The Glass Sentence (The Mapmakers Trilogy)

by S. E. Grove

  Veressa sprang to her feet. “No—we must leave as soon as possible.” Her voice was calm but quite firm. “You’ll stay here and pack our things, while I tell Justa that she must evacuate the city. Then, when I return, we’ll leave together.”

  “We shouldn’t go by land,” Calixta put in. “The Swan will be much quicker.”

  “I agree,” Burr added. “We can sail immediately—it will take us two days to return to Veracruz. All of you are entirely welcome to come with us.” He turned to look at Sophia, whose eyes were downcast. “Sophia?”

  Sophia folded her hands around the straps of her pack, which at the moment felt indescribably heavy. It seemed the wrong thing to do; she had not expected to leave so soon. Her mind whirled over all that she had learned since arriving in Nochtland. These discoveries were significant, and there was something important to be done. They could not leave—not now. And yet there seemed to be no other choice. “Thank you. I’ll go back to the Swan, too.”

  “Then we must prepare.” Veressa began clearing the table. But as the rest of them were hurrying out into the courtyard, they heard something unexpected: a heavy knocking on the wooden door separating the botanist’s house from the main castle.

  27

  With an Iron Fist

  1891, June 29: 7-Hour 34

  Palace Gardens, soil guidelines—

  Western Rose garden: import ONLY from the Papal States

  Center garden and fountain: native (central Baldlands)

  Periphery, juniper bushes: Northern Baldlands, coastal

  —Martin’s notes on the gardens

  “WHO IS IT?” Veressa asked through the closed door that connected with the palace.

  “The royal guard requires entry, Miss Metl,” a voice replied. “An intruder was seen entering the greenhouses. We need to search your apartments.” As the guard finished speaking, a chorus of barking dogs erupted.

  Veressa looked at her friends and father with alarm. Martin was hurriedly rolling down his pant legs. “I’ve only just gotten out of bed. Can’t you come back later?”

  “I’m sorry. We have orders to search now. If you don’t open the door, we will have to enter forcibly through the greenhouses.”

  “All right, all right.” Her voice was deceptively calm. “Give me just a minute to find my robe.”

  There was a pause, then a terse reply: “One minute.”

  Veressa hurried into the courtyard. “All of you—there’s no time. Hide in the greenhouses and try to make your way out if you can.”

  “Certainly not,” Burr said indignantly. “Calixta and I will present ourselves when you open the door.”

  “I can’t allow you to put yourselves in danger. Once the dogs get near my father”—who looked away as she gave him a worried glance—“our lives will not be worth protecting.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” Calixta said, taking Sophia and Theo each by the arm. “All the more reason for us to stay. I’ll hide these two, along with my sword and pistol. Burr, you’ll do the same,” she said firmly. Burr strode off to his room. “And we’ll just make sure they don’t search every room. Come with me, sweethearts.” Calixta spoke calmly but quickly. “We will answer the door while the two of you wait in this bedroom.” She threw her pistol and long sword into one of her open trunks and locked it. “I very much doubt they will want to search the entire place after we are done speaking with them, but if they do, I am sure you will have noticed that this window”—and she pointed—“leads to the gardens.”

  Sophia and Theo nodded. Calixta straightened up, instinctively reaching for her gun belt before remembering why she did not have it. For a moment, the beautiful pirate looked strangely vulnerable as she let her hand fall against her skirts. She recovered herself quickly. “Back in a moment!”

  As soon as she was gone, they pressed their ears to the wood, straining to listen. First they heard Veressa’s clear voice as she admitted the guards. There was conversation; Sophia heard a deep voice, but she could not tell how many guards there were. The whining and barking of dogs punctuated their speech. Then what seemed to be Martin’s voice launched into a long-winded monologue followed by a brief silence, and then, unexpectedly, a shout. Sophia could not tell whom it came from. A moment later she heard the unmistakable clang of sword on stone. The dogs burst into unrestrained snarls. Sophia and Theo looked at one another in alarm. “Your reliable pirates,” he whispered. “I guess on land the quartermaster ignores the captain’s orders.”

