, and she only knew that they must be candy by the delicious smell that filled the air.

  “We’re almost there,” Burr hollered over his shoulder.

  Sophia didn’t answer—she could hardly catch her breath. Then Burr ducked into a cream-colored tent at their right. “Mazapán!” he shouted at the tall, pink-cheeked man who stood behind the cloth-covered table that served as a counter, surrounded by shelves of plates, cups, and dishes.

  “Morris!” the man shouted back, his face breaking into a grin. He finished dealing with a customer, then embraced Burr. The two of them proceeded to yell at one another over the commotion, but Sophia had stopped paying attention. A woman handed her little boy a spoon that she had just purchased. With a look of delight, the boy bit off the end and walked away, following his mother, his mouth smeared with chocolate. Sophia stared at the contents of the cloth-covered table. Mazapán, she realized, was a chocolate vendor.

  But his was not ordinary chocolate. Anyone who passed by the stall would have told you that Mazapán was actually a potter. His table was stacked high with beautiful dishes: plates, bowls, cups, pitchers, forks, knives, and spoons; a cake dome, a serving platter, and a butter dish; and a long procession of coffee pots with delicate spouts. They were painted with flowers and intricate designs of every color. Sophia was awestruck. She touched a small blue cup experimentally; it felt just like a real one. She looked curiously at the man who had created it all, who was still in loud conversation with Burr; then her attention was caught by the vendor at the neighboring stall—a tiny person with a fierce expression, arguing with one of her customers. “I take cacao, silver, or paper. I don’t know where you’re from, but here you can’t pay with pictures.”

  The thin man holding out a small black rectangle said something, and the woman responded fiercely. “I don’t care if it’s a map reader. You still can’t pay with it.” She snatched back the man’s parcel and pointed over her shoulder. “If you want to talk maps, go see the woman who sells maps.”

  Sophia watched, wide-eyed. The thin man, who wore a dirty overcoat, leaned forward to ask a question. It took him a moment to get the vendor’s attention; she had already moved on to another customer. When he tugged on her sleeve, the woman looked at him crossly. “Yes,” she said curtly. “The one selling onions.”

  Turning to look behind her, Sophia caught a glimpse of a woman standing behind several baskets full of onions. Burr was still talking excitedly to Mazapán, who had begun to pack up his dishes. Theo was nowhere to be seen. She thought he’d been following as they wound through the market, but now she was not so sure. With one last glance at Burr, Sophia decided that his hat would make an easy landmark and dove into the crowd.

  If it was difficult to squeeze through the market with Burr, it was even harder on her own. She was caught up and pushed along past several stalls. It’s like being on a trolley made of people, she thought. She glimpsed a basket full of onions. And here’s my stop. She wriggled out as hard as she could, using her elbows perhaps more fiercely than was necessary, and a moment later found herself pressed up against the baskets. Next to her, the thin man was leaning forward to talk to the vendor.

  The woman shook her head as he spoke. “I’m sorry, sir. I only have onion maps. You’ll find the market in Veracruz thin on maps. All of the map vendors stay in Nochtland.”

  The man turned away dejectedly and drifted back into the crowd. He seemed tired and haggard, as if he had been traveling for too long. An explorer from another Age, short on funds, Sophia thought sympathetically. She watched him go and then turned to the baskets full of onions. The one closest to her had a little paper pinned to the edge that said NOCHTLAND. Another basket said XELA, and yet another was labeled SAN ISIDRO.

  “Where are you headed, dear?” the vendor asked loudly. “I’ve got maps to any place in the Triple Eras, many other places besides.” Her dark hair, entwined around half a dozen fragrant gardenias, was pulled back in a tight bun, and she had tiny leaves and flowers painted in dark green ink across her brow.

  Sophia hesitated a moment. “Nochtland,” she said.

  “They’re right in front of you, then,” the woman said cheerily. “But frankly, you don’t need it if you’re leaving from here. Just follow the main road. Can’t miss it. It’s about two days travel with good horses.”

  They seemed to be ordinary yellow onions with coppery skins. “How do these work?”

  “What’s that, dear?”

  “How do these work? Are they really maps?” Sophia wished she could look at them through the glass map, but it was midday, and the crowded market was no place for something so precious.

  The woman seemed unsurprised. “Not from here?”

  Sophia shook her head. “I’m from Boston; from New Occident.”

