The Glass Sentence (The Mapmakers Trilogy) (25 page)

“‘What is wrong with him?’ I cried.

“‘I don’t know,’ Shadrack replied. ‘He seems to think he is a child.’ The shrieking of the Lachrima continued, and I knew that I could bear it no longer. I turned and ran down the corridor, fleeing from the sound and from the frightening sight of Talisman on his hands and knees. Shadrack ran after me, and though we lost our way in the hallways more than once, we finally found our way back to the dining room and from there to the bedrooms to gather our belongings. We seized them and ran toward the stables, where we had left our hired horses. I was trembling from hand to foot, and I could barely manage the saddle. And yet, as we were readying the horses, the sound of the Lachrima faded and finally stopped. Still, I wanted nothing more than to leave as quickly as possible.

“Suddenly Talisman threw open the stable door and came unsteadily toward us. I felt an irrational fear surge through me. ‘Please,’ he said faintly. ‘Wait—I beg you.’ I would not have waited, but Shadrack hesitated, moved by pity. The old man looked beaten down and exhausted, and I understood then the constant expression of grief that he wore, even when he was not under the Lachrima’s spell. He carried a wrapped bundle carefully in his arms, and as he walked toward us he shifted it to one hand and held his other out toward us appealingly. ‘I beg you,’ he said again, hoarsely. ‘Wait.’

“‘We are leaving, Talisman,’ Shadrack said firmly.

“‘I know, I know,’ he said, crestfallen. ‘I know it frightens you. It frightens me as well, but I must explain to you.
Someone
must know. The Lachrima’s cries confuse my sense of time. I lose my way—I know not who I am nor where I am, nor
when
I am.’

“‘Let the Lachrima go free,’ Shadrack implored. ‘Come away with us. We will find you a doctor in Nochtland. Your mind might still be restored with care and rest.’

“Talis shook his head. ‘I cannot. It is my life’s work. I aim to restore that creature’s mind, even if it costs me my own.’

“‘But can you not see the further damage you are doing? You are restoring nothing!’

“‘I am drawing a map of its life upon its skin. Then it will remember its one, true life.’

“‘I ask you once more to show it mercy and leave with us,’ Shadrack said, taking the old man’s arm.

“Talis pulled away and handed Shadrack the bundle. ‘If you must go, take these with you. They are too valuable to be left here, where they might soon be lost with me.’ He smiled feebly. ‘Do not fear—they are maps like those you know. They hold the key to a great mystery, and it will not do for them to be buried with an old man.’

“Shadrack accepted them, at a loss for words, and Talis stepped back. He raised his arm as if bidding us farewell and slowly left the stables. Shadrack seemed to hesitate, debating what to do. Then he put the package in his saddlebag and mounted his horse. ‘Let us leave this place,’ he said to me.

“We returned to Nochtland without stopping, and we could not bring ourselves to speak of what had happened. Back at the academy, we sat listlessly at our desks, thinking only of what we had seen—of that tormented creature and how little we had done to save her. Shadrack came to my room the following day with the bundle that Talisman had given him. ‘I think we should look at these together,’ he said.

“Inside the carefully wrapped bundle we found four maps—glass, clay, metal, and cloth. Four maps that fit together and told a tragic story. Despite the horror we had felt during our visit, we recognized that the maps were, indeed, keys to a great mystery. After studying the maps we came to the same conclusion: they held a memory of how the Great Disruption had come to pass.”

Everyone at the table gasped, and Veressa looked down at the glass map. “What we could not agree on,” she continued in a subdued voice, “was what to do with the maps. The glass map, in particular, since apart from being a memory map, it was clearly also a tracing map—a lens used to identify and draw other maps. Shadrack believed we should use them for exploration, to discover where the Disruption had taken place. It was his theory that if we followed the maps we would find the
carta mayor—
the fabled water map that shows the living world. The idea had occurred to both of us; indeed, among cartologers, it would have occurred to anyone. But I,” Veressa paused, shaking her head, “I feared the maps would lead to ill. The
carta mayor
is a dangerous legend, and it has led many explorers to disappointment or death. Some say it is an ordinary water map. Some say it has much greater power: that the
carta mayor
does not only show all possible worlds—past, present, and future—but that it also offers the power to change them. A change in the map produces a change in the world. Who knows if such a thing is true, but it hardly matters; the rumor of such power is enough. People believe what they will. I worried about what would happen if the maps fell into the wrong hands.”