  There was an escalating commotion, and then a shot rang out from what must have been Burr’s pistol. A moment later, someone came running down the corridor. He tried the door of the bedroom and found it locked. “Open this door!” a voice shouted.

  Sophia and Theo made for the window, leaping easily over the sill onto the ground below as the pounding on the door grew more urgent. For a moment they crouched in the flowerbed, looking out into the garden. Sophia clutched her pack to her chest. Behind them, the pounding had turned to battering. “I came in that way,” Theo said, pointing. “In the corner behind the bushes, there’s a loose bar in the fence.”

  Sophia noticed a long walkway bordered by bougainvillea hedges that cut diagonally through the garden. “If we go through there, they might not see us.”

  As they ran, Sophia glanced over her shoulder more than once, but all she could hear was the sound of running water and the chirping of birds. In the shelter of the bougainvillea, it was as if the castle didn’t exist at all. Even the glass spires and the high juniper hedges along the garden wall were out of sight.

  Guards shouted in a distant part of the garden, but as they reached the end of the path, the sound of rushing water grew louder. They emerged abruptly onto a lawn with a tall stone fountain; mermen and mermaids crowded around its wide bowl, and a great rush of water fell over them in wide arcs. Sophia saw through the mist of the fountain what she’d been hoping: the high juniper bushes at the southeast corner of the garden. They rounded the fountain and rushed toward the junipers. “Where’s the opening?” she asked nervously.

  Suddenly a shrill whistle, like the distorted cry of a bird, sounded from across the garden. Sophia and Theo turned to see a guard approaching with his spear held high, his cloak fanning out behind him, the feathered mask trembling as he ran. He glided like a bird of prey descending toward its target. Theo pushed at the hedges, searching for an opening. “Here! Here it is,” he exclaimed. Taking Sophia’s hand, he pulled her through into a narrow space between the bushes and the iron fence. He scrambled at the base of the fence, trying the bars in order to find the loose one. He found it and began wriggling it free.

  Sophia pressed her face into the hedge and saw with horror that the guard was only a dozen paces away, his teeth bared with exertion as he closed the distance. “Theo,” she said with panic in her voice, “he’s coming.”

  “It’s out!” Holding a half-length of iron nearly six feet long, he pushed Sophia through and followed her into the street. They were not a moment too soon. The guard threw himself against the fence, trying furiously but uselessly to squeeze after them, the bird of prey suddenly caught in a cage. His feathers mashed against the iron bars and he glared from behind his mask. Then he stopped struggling—and smiled.

  Sophia turned with a sense of foreboding. Another guard towered over her, his spear raised high. For an eternal moment she could not move. His fierce mask had the keen aspect of a raptor, and his bare arm strained as he thrust the spear toward her and Theo with all his might.

  And then something inexplicable happened.

  Theo shoved out his right hand—a useless gesture of self-defense—and met the head of the spear. The obsidian blade hit his palm and stopped, the force of the blow pushing them both toward the fence. Sophia found herself pressed up against the bars behind Theo, his hand still raised. They stood there, pinned like butterflies, while the guard’s eyes blinked in surprise and he continued to strain uselessly against Theo’s right hand. Then Theo raised the iron ba
r in his left and swung, hitting the guard squarely in the ribs. The man groaned, releasing the pressure only slightly, but it was enough. His captives broke free. They ran across the avenue, dodging the spear that flew after them.

  They dove into the narrow streets of Nochtland, their feet clattering on the cobblestone. Neither turned to look behind them as they jostled passersby and stumbled over the uneven paving, flying past avenues and side streets. “Here!” Theo shouted at the sight of a narrow alley.

  They came to an abrupt halt. Panting heavily, almost unable to hear anything over their own breathing, they strained their ears and waited for any guards who might have followed. “They’re not behind us,” Theo said, gasping. They searched the alley for a place to hide. As they neared the canal, Sophia saw a stone ledge below one of the bridges. They slid down the steep embankment and crawled with relief onto the damp shelf. Backs to the wall, well hidden from the street above, they sat recovering in the shade.

