The Glass Sentence (The Mapmakers Trilogy)

by S. E. Grove

  “No, I drew it then. The day I saw you.”

  Theo’s eyes opened wide with surprise. “You did?”

  Sophia nodded. “You know when you went to my house to find Shadrack?” Now he nodded. “I wasn’t home because I’d gone to the wharf. I looked for you.”

  Theo wore a strange expression. “What do you mean?”

  “I’d seen you that once, in the cage. I went back to the circus to see if I could get you out. I know—it’s stupid.” Sophia laughed to hide her embarrassment. “I planned to rescue you.”

  For a moment he stared at her. Then a slow smile spread across his face. “Well, thanks.”

  “But I didn’t rescue you!”

  Theo, still smiling, reached across for the last piece of bread. “We should put the candles out soon,” he said, “so people in the other houses don’t know we’re here.”

  30

  The Eclipse

  1891, June 30: 16-Hour 50

  Just as the variety of time-keeping methods in the Triple Eras gradually gave way to the nine-hour clock, so the variety of calendars gave way to the lunar calendar. Festivities were organized around the calendar, and today no festival is greater than that reserved for the occasional lunar or solar eclipse. These are often marked with costume balls, in which the revelers cover their faces just as the sun and moon “cover” theirs.

  —From Veressa Metl’s Cultural Geography of the Baldlands

  SOPHIA AND THEO spent the following day in the tree house. They descended twice to buy food but otherwise remained high in the bare branches, gazing out through the windows at the vast city and wondering what the night would bring. Perhaps it was Theo’s easy banter, or perhaps it was the sense that the time for nervousness had passed; Sophia felt a steady calm descend as the day wore on. She knew what lay ahead and she was not afraid. When dusk fell, they began donning their costumes.

  Sophia had to admit, examining herself beside Theo in the cracked mirror, that they were nearly unrecognizable. The high shoes he had stolen for them added several inches to their heights. Theo’s feathered mask covered his entire face, and the dark cloak made him seem bulkier than he was. His bandaged hand was concealed by the feathery gauntlet. Sophia’s gown cascaded around her in a rush of rippling silk blanketed with fern leaves. Fortunately, the fronds were thick enough to conceal the bulky shape of her pack, which she wore under her gown, strapped at the back of her waist like a bustle. She had no mask, but the sage-green veil powdered with glitter was enough. Looking at herself in the mirror, she could see only the outline of her face.

  “We look so old,” she murmured.

  “That’s the idea,” Theo replied, pulling the cloak around his chest. “As long as we walk right, no one will know.” He turned to her. “Are you ready?”

  “I think so.” Sophia took a deep breath and drew herself to her now considerable height. “I’ll have to put these back on when we reach the palace,” she said, pulling off the high shoes. “Good-bye, tree house,” she said quietly, looking around the condemned room before descending the stairs. “Thank you for keeping us safe—at least for a little while.”

  Half an hour later, they were approaching the palace gates. The air was filled with fluting music and the chatter of the arriving guests, and Sophia could see at once that Theo had chosen their costumes well: no one gave them a second glance. Nonetheless, Sophia felt her heart flutter at the sight of the guards. Squeezing her arm, Theo pointed to a large party of extravagantly dressed guests that was making its way noisily toward the entrance, and the two of them insinuated themselves into the group.

  As they slowly moved forward, one of the women turned and looked them up and down. Sophia caught her breath, preparing herself for the shout of alarm. Then the woman leaned forward and asked, “A Lorca design?”

  “Yes,” Sophia said, hiding her surprise as best she could.

  “I compliment you on being able to secure her services. When I tried to order my gown, she said she could no longer take orders!” The woman gestured down at her pea-green tunic, which looked a bit wrinkled.

  Sophia struggled to think of a fitting reply. “One does have to order very early,” she said, in what she hoped was a lofty tone.

  The woman nodded sagely. “Quite right. I will do so next time.” She turned to follow her companions, but by that time the leader of the party had spoken to the guard and all of them—including Sophia and Theo—had been waved through the gates.

  Sophia let out a sharp sigh of relief. “That was easy, wasn’t it?” Theo said smugly.