  “Well, these are Way-Finding Onions. Guaranteed to have been planted in their location’s native soil. Each layer of the onion leads you onward until you arrive at your destination.”

  “What do you mean, ‘leads you onward’?” Sophia asked, fascinated.

  “They don’t necessarily take you by the quickest or easiest route, mind you,” the woman said. “But they’ll get you there.”

  Sophia reached into her purse for her money. “Do you take money from New Occident?”

  “Cacao, silver, or Triple Eras paper. But I’ll take New Occident paper; I can change it at a better rate.”

  Sophia was taking out her money when she suddenly felt a violent push from the crowd behind her. “Watch it,” she said irritably. Then she felt an arm around her waist, and someone pulled her away from the stall and into the crowd. “Hey!” she said. As she clutched her money and her pack and tried to keep from falling, she looked at the person who had grabbed her and saw with astonishment that it was Theo. “You’re hurting my arm,” she shouted.

  Theo ignored her protests. “Come on,” he said, dragging her onward. He wove through the crowd, keeping his head low and holding Sophia’s wrist tightly.

  “Theo, what is it?” she panted, when she had the chance. “Is it Montaigne?”

  For a moment, he seemed to not recognize the name. He frowned, looked over his shoulder, and led them behind a stall selling leather goods.

  “Is it Montaigne?” Sophia asked again, her voice rising.

  “It’s not Montaigne,” he said brusquely. “It’s a raider I used to know.”

  Sophia realized that, amid the usual commotion of the market, there was an even greater commotion coming toward them. Angry shouts erupted as two people toppled against a stall, sending it tumbling. “A raider?” Sophia asked, gasping for air as they ran along an empty stretch between two of the leather shops. “Why is he chasing you?”

  “I can’t explain right now. Just have to get away from him.”

  They burst out into a quiet part of the market where all the stalls were filled with baskets. “Here,” Sophia said, twisting out of Theo’s grasp. She ran toward one of the vendors. The tallest baskets were large enough to hold a whole wardrobe full of clothes—or the person who wore them. “Crouch down,” she said quickly.

  “In that?” Theo exclaimed.

  “He’s coming,” Sophia warned, hearing nearby shouts.

  Theo stood frozen for a moment, and then he abruptly crouched down. Sophia took the nearest large basket and overturned it on top of him. It looked like just another among the many the vendor sold. “Don’t move,” she whispered. Then she ran to the astonished vendor and thrust out the bills she’d been holding. “Please—we’ll give it back in just a moment.”

  The woman gave a small nod. She pocketed the money without a word and gently pushed Sophia toward the back of the stall. Saying something Sophia couldn’t understand, she handed her a small, half-finished basket.

  A man burst into the quiet square. He looked in each direction, taking huge, heaving breaths. His blond hair came down almost to his waist, and his beard fanned out like the arms of a jellyfish. Both were laden with silver beads a
nd bells that rang out every time he turned his head. His worn leather boots were coated with yellow dust, and the rawhide coat he wore trailed its ragged edges on the ground. As he turned toward her, his fists clenched, Sophia saw that every single one of his teeth was made of metal. They were sharp and made a jagged line, like the tips of old knives sharpened many times. They glinted in the sunlight, as did the silver in his hair and the long knife he drew from his belt. He stood staring back at Sophia—she could not take her eyes off him—and then slowly walked toward her.

  He pointed the knife at her chest. “What. Are. You. Staring. At?” he snarled, jabbing each word at her like another knife.

  Sophia couldn’t help herself. She wasn’t afraid yet; she was only fascinated. “Your teeth,” she breathed.

  The man stared at her for what seemed to Sophia like an hour. Then suddenly he broke into laughter. He lifted the knife and slowly ran its edge along his teeth, making a dull clinking sound. “You like them, sugar? How about a kiss?”

  Sophia shook her head slowly. She met his eyes, and the raider’s teeth disappeared into a scowl. “You can skip the kiss if you tell me which way the kid went,” he said.

  She pointed to her left, away from the central market.

  The raider smiled, and Sophia saw a quick glint of silver. A moment later he was gone.

  Part of her still could not believe what she’d seen—the metallic glimmers from his hair, his teeth, his knife, and the silver clasps of his coat. The group of basket vendors had gone silent when the raider appeared in their midst. Now they began talking to each other in low voices. It seemed to Sophia that all of them were looking at her.