The Glass Sentence (The Mapmakers Trilogy)

by S. E. Grove

Grandmother Pearl linked her arm through Sophia’s. “Perhaps you’re right. But you never know. There may yet be a time when you see the scars fade away.”

  —13-Hour 40: At the Nochtland Palace—

  VERESSA AND MARTIN returned to the boldevela some time later with Calixta, and they reported that the palace was entirely abandoned. Soon afterward, Theo and Burr arrived victoriously with Mazapán, his wife Olina, and large wooden crates full of food and chocolate dishes. In the dying light of the afternoon, they prepared a banquet on the ship’s deck.

  Burr and Peaches carried Shadrack up the spiral staircase, and every manner of gilded chair from the cabins was brought topside. It was a night for celebration. The meal was delicious, the chocolate tableware was superb—both as serving dishes and dessert—and there was more than enough for everyone. Peaches discovered a harp that someone had left behind in the Nochtland gardens, and for several hours the sweet, lulling sound of ballads filled the air.

  When they all finally went to bed, even Sophia had forgotten some of her troubling memories. Most of the pirates returned with Martin and Veressa to the palace, where they promptly took command of the royal suites. Theo and Sophia stayed with Shadrack on the boldevela. She fell asleep almost at once.

  But she awoke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, panicked by a nightmare that she could not remember. She sat up, stretched her sore legs, and looked out the porthole at the pale moonlight. Her heart took a little while to stop racing. When it did, she quietly climbed out of her blankets.

  The deck of the boldevela was still littered with remnants of the feast. Sophia stepped over the plates and cups and walked to the edge, resting her arms on the polished railing.

  The moon hung over the Nochtland palace and its gardens, pale and ponderous, like the wondering face of a clock with no hands. There was the faint rushing of water from the fountains in the palace gardens.

  A footstep on the deck made her turn. Theo came up and leaned his elbows on the railing beside her. “Bad dreams?”

  “I can’t even remember what about.”

  “Maybe this’ll help,” he said, handing her a chocolate spoon.

  Sophia had to smile. She bit off a piece of the spoon and let it dissolve on her tongue. “Do you hear that?” she asked.

  Theo cocked his head. “You mean the fountains?”

  “No—something else. It’s farther away,” she hesitated. “Someone crying?”

  If she had not known him better, Sophia would have said Theo looked almost worried. “I don’t hear anything,” he said softly.

  “There must still be Lachrima in this city. Who knows how many.”

  “You’ll hear them less once you leave.”

  Sophia was silent for a moment. “I suppose everyone will go different ways now,” she said, taking another bite of chocolate.

  “Veressa and Martin said they’ll stay as long as Justa doesn’t return.”

  “Do you think she will?”

  Theo shrugged. “I doubt she’ll want to—with the ice just miles from the gates.”

  Sophia considered the blank face of the moon. “What about you?” she asked. “Are you going to stay, too?”

  “Nah. Sure, the palace is nice, but who wants to sit around all day and look at flowers? I want to be out doing things, seeing new places.”

  Sophia’s mind turned to the pirates and how quickly Theo had taken to life aboard the Swan. “I’m sure Calixta and Burr would be happy if you sailed with them.”

  “I don’t know,” Theo said doubtfully. “What I’d really like is to get into exploring.” He paused. “Do you think if I could get papers into New Occident, Shadrack could maybe get me started?”

  Sophia felt an inexplicable wave of elation wash over her, cutting through the sadness like a current. Suddenly negotiating for entrance into New Occident, contending with the July 4 border closure, and awaiting parliament’s decision at the end of August seemed trivial. “I’m sure he could,” she said. “Shadrack can get you papers, because he got them for Mrs. Clay, didn’t he? And there’s no one better to talk to about exploring,” she went on happily. “Maybe you could go with Miles when he’s back. If it weren’t for school, I’d go with you.”

  Theo smiled. “Well, maybe we could be summertime explorers.”

  Sophia laughed.