  As they entered the garden, she caught her breath. It had been transformed by a thousand lanterns that hung from every tree and above every fountain. The water in the lily pond shimmered, reflecting the lights. Clusters of people drifted in and out among the hedges and walkways, some of them carrying long poles with bright lanterns shaped like moons. For a moment, she forgot any danger and lost herself in the floating music and winking lights of the eclipse festival.

  Theo moved single-mindedly toward the lily pond, leading Sophia by the elbow as she turned to look at the frail paper boats gliding across it. “I’ll show you the way I got in last time,” he murmured.

  Sophia did not reply, consumed as she was by the sights and sounds. A little boy dressed like a bird, complete with feathery wings, fluttered past them laughing; a taller girl pursuing him held her skirt in bunched fistfuls so that she could run. Sophia watched, a smile stealing over her face, and suddenly her smile froze. She seized Theo’s arm.

  “What?” he asked in surprise. “The guards won’t recognize us . . .” The words died in his throat as he saw the man standing only a few feet away, contentedly eating a tall piece of cake.

  It was Montaigne. He had not noticed the young man with a feathered mask and the veiled lady. He took another bite of cake and then drifted away from the side of the lily pool and wandered into the gardens.

  “I can’t believe he followed you all the way here,” Theo whispered.

  “He must have followed the Swan, which means he knows about Calixta and Burr. If we stay with him we might find out where they are,” Sophia said under her breath, pulling Theo onward.

  They kept their eyes on Montaigne’s retreating back and stayed well behind, following him as he made his slow way through the garden, stopping occasionally to take a bite of cake or dip his fingers in one of the fountains. He skirted a broad wooden dance floor, empty save for sawdust, that stood awaiting the dancers who later would whirl upon it under the darkened moon. Then he rounded a corner onto a lawn bordered by lemon trees, where a trio of musicians was performing. He sauntered up to the audience from behind and sat in one of the empty chairs.

  Sophia and Theo watched through the screen of the lemon trees. Princess Justa sat with a dozen attendants, but the rest of the audience were strangers. Veressa and Martin were nowhere to be seen. Sophia moved forward to get a clear view of Montaigne—and then she stopped in her tracks. Beside him was a small woman, her long, fair hair pulled back, a delicate veil covering her face. Seated next to her, half-obscured and slumped over, as if sunk in melancholy, was Shadrack.

  In that moment, Sophia understood what a precious gift it was to have no sense of time. What for ordinary people would have seemed like a fragment of a second seemed like hours to her. During that time out of time, she had all the time in the world to think. Montaigne had followed her, and he had brought Shadrack with him. Perhaps he had traveled with Shadrack from the start: all the way along the Western Line, to New Orleans, to Veracruz, to Nochtland. Sophia imagined that journey and all the routes it might have taken, all the difficulties Shadrack might have faced. It didn’t matter how he had gotten to Nochtland; he was here now, and so was she. And with still more time to deliberate, Sophia thought of how she might draw him away.

  She found herself back in the Nochtland gardens, her plan complete. “He’s here!” she whispered urgently. “That’s Shadrack.”

  “I see him,” Theo said slowl
y. “What do you want to do?”

  “We need a distraction. The dance floor. And the lanterns.”

  Theo understood at once. “You get to Shadrack. I’ll find you.” He broke cover and moved toward the empty dance floor. Sophia stayed behind, her eyes fastened on her uncle.

  The fluting music rose up over the audience and through the trees, and the laughter of the revelers tinkled like glass chimes. Sophia marked time by when one song ended and another began. As the trio commenced a third piece, another sound suddenly cut through the air: a shout of alarm. Another echoed it, and a moment later frightened shrieks pierced the music and brought it to a halt. “Fire!” someone cried. “The dance floor is on fire!” The audience rose in confusion. The flames spread, and she could see the worried faces of the audience. A loud crack burst out behind her as the floorboards were engulfed, and suddenly everyone panicked. Princess Justa’s attendants seized her arms and hurried her away. The other guests rushed across the lawn, toppling chairs and bumping into one another.

  “Water, get water!” Sophia heard the sharp sizzle of water against burning wood. She kept her eyes trained on Shadrack. He had remained behind while the others around him fled in panic. Even the shouts and the light and the heat of the fire did not seem to affect him.