  “Show me your hand,” Sophia demanded.

  Theo, still catching his breath, placed his right hand palm-up on Sophia’s knee. Sophia felt her throat constrict when she saw the raw, bleeding gash. And then, as she had guessed—too late, the moment they stood pinned to the palace walls—she saw the hard metallic glint inside the wound. The iron bones of Theo’s hand had stopped the spear.

  She understood now why he had tried so hard to stay out of Nochtland, and she understood what a risk he had taken by entering it. Ripping savagely at the seams, she tore off the long sleeves of her cotton shirt, dipped one of them in the canal water, and wiped the blood from the wound. With the other sleeve she bound his hand, tucking the end in over his knuckles. Theo did not complain or resist. He sat with his head against the wall of the bridge and his eyes closed. “It’ll close up quickly,” he said tiredly. “It always does.”

  Sophia sat back. She felt tears on her cheeks, and she wiped them roughly away. “I’m sorry I didn’t agree to meet you outside the gates this morning,” she said, swallowing hard. “I should have trusted you.” She wanted to put her arms around him so he would know how sorry she was, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  Theo smiled, his eyes still closed. “Don’t be. No reason to believe a liar.” Sophia could not tell if he was joking or not. She held his bandaged hand loosely in her own and sat silently, watching the sparkling water of the canal grow dark as it glided silently under the bridge.

  —8-Hour 42: Under the Nochtland Bridge—

  THE MORNING PASSED, the traffic overhead on the bridge growing louder. Once her immediate exhaustion passed, Sophia began to feel restless and uncomfortable on the stony ledge below. They could not leave the city without knowing what had happened to Veressa, Martin, and the pirates. Perhaps, Sophia thought, they could ride to Veracruz to enlist the help of the Swan’s crew, but the trip there and back would take four days. At that rate, the Lachrima might already be upon them. She checked the time; it was nearly nine by the New Occident clock.

  Theo opened his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “We should get going.”

  “We can’t leave without them. For all we know, they’re being tried and sentenced for treason.”

  “I knew you would say that. Ordinarily, I’d argue with you. But we need them if we’re going to sail out on the Swan. And,” he added with a smile, when Sophia grimaced at his selfish logic, “I think we can actually help them.”

  Sophia had to smile back. “Of course we can,” she said, though she sounded more confident than she felt. For a moment, she listened to the water chuckle quietly as it passed under the bridge. “Do you think Justa will evacuate the city?”

  “No way. Even if Veressa gets the chance to tell her, Justa won’t believe her. They’ll probably think it’s all part of the great conspiracy by the Mark of Iron. Think about it. Martin’s got a silver leg. Burr pulled out his sword and pistol. And there’s nothing to prove what I told them about the Lachrima. They’re probably all sitting in a dungeon somewhere right now.”

  “The city will still think it’s just a weirwind moving north.”

  “Yeah, and they’ll be waiting for the wind chimes to announce it.” Theo gave a derisive snort.

  “So if they don’t evacuate the city,” Sophia thought aloud, “they will still have the eclipse party tomorrow. Martin said it lasts all night. People come from everywhere to attend it.” She paused. “All kinds of people.”

  Theo eyed her thoughtfully. “I see what you’re thinking. We could sneak in and they might not notice us.” He nodded. “Good idea. But we’ll need costumes.”

  “And we need somewhere to stay until then. Maybe we can stay with Mazapán.” Sophia paused. “Unless the guards think to go there.”

  “They will.” Theo flexed the fingers of his injured hand experimentally as he stared out onto the canal. “Do you know where his store is?”

  Sophia shook his head. “He described it to me, but he didn’t say where it was. We can ask.”

  They left the safety of the bridge with reluctance, climbing the embankment onto the sunny street filled with pedestrians and horse-drawn carts and boldevelas. Keeping an eye out for guards, they walked toward the city center. Theo asked an old woman selling violets if she knew the store of the chocolate vendor known as Mazapán, and she directed them without hesitation toward a narrow alley a few blocks away. When she saw it, Sophia recognized the awnings and storefront Mazapán had described.