Martin reached across the table and took his daughter’s hand. “Shadrack and I could not resolve our difference of opinion,” she said sadly. “And our arguments grew increasingly bitter. I think, beneath it all, we were suffering from guilt. The Lachrima had asked us for help and we had fled. Finally, by way of compromise and out of respect for my wishes, Shadrack agreed to separate the maps as a way of minimizing their potential power. The glass map was a formidable instrument, but alone it could not tell the whole story of the Disruption. I know that he has used it with the utmost wisdom, relying on its excellent quality to draw exquisite maps of his own. He has only used the tracing glass to add knowledge to the world of cartology, and he has tried to keep its existence hidden. Nevertheless, its reputation has traveled. Even here, I heard rumors of what came to be known as the ‘Polyglot Tracing Glass.’ It was inevitable that as its reputation grew, so would covetous explorers and cartologers seek to find it. The other three maps were mere stage scenery without the glass layer. I kept them.

“Shadrack and I parted on bad terms. He wrote to me only once, to tell me that he had returned to Talisman’s home, but the man’s mind was past repair. Shadrack freed the Lachrima, who fled at once, and brought Talisman to Nochtland, where he settled him in a convent hospital. From time to time I visit. He is like a child now—lost in some private world which the rest of us cannot see. But Shadrack I never heard from again—until now.” She smiled wanly at Sophia. “And so, with you, the glass map returns to Nochtland.”

“But where are the other three, my child?” Martin demanded. “I have never seen such maps here.”

Veressa sighed. “They are in the library safe. The four maps are together in the same place once more.”

24

Into the Sand

S
HADRACK
KNE
W
THAT
they would soon be abandoning the train, because all morning the Sandmen had been packing Blanca’s belongings. He tried to keep his mind on the task at hand. He had rapidly transferred his memories into the rectangular sheet of copper, and now the painstaking work of ordering and manifesting those memories into a map had begun. Shadrack leaned over the copper sheet with a magnifying glass, studying the pattern of oxidation he had created. His tools—a microscope, an array of small hammers and chisels, a case full of vials with colored liquids, and a brazier with cold, ashy coals—lay around him on the table. Weeping stood by, watching Shadrack’s progress with studied patience. The two had hardly exchanged another word, but Weeping had somehow communicated their lie to Blanca, and she had not returned.

Shadrack estimated that the train had almost reached the border of the Baldlands. He had no notion where Blanca would go once the rails ended. His time was running short; he would have to make his attempt to flee soon.

As he scraped gently at the metal sheet, the door suddenly opened. Blanca entered, followed by four Sandmen. “We are leaving the Bullet,” she announced. “Your niece has boarded a ship called the
Swan
in New Orleans, and the ship’s destination is Veracruz.” It sounded as if she was smiling. “So we are heading south. When we reach the border, we will board a boldevela and travel to Veracruz.”

Shadrack deliberately did not acknowledge her. “I give you this information as a courtesy,” Blanca added, “and so that you are assured of being soon reunited with your niece. Your map of the
carta mayor’s
location should be ready just in time.” Her attention turned to the copper map. “Have you completed it?”

“Not quite,” Shadrack said quickly.

“Let me see it,” she said.

“I would like to finish it before you read it.”

Blanca reached across the table and picked up the map. “A match, Weeping.”

Weeping hesitated only a moment before drawing a matchbox from his jacket pocket. He lit a match and held it before him. Blanca held the map to the flame, then set it down on the table; its entire surface swarmed with inscrutable drawings. She quickly pulled off one of her gloves and placed her fingertips on the copper surface. Shadrack was tense with anticipation.

For several seconds she stood motionless; then she pulled her hand away from the map as if burned. “This cannot be its location, because this place no longer exists
. How do you know this place?
”
she whispered. “
Tell me how you know it!
” The fear and anger coursed through her words and into the room, palpable and overwhelming. Weeping winced and stumbled backward.

Shadrack felt the rush of blood in his ears as he rose abruptly from his chair. “I would ask you the same,” he shot back, trying to stay calm. The sound of her voice alone was enough to make the steadiest heart skip a beat.

“
How do you know this place?”
She nearly choked on her scream.

Clearly, even Weeping had never seen Blanca in such a state. The other men stared at her in terror, paralyzed. “I have been there,” Shadrack said evenly. “And so have you.”

“
You lied to me,
” Blanca wailed, charging around the table. “
You deceived me.
”

“I said I would draw you a map.”

She strode toward him, her fury spilling forth like flames from a burning house, and for a moment Shadrack believed she was going to throw herself upon him. She stopped, her veiled face inches from his; he expected any moment to feel the force of her exploding anger. Then suddenly she shrank visibly, as if the fire had been doused, and Shadrack heard nothing but ragged breaths. The veil shook before his face. “I see how you are, now,” she said, her voice trembling. “You are cruel. Impossibly cruel to remind me of that place. How could you?”