  Then he reached his bandaged hand out toward her. “You’ve got chocolate all over your chin,” he said, wiping her chin with his thumb. His hand rested briefly on her face and then slipped easily across her shoulders. Sophia leaned comfortably against him and looked up, finding the dark sky suddenly bright. The blank face of the moon looked down wistfully on the pair and tried to lean in just a little closer.

  —1891, July 6: Leaving Nochtland—

  THE GREAT MYSTERY of how and why the Glacine Age had suddenly manifested would trouble cartologers in New Occident, the Baldlands, and the United Indies for many years to come. It lay beyond their knowledge. Martin posited, and the others agreed, that being in the underground city had saved them. They were already in an outlying pocket of the Glacine Age when the rest of it arrived; the border that would otherwise have transformed them into Lachrima had left them untouched. But no one understood how the Age had shifted its borders or why draining the carta mayor had halted the glacier’s progress.

  The map that Sophia had brought with her from the pyramid seemed to hold more questions than answers. It described a strange history that began with distant tragedies—rumors of plague and illness traveling across the continent, spreading fear and then panic. The animals of the Glacine Age fell as they grazed. The birds swooped to earth to seize a worm or seed and were struck down, dead. And the people, too, fell, as the cities and towns gradually emptied. It was as though the entire Age had succumbed to an unseen poison. The mapmakers could offer no explanations: they could only record the gradual disintegration of their Age. The memories of the map faded away with the last inhabitants of what had once been a great city, and then they ended.

  After a long talk with Shadrack, which lingered considerably on the question of the four maps and the surprise of locating the carta mayor, Veressa determined that it was best for her and Martin to remain in the Baldlands. There had been no sign of Justa’s return to Nochtland, and it was rumored that she was traveling north in the attempt to rejoin her long-absent father. Besides, it would have been futile to try to persuade Martin to leave the city. He longed to study the soil of the Glacine Age—the soil that now lay only three miles from his doorstep.

  Sophia entrusted the pyramid-map and the riddle it contained to Veressa, as well as the three maps that she had kept hidden for so long. The glass map would return to Boston.

  They lingered a few days more in Nochtland, but then it was clear they had to depart—to go home. “These books are for you, Sophia,” Veressa said, as they stood outside the palace greenhouses for the last time. “A few of mine about the Baldlands that you might like and one by someone else that I’ve never been able to figure out. Maybe you can.”

  Sophia juggled the pile of books and noted the one on top with a curious title: Guide to Lost, Missing, and Elsewhere. “Thank you,” she said.

  “It’s a lovely old book of maps. Maybe you’ll understand it better than I do, since you’re the best at cartologic riddles.” She hugged Sophia.

  “Come back as soon as you can,” Martin said, embracing her as well. “There’s plenty to explore in those caves. And I shall need a mapmaker.”

  “You have Veressa, don’t you?” she teased.

  Martin scoffed. “I shall need more than one.”

  The pirated boldevela carried them to Veracruz, where they boarded the faithful Swan and set sail for New Orleans. The journey was not a pleasant one; Sophia was still troubled by her memories of Blanca, and though they had left Nochtland and Veracruz far behind, she continued to hear a distant murmur that often made her sit up straight and fall silent. She felt as seasick aboard the Swan as she had before. And, worse, she kn
ew that when they reached New Orleans she would have to say good-bye to the pirates as well. Theo wisely left her quietly brooding to herself. Only Shadrack and Grandmother Pearl, the one with grand plans for future exploration and the other with gentle words of reassurance, dared come near her.

  “Well, Soph,” Shadrack said, as they sat side by side on the deck, “it will be good to be home so we can get back to planning. Things will be different, of course, but I believe in a good way. I’m glad Theo is staying, and not just because he knows the west better than I do; he has nerve, that boy. We’ll have to get papers for him, but I can manage. In the meantime,” he said, sitting up so abruptly that he winced, “you’ll be diving back into your cartological studies. There’s so much still to learn! Though now some of it you will have to teach me,” he added with a smile. “Won’t you?”

  Sophia leaned her head against his shoulder. “Yes, I guess so.”

  “You guess so? You were at the forefront of a great discovery, Soph!”

  But for some reason, she could not summon up the enthusiasm she knew she ought to feel. All she felt was nausea.