  As soon as the clearing was abandoned, Sophia stepped forward. Shadrack was sitting motionlessly at the end of the aisle. She could not see his face, but he seemed to be simply staring at the trees in front of him. What’s wrong with him? Why doesn’t he move? Sophia was suddenly terrified. What had happened to Shadrack that he did not even flee at the sight of fire?

  Her heart was pounding as she hurried toward him. She placed her hand gently on his slumped shoulder. “Shadrack?” she said, her voice trembling. Hearing his name, Shadrack looked up at her abruptly, and his eyes stared blankly, uncomprehendingly, at her veiled face. Sophia lifted her veil with shaking fingers. “It’s me, Shadrack. Sophia.” She bent down and threw her arms around him.

  “Is it really you, Soph?” Shadrack asked hoarsely, his arms moving slowly to embrace her.

  “We have to get out of here before they notice us,” she said desperately, pulling back even though she didn’t want to. “Are you all right? Can you get up?”

  He gazed at her face as if waking from a long sleep. “I thought you were lost. When we arrived, they said you were killed trying to escape the palace grounds.”

  “Oh, Shadrack,” she cried. “No—no, we escaped.” She put her arms around him again and Shadrack squeezed until she felt that her ribs would break. Over his shoulder, she saw the guards still trying to douse the flames. Theo was hurrying toward them, his feathered mask still in place.

  “I can’t believe you’re here. You’re alive,” Shadrack said with a deep sigh.

  “I can’t believe you’re here, Shadrack,” she said, pulling away. “Shadrack, this is Theo,” she said, as he joined them. “We never imagined—we came back for Veressa and the others. Do you know what happened to them—where they are?”

  Shadrack had overcome his shock, and after assessing the commotion around the fire, he rose hurriedly. “Come,” he said, taking Sophia’s hand. “I haven’t seen her, but I know where she is.” They ran toward the palace, passing the smoldering remains of the dance floor. The palace guards and guests who had extinguished the fire with water from the fountains were coughing from the acrid smoke. No one noticed their escape.

  The front entrance, they could see even from a distance, was lined with guards. The doors of the conservatory were firmly shut. But they tested Martin and Veressa’s windows and found to their relief that the one Sophia and Theo had escaped through was unlocked.

  For a moment they paused in the dark bedroom, listening for any sounds of pursuit in the garden or the house. There were none. Sophia kicked off the high shoes and then they left, stealing along the corridor toward the door that connected with the main palace. “They’re going to notice by now that you’re gone,” Sophia whispered, as Shadrack pulled open the door.

  “I know,” he said tersely. “We have to hurry.” He seemed to have a map of the palace in his head and turned without hesitation at each corner. They whirled through the empty corridors strewn with eucalyptus leaves, the sharp smell rising as they ran, until they reached a flight of wide stone stairs leading downward. “The servants’ floor,” Shadrack said, panting. “The entrance to the dungeons should be here.”

  The corridors here were narrower, and their hurried footsteps echoed on the bare stone floor. Yet these hallways were also blessedly empty; the festivities required every free hand. The bedrooms, narrow and spare as monastic cells, were all deserted. They turned a corner and suddenly found themselves at a dead end. Shadrack stopped short. “No, it’s not here,” he said to himself. “It must be . . .” he trailed off. “Wherever the guard are housed.”

  After hesitating for a moment, Shadrack turned back the way they’d come, back past the stairs in the opposite direction. Soon they were racing through the long, cavernous rooms that housed the royal guard. These, too, were empty, though littered with equipment and weapons, and at the far end of the largest room was an arched, torch-lit entryway and a descending staircase.

  “That’s it,” he said, glancing behind them. The shadowed stairs seemed to go down forever. At the bottom, they found themselves in a dark, dank passage whose stone walls were covered—unexpectedly—with pale vines growing in twists and turns and dense spirals. As she hurried along, Sophia ran her hand over the cool leaves.

  Suddenly, the corridor opened out onto a vast, high chamber with a domed ceiling. The walls were covered by the same pale creepers. Fires in deep clay pots dotted the stone floor, and in the center of the room was what appeared to be an empty pool. As they walked toward it, breathing heavily with exertion, Sophia realized that it was actually a pit. She ran to the edge and peered in.