“I did not intend to be cruel,” Shadrack said. His voice was earnest but firm. “I intended to show you that I understand.” He stared into the veil. “If you would but let them see the map,” he added softly, “they would understand as well.”

Blanca turned suddenly, electrified. “Who else knew of this?”

The Sandmen shook their heads. Weeping looked at her with fire in his eyes and said nothing.

“What did he tell you he would draw?” Blanca demanded.

“He said he would explain my name. The origin of the weeping. I wish to understand the truth,” Weeping added firmly—perhaps recklessly.

She stared at him in silence. When she spoke again, her voice had changed. “You wish to understand the truth, of course,” she said quietly, almost sweetly. “How foolish I was to leave you untrained so long, Weeping. You will understand the truth, certainly.” She turned to Shadrack. “And
you
will understand the cost of deceiving me. You may save yourself by being indispensable, but you cannot save anyone else.” She stepped quickly around the desk and motioned to the petrified men who stood pressed against the wall. “Bring them,” she said brusquely, motioning at Weeping and Shadrack.

Weeping and Shadrack were each half carried, half dragged into the adjoining car. The wheelbarrow that Shadrack had heard so many times stood against the corner wall. In the middle of the car was an hourglass the size of a grown man. It rested on its side, suspended within a circular metal track. Each chamber of the hourglass was made of petal-shaped sheets of glass, soldered along the edges. One chamber was closed and filled with sand. The other chamber was empty and open, one of the petals opening outward like a delicate door. Shadrack realized immediately what was about to happen. “No,” he cried, trying to shake himself free. “You will gain nothing by doing this.”

“You have lost your chance to negotiate with me,” Blanca said coldly. Then she addressed the Sandmen: “The bonnet and jacket.”

“His memories are useless to you!”

Weeping had stopped struggling. He stood stoically, his gaze turned inward, as if contemplating a distant memory. His fingers rested lightly on the amulet around his neck. Two Sandmen forced him into a straitjacket that wound his arms around his body, lacing it tightly closed behind him. A helmet of canvas and wood was placed over his head, covering his eyes. Then they thrust the wooden block in his mouth and pulled the wires up and through the helmet.

“If you do this,” Shadrack said, his voice hard, “I will not lift a finger to help you.”

“I believe you will feel differently when it is your niece who wears the bonnet,” said Blanca. Shadrack froze. “I am merely giving you a demonstration here. Remember, Shadrack. It is not I who made this happen—it is you. You leave me no choice.”

The Sandmen pushed Weeping into the empty chamber. He lay awkwardly, face-up, his knees pulled in toward his chest. Shadrack could see the metal wires of the bonnet straining against his skin. The Sandmen fastened the glass door. Then they rotated the hourglass upright so that Weeping lay, crushed and helpless, in the bottom chamber. The sand began to pour down upon him. Weeping struggled to breathe. His composure left him. He began kicking uselessly at the glass, battering his head against it. But he succeeded only in cutting his cheeks, and blood mixed with the sand.

“That’s enough, pull him out!” Shadrack shouted. “You’ve made your point.” He struggled to free himself, but the other Sandman pinned his arms behind his back. He watched as Weeping writhed ever more helplessly and the sand funneled on steadily, inexorably.

“You may turn it back now,” Blanca finally said.

The two Sandmen rotated the hourglass once again, so that Weeping was carried high up over their heads and the sand that had engulfed him began to pour back into the other chamber. They all waited silently. Weeping no longer struggled. He lay inert.

“Take him out,” Blanca said, when the chamber had emptied. She watched, arms crossed, as the Sandmen rotated the hourglass to its side, opened the chamber, and caught the buckles of the straitjacket with their grappling hooks to lift Weeping. He was limp as they lowered him on the floor, loosened the straitjacket’s laces, and removed the bonnet and the wooden block. He lay with his eyes closed. Two long, bloody lines stretched from his mouth to his ears.

“How much has he lost?” Shadrack asked numbly. “Will he be like Carlton?”

The train suddenly came to a halt, and the Sandmen shifted into action. “We’ve reached the border,” Blanca said. “Unload the trunks and the contents of the study. I need twenty minutes to convert this sand. Do not disturb me until I am through.” Then she addressed Shadrack. “From Carlton I took everything. But Weeping will be like these others,” she said coolly. “Unburdened of most of their memories, but still conscious men. Still remembering dimly with some part of their minds what it means to be a Nihilismian. To mistrust the reality of the world, to believe in that which is unseen, and to pursue it blindly. My Sandmen,” she added, almost affectionately, as she looked down at Weeping. Then she turned and left the compartment.