  When they reached New Orleans, they took leave of the pirates, who were entirely cheerful and not at all concerned about when they would meet next. “I’m sure we’ll see you before the month is out!” Burr proclaimed happily, pumping Sophia’s hand.

  “Without a doubt!” Calixta agreed. “They may not let us past the harbor, but they can’t do without the rum we deliver.”

  “So sad and so true,” her brother added.

  “I’m afraid they’re right, dear,” Grandmother Pearl said, laughing, as she enfolded Sophia in her arms.

  “Good-bye,” Sophia said, pressing her face against the soft, wrinkled cheek. “Even if it is soon, it will feel like ages to me.”

  “Then make it short, dear,” the old woman replied. “Make of the time what you want.”

  Epilogue:

  To Each Her Own Age

  1891, December 18: 12-Hour 40

  When you lose a marble, a favorite book, or a key, where does it go? It does not go nowhere. It goes elsewhere. Some things (and people) go elsewhere and soon return. Others go elsewhere and appear to want to stay. In those cases, the only solution for the very determined is to find them: to go elsewhere and bring them back.

  —From Guide to Lost, Missing, and Elsewhere, author unknown

  IT WAS WINTER in Boston, and the school term was coming to an end. Sophia thought, as she watched the snow piling up on her walk home, that the trolleys might be stopped the next day if the snow continued to fall. If the trolleys were stopped they would cancel school, and if they canceled school she would have the whole day free.

  She made her way down East Ending Street and turned to walk backward so that she could see her footsteps disappearing. The air was gray and faintly warmer, as it always was during a snowfall. She had a sudden urge to run as she neared 34 East Ending, and she skipped through the snow the rest of the way, her satchel banging against her side and her hair streaming away from her face. She bounded up the steps of the house and threw open the door. Placing her satchel on the floor, she sat down to unlace her boots.

  “Close the door, my dear!” Mrs. Clay said, walking into the entryway and doing it for her.

  “It’s not even cold out!” Sophia exclaimed, looking up.

  “It’s cold enough for me.” She smiled and removed Sophia’s knitted hat, which was wet with snow, shook it out, and hung it on the coat rack. “Do you want any milk or coffee? I’m just making some.”

  “I’ll have coffee, thanks,” Sophia replied, following her into the kitchen in her socks.

  After Mrs. Clay had put the coffee to brew, she took two bowls from the cupboard. “Why don’t you lean out the window and get some snow from the spruce?”

  Sophia seized the bowls with delight. “You want some, too?”

  “No, dear, but I’m sure Theo does.”

  Sophia opened the window, leaned out, and scooped snow from the spruce tree into first one bowl, then the other. Then Mrs. Clay poured maple syrup over the white snow in thick, even spirals. She tucked a spoon into each bowl. “Your uncle is downstairs with Miles. Arguing, from what I hear.”

  Sophia rolled her eyes. “About the election again?”

  New Occident was on the verge of electing a new Prime Minister, and the candidates had been the subject of many a heated debate at 34 East Ending Street. The Wharton Amendment, which would have closed the borders for citizens at the end of August, had been soundly defeated. The travelers at East Ending would have more time to plan their expedition. Shadrack hoped the defeat of Wharton’s extreme agenda augured the success of a more moderate candidate, while Miles, ever pessimistic, observed that New Occident was becoming all too accustomed to the absence of foreigners and would slide further into intolerance.

  “This time,” the housekeeper said, “over a letter from Veressa that a traveler from Veracruz brought.”

  “Veressa! What does she say?”

  “There’s a letter for you, as well,” Mrs. Clay said by way of an answer, reaching into the pocket of her apron.

  Sophia had expected a letter from Dorothy, but the handwriting was entirely unfamiliar. “Strange,” she said, sipping the coffee as she tucked the letter into her own pocket. “Did Veressa send any more maps of the glacier?”

  “I couldn’t say. The conversation was heated enough to drive me all the way upstairs. I only came down for a moment to make coffee.”

  Sophia took her mug in one hand and her bowl in the other and walked carefully out of the kitchen. “Thank you, Mrs. Clay.”