  The pit was more than twenty feet deep, its walls covered with sharp, irregular shards of glass. At the bottom, huddled around a small fire, sat the four luckless prisoners: Veressa, Martin, Calixta, and Burr. “It’s me, Sophia,” she called down, her voice echoing throughout the chamber.

  At the sight of her, the four sprang to their feet. “Sophia!” Veressa cried. “You must leave here!”

  Shadrack and Theo reached the edge of the pit. “We’re not leaving without you,” Shadrack said. “There’s a ladder. We’ll lower it and you can climb out.”

  “Where are the guard?” Burr demanded. “How did you get past them?”

  “They’re outside,” Sophia said. “Everyone is watching the eclipse.”

  Shadrack and Theo lowered the wooden ladder into the pit and held the top of it securely while Burr held the bottom and, one by one, the other three made their way up. Martin went first, climbing slowly because of his silver leg, and when he had emerged safely, he embraced Sophia. “My dear, I’m not sure it was wise of you to come here.”

  “We had to, Martin,” she said, leaning against him.

  Calixta reached the top of the ladder, and then Veressa emerged. Burr followed them, leaping out over the last rung. “Right. Now how do we get out of here, Veressa?” he asked.

  She was on the verge of answering when there was a sudden sound. Turning as one, they saw Montaigne’s companion, the veiled woman, standing in the doorway, surrounded by more than a dozen of the Nochtland guard. She strode toward them, more of the guard pouring out of the corridor behind her, ominous as gathering vultures. They held their spears aloft, directed at the small group that stood by the open pit.

  “Princess Justa was right after all,” the woman said, her sweet, sad voice filling the cavernous chamber. Her delicate veil fluttered as she spoke. “She assured me you would return for your friends. I thought you would have more sense,” she said softly, walking directly toward Sophia. “For once, I’m glad to have been proven wrong.”

  Shadrack put his arm across Sophia. “Leave her, Blanca,” he said hoarsely.

  Blanca s
hook her head and began to remove her gloves. “This is the moment we were always heading toward, Shadrack. You simply chose not to believe it.” She extended her bare hand toward Sophia. “I’ll have the bag you are carrying, please.” Sophia did not move. “You may not care for your own safety, but surely there are some here whom you would not like to see at the end of a spear?”

  Sophia turned reluctantly to retrieve her pack from under her gown, and after an awkward struggle it was free. She handed it to Blanca. Their hands touched for a moment; Sophia felt the pressure of the woman’s cold fingers. “Thank you,” Blanca said. Without wasting a moment, she opened the pack and removed the four maps. She ran her trembling fingers over them lovingly and then held the glass map up like a trophy, gazing at it. Sophia stared at the cavern wall through the treasure that she had just lost. “You must understand, Sophia,” Blanca said softly, “that they belong with me. For three years I shared a home with them—they were almost mine. I might have read them a thousand times, except that I could not.”

  With an easy motion she lifted her veil, and in the flickering firelight Sophia saw that the woman’s face had no features, only skin that was deathly pale. The skin was deeply scarred, as if a dozen knives had carved through it: as if a patient hand had cut across it, again and again.

  31

  The Lined Palm

  1891, July 1: 2-Hour 05

  The dungeons are from an another period, likely the earliest of the Triple Eras. Soil sampling from the underground vaults of the imperial palace in Nochtland suggests that the extensive subterranean architecture dates to several hundred years before the topsoil upon which the palace is built. In other words, the visible structure of the palace, which has been in place since the Great Disruption, belongs to a different age than do its foundations.

  —From Veressa Metl’s “Local Soils: Implications for Cartology”

  YEARS BEFORE BLANCA knew of the glaciers’ advance, she had sought to enrich her railway company by extending the track south through New Occident’s Indian Territories and all the way to Nochtland. Princess Justa, unsurprisingly, looked favorably upon the investor who promised to connect the isolated capital with the wealthy cities to the north. Over time, Blanca had proven herself to be more than a match for the insular monarch, easily securing a monopoly on the railroad route and then persuading her that a mere weirwind was moving north.