  But they were too late. The store was surrounded by guards in long capes and fierce feathered masks. Beside her, Theo drew in his breath. “They’re already here,” he whispered, surprised.

  “But Mazapán didn’t do anything!”

  “They must have arrested Burr and Calixta. Mazapán brought them to Nochtland. They’ll have questions for him,” Theo said grimly.

  “Poor Mazapán.” She shook her head and backed into the alley. “We’ll have to go somewhere else.”

  28

  Sailing South

  1891, June 28: Shadrack Missing (Day 8)

  And when it hears your beating heart,

  The Lachrima will take apart

  Your very peace, your every dream

  With its intolerable scream.

  —Nochtland nursery rhyme, second verse

  THE SMALL CABIN where Shadrack had already spent one day and one night was in many respects similar to a ship’s cabin. Two narrow bunk beds were wedged into the walls, across from a round porthole that looked out onto the road as the boldevela sailed along. But unlike a ship, the boldevela took its shape from the massive tree at its center. The cabins were built among the roots, and behind their walls lay the packed dirt that sustained the tree’s growth. The rooms smelled of earth, and the occasional root had wormed through the walls. Shadrack could see little else, as the Nihilismians had bound him hand and foot and tossed him onto the upper bunk. At certain moments, as the boldevela met with forceful winds, it took all his strength not to roll off.

  The time would have passed with crushing slowness under ordinary circumstances, but for Shadrack it was made worse by his state of mind. Escape now seemed impossible. He had hoped to gain Weeping’s trust—perhaps even his assistance. Instead, he had cost Weeping his mind and lost his best possible ally. He was on his own, unable to free himself, in some corner of a ship sailing overland south at incredible speed, and utterly unable to save himself—let alone Sophia.

  The Southern Snows were moving north, destroying everything in their path. He strained against the ropes in frustration. For all he knew, the snows had already reached Nochtland. The glaciers would arrive, and the city would vanish, leaving nothing but the footprint of its lakes and canals. Sophia would be gone forever. He lay still for a moment; it would only make him more useless if he assumed the worst. He had to believe there was still time, and he had to find an opportunity for escape.

  They had been sailing since boarding the vessel, and Shadrack estimated that they were already well into the Baldlands. Most likely, he assumed, the
y would not stop until they had arrived in Veracruz. That would be his next opportunity. At whatever cost, he had to break free when they reached the coast.

  Toward midday, they came to an abrupt halt. A sound like a distant storm reached him. Moments later, someone came running across the deck and the door slammed open. To his astonishment, a Sandman yanked him from the top bunk and cut his ropes in one savage movement. “Don’t just stand there; we need every hand we can get, or we’re all dead.” Without waiting to see if his prisoner would follow, he turned and ran. After a moment’s hesitation, Shadrack bolted from the cabin and hurried along the narrow corridor.

  When Shadrack reached the deck, he understood at once the urgency of the situation. The boldevela had almost collided with a sinister-looking weirwind, and all of the Sandmen, their grappling hooks embedded in the hull, were straining to pull the ship back before it was sucked in and destroyed. The entire mast, including the broad green leaves that were its sails, strained toward the weirwind like a young sapling in a storm. The wind howled and groaned as if hungering for prey, drawing the ship into its destructive embrace inch by inch.

  Suddenly, he realized that without the boldevela Blanca would have no way to pursue him. This is my chance, he thought, lunging toward the rope ladder at the ship’s side. The ladder carried him only so far; he dropped the last ten feet, his legs buckling beneath him.

  Rolling to his feet, he stumbled and then steadied himself. He headed west, arms pumping, running parallel to the wall of wind, trying to stay far enough away so that he was not drawn toward it, but it was like fighting the tide. He would think he had opened a good distance between himself and the weirwind, but then he would look to his left and realize that he was much closer than he’d thought. As he veered north insistently, his lungs began to feel the pinch of the dry air and exertion. He whirled and ran backward to see if the ship had been destroyed yet; it was still poised as if on the edge of a precipice, hundreds of meters away.