  “Be a dear—when you go down, tell Theo to come get his snow.”

  Walking as fast as she could without spilling, Sophia passed through Shadrack’s study to the bookcase that led to the map room. As she descended she heard pieces of the heated argument taking place downstairs.

  “I tell you,” Shadrack said, “snow is not the same there. It is qualitatively different. The water is different. The water is different because the soil is different. It just is.”

  “And how am I supposed to believe you without ever having seen it?” Miles shouted back. “You didn’t bother to bring back a sample. Am I supposed to go on faith?”

  “And how, I beg you to tell me, would I have brought back a sample of SNOW? I’ll remind you that it was July, and even the train rails were in danger of melting.”

  “I think,” a much younger voice said with a light laugh, “this is one problem we won’t solve by talking it over in the cellar.”

  Sophia reached the bottom of the stairs. “Did Veressa send any new maps?” she demanded. The map room, which Shadrack had put back in order upon their return, had been restored to its former glory. The shelves were loaded with books, the cabinets had been fitted with new glass, and maps were once again scattered on every surface. The only remaining sign of the destruction was the long scar across the leather surface of the table. Shadrack and Miles stood across from one another, leaning on it; Theo was in the armchair by the wall, his legs tossed over the side. His eyes widened at the sight of the bowl Sophia was holding. “Mrs. Clay made you some,” Sophia said, holding her bowl firmly. Theo jumped to his feet and raced up the stairs. “Hello, Miles.”

  “Good to see you, Sophia.” The warmth of the house and the exertion of the argument had made his cheeks pink.

  “Mrs. Clay says you got a letter from Veressa,” Sophia said to Shadrack.

  “I did.” He turned away from the table and flung himself into an armchair. “And Miles refuses to believe any portion of it.”

  “That’s not what I said,” Miles growled.

  “Have they mapped more of the glacier?” Sophia asked again.

  “For the most part,” Shadrack sighed, “she wrote with news of the new mapmaking academy. They enrolled nearly a hundred students at the start of the year.”

  “A hundred!” Sophia repeated.

  “They have the run of the palace. Best
use it’s ever been put to, I imagine. They have not mapped more of the glacier, although they have made short expeditions—collecting expeditions. Martin continues to work on the theory that their manmade soil became too toxic for the Glacine Age to survive. He has tested the water of the glacier repeatedly and been unable to pinpoint the source of its toxicity, which is why Miles here rejects the theory out of hand. I pointed out,” Shadrack said, rising from his chair, “that just because Martin cannot prove how it is toxic does not mean it isn’t.”

  Miles rolled his eyes. “For Fates’ sake, man, aren’t you willing to entertain the possibility that the soil of the Glacine Age was toxic but no longer is? That’s all I’m proposing. It’s merely one possibility among several.”

  Sophia shook her head as Shadrack launched into his reply. Theo returned, eating contentedly from his bowl of snow, and she joined him as he dropped back into his armchair. “I guess they have to think about the academy now,” she said ruefully. “But Veressa promised she’d make more maps of the glacier.”

  “Who sent you a letter?” Theo asked curiously, seeing the edge of the envelope in Sophia’s pocket.

  “I don’t know.” She pulled it out and examined the unfamiliar writing. “I’ll let you know when I’ve read it. I’m going upstairs to watch the snow.”

  Theo reached his scarred hand out quickly to Sophia’s. “How many inches?”

  Sophia replied with a shy smile, pressing her fingers against his palm. “There’s at least four already. Maybe eight by tomorrow.”

  “Everyone will be on the street. We should go outside.”

  “Let’s—come get me.” She grinned. “I’ll lose track of time.”

  Her friend winked at her. “No doubt.”

  In her room, she put the bowl of watery snow and the half-filled cup of coffee on her desk and sat down. After she opened the drawer, retrieving the letter opener from its place beside Blanca’s silk scarf, she stopped to look out the window at the icicles hanging from the eaves. Her hand slipped into her pocket, and she closed her fingers around the spool of silver thread that still accompanied her everywhere: the gift from Mrs. Clay and the Fates that had led her across the ice in another Age.