The Glass Sentence (The Mapmakers Trilogy) (8 page)

The trolley stopped briefly on the far side of the common, at some distance from the State House, and then veered off, careening into the tunnel that connected to the wharf. Sophia felt nervous at the thought of once again seeing the boy in feathers.
Maybe I should get the supplies first,
she thought.
But I don’t want to be carrying the supplies if I try to open the cage. I should go to the circus first
.

The trolley emerged from the tunnel and the conductor called the Wharf stop. Sophia stepped off, edgy with excitement, and looked for the warehouse where she’d seen the circus.

The chaos at the wharf made the protest near the State House pale in comparison. Crowds of people—determined explorers, anxious tradespeople, and exiled foreigners—wove along the cobblestone street and toward the waiting ships. Police officers walked tensely among them, truncheons drawn, checking papers and shepherding people into lines. Every manner of vessel filled the waters beyond the wharf and waited to board passengers, seeking to profit from the sudden exodus. Sophia turned away in dismay as she heard a ship’s captain haggling with an explorer over an outrageous fee for passage to the Closed Empire.

Catching sight of a faded warehouse nearby, Sophia pushed past the crowd and hurried toward it. Sure enough, there was the sign for Ehrlach’s Circus of the Ages. But something had changed. There was no line for admittance, and the warehouse door was closed. There was no trace of the little man, the ticket vendor, or the boy in the cage.

For a moment she stood hesitantly, watching people pass. Then she approached the door and gave it an experimental push. It seemed to be barred by something on the other side. She pushed a little harder and the door gave way.

“Oh, no,” she said out loud. The cavernous warehouse stood completely empty. A pile of hay, a few broken pieces of a set, and some netting lay scattered on the dirt floor. Sophia stood and stared. She recalled once again the boy in feathers—his air of careless grace, the easy way he shoved aside the circus master’s cane. Now he was gone. She imagined him traveling to some unknown place, imprisoned forever in his horrible cage, until his lofty expression faded and his eyes lost their animation.

Sophia left the empty warehouse, closing the door behind her. “Excuse me,” she said to an old man carrying a heavy traveling case. “Has the circus gone already?”

“It has, miss,” he said, taking a moment to rest. “They packed up only this morning.”

“I thought they would stay until July fourth.”

“They could have, sure, but Ehrlach wanted to spend the last weeks in New York. Seems to think there’ll be more business there without the parliament protests to distract them.”

“I see. Thank you,” Sophia said. “Bad luck, I suppose.”

“Bad luck it is—for all of us,” the old man replied, shouldering the case again. “I’m sorry, miss.”

Sophia stood, staring at the sign and trying to shake off her disappointment.
I should have thought of it sooner
, she said to herself.
I didn’t realize how many days had passed.
The familiar sense of frustration washed over her, but she had to admit that in this case her broken internal clock wasn’t entirely to blame. She’d been thoughtless in a wholly ordinary way. For an entire week she had forgotten about the boy, and now the chance to help him was gone.

With an abrupt glance at her watch, she realized that she had lost more than an hour and reminded herself sternly of her assigned task. She turned
and looked for Harding’s Supply with a renewed sense of purpose. It was nearby, its double doors opened wide to allow for the steady stream of customers purchasing last-minute equipment for long overseas journeys. Having lost so much time already, Sophia hurried through the aisles, inspecting waterproof rucksacks, snowshoes, collapsible hats, silk sheets that folded away into a pocket-sized pouch, canteens, and field glasses. She left the store with a small russet-brown pack, two weatherproof roll-tubes for paper maps, and an oiled leather case for her watch.

— 15-Hour 09: Arriving Home—

I
T
WAS
PAST
fifteen-hour when Sophia headed home. The summer sun was still high in the sky, and as she turned onto East Ending Street it occurred to her that she might yet have time to finish solving the puzzle she’d begun that morning. Surely Shadrack wouldn’t mind, now that she had dutifully spent the afternoon out of doors.

Sophia neared the house and was surprised to see the side door wide open. When she reached the steps, something odd caught her eye: a long green feather. She picked it up and examined it. “Very strange,” she murmured. As soon as she had reached the entryway, she could see that something was very wrong.

The house was a disaster. Something intent on destruction had swept through it. Food and broken dishes lay strewn across the kitchen floor. The rugs in the hallway were twisted and shoved together, while remains of burnt papers and maps littered the stove. Almost all the framed maps that normally hung in every room had been knocked down, leaving the papered walls bare. Even some of the floorboards had been torn up. And lying before her near the entryway was a long red feather. She stood for a moment, her panic mounting, and then she dropped the green feather, threw aside the new pack that hung from her shoulder, and ran toward the study.

“Shadrack!” she shouted.
“Shadrack!”

He was not there. Maps lay scattered everywhere, many of them torn. The books had been pulled from the shelves and lay on the ground in haphazard piles. With horror, Sophia saw the door to the map room standing open.

“Shadrack?” she called, her voice unsteady, from the top of the stairs. There was no answer. She descended slowly, the wooden treads creaking beneath her feet. When she reached the bottom she stood dazed at the chaos before her.

The glass cases had been shattered, their contents gone. The bureaus lay open, their drawers bare. Here, too, the books had been pulled from the shelves and thrown to the floor. The cabinets that held paper maps stood empty. Sophia took in the destruction, too stunned to call out again. Everything, every single thing in the map room, had been destroyed or stolen. A broken glass map crunched beneath her boot and she looked down blankly at the shards. There was a long, jagged scar across the leather-topped table. She touched it gingerly, as if to make certain that it was real. Then she raised her head and her eye fell on the wall map above the armchairs: the map of her parents’ voyage. It had been torn in half, ripped clear through from one end to the other.

Sophia stared numbly at the pins that lay scattered around her on the chairs and carpet, a single thought running through her mind:
Where is he? Where is Shadrack? Where is he?
Then she heard a sound at the other end of the room, and for a moment she was unable to run or scream or even move. Heart pounding in her chest, she forced herself to turn slowly in the direction of the stairs. She saw nothing. It had been only a soft shuffle, but she had heard it, and now she was certain: it had come from the heavy wardrobe below the staircase.

She tiptoed across the carpet, avoiding the glass and picking up the broken leg of a chair. She held it before her with both hands. When she reached the steps, she stopped to listen and heard nothing but the rush of blood in her ears. She reached the wardrobe and paused, standing in front of it silently. Then she reached for the brass handle and in one smooth movement swung open the door.

Feathers
, she thought, as the thing that burst from the wardrobe knocked her down flat. She lay there, stunned, staring up at the ceiling, and suddenly a face appeared above hers. The face seemed to have feathers sprouting from it in every direction.

Looking down at Sophia was the boy from Ehrlach’s Circus of the Ages.

7

Between Pages

“H
EY
,”
THE
BOY
said. “Are you okay?”

Sophia blinked.

“I’m sorry I knocked you over,” he said. “Are you okay? Say something.”

She raised herself on her elbow. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I’m all right.” She stared at the boy sitting next to her on the carpet. “You were in the wardrobe,” she said.

“I was hiding. Where were
you
?”

“I just got here. I was out.” Now that the worst was over, the fear began to move in. She felt a cold tremor. The boy reached out a hand to help her, and she recoiled sharply.

“Hey, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you.” He spoke softly, with the truncated words and low twang of the northwest Baldlands. “I didn’t do this.”

Sophia got to her feet. “What happened? Where’s Shadrack?”

The boy looked at her with an odd expression. “Is he your father?”

She shook her head. Her jaw trembled so violently that her teeth had begun to chatter. “He’s my uncle. Where is he?” She glanced quickly across the room. “I have to look upstairs.”

“No, wait.” The boy held up a hand to stop her. “Don’t. He’s not there,” he said quietly.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know—I don’t know where he is now.”

“But you saw him?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I saw him.” He was studying her, trying to decide what to say. “Do you live here? With Shadrack Elli?”

It was strange to hear her uncle’s name on the boy’s tongue. Sophia nodded impatiently. “Yes. Yes, I live here. I told you—he’s my uncle. Please, just tell me what happened!”

The boy paused a moment. “Sorry to have to tell you this. Your uncle is gone.”

Sophia felt as though all the air had been squeezed out of her. The words were a shock, but they also struck her as terribly familiar. Some part of her, she realized, always expected those she most loved to vanish.

“I came here looking for him. When I got here, the door was open. I could hear all kinds of noise inside, but I didn’t know what was going on.” He paused. “I waited in the bushes outside. After about half an hour, some men took your uncle out of the house.” The boy seemed to gauge Sophia’s response before continuing. “There were five of them. They put him and some boxes into a coach, and then they left. After they were gone, I went in, and when I heard you upstairs, I hid. I thought they had come back.” He looked away. “I’m sorry.”

“Who were they—what kind of men were they?”

“I don’t know. I mean, they were ordinary. Thugs, I guess.” He frowned. “A few of them had some”—he paused, drawing a finger across his face—“scars.”

Sophia swallowed hard. “Was he all right?” she asked with an effort. “Was he hurt?”

“He was fine,” the boy said firmly. “He was struggling with them—and he was talking back. He was angry, but he wasn’t hurt.”

Sophia felt her throat tensing, and she realized she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from crying. She turned away. “I need to be alone for a while,” she whispered.

“I’m really sorry,” the boy said. “I, uh . . .” he hesitated. “I’ll just be upstairs.”

Sophia heard him on the steps, and then the door closed, and then she stopped thinking of him altogether. All her thoughts turned to Shadrack and the fact that he was gone. She sank to the ground. Her sobs came in deep, painful gasps that finally gave way to tears.

None of it made any sense. How could Shadrack be gone—just like that? In the morning, she’d been sitting next to him in this very room, reading a map, and now the room was ruined and Shadrack was gone and she was alone—totally alone. She cried until her head ached, and then when her head hurt too much she sat listlessly on the carpet. Her head throbbed and she needed water and she felt empty, terribly empty.

If I hadn’t lost track of time
, she thought.
If I hadn’t lost track of time at the wharf, I would have been back earlier. I would be wherever he is now. And neither one of us would be alone
.

Only a few minutes had passed, but time expanded around her, filled with a seemingly infinite sense of loss.
He could be anywhere. He could be hurt
, she realized, the thought pounding away at her head insistently.

She heard a sound from the library upstairs and brought herself painfully back to the present. Wiping her eyes, she took a deep breath and got to her feet. She couldn’t look around, couldn’t bear to see the beautiful map room in its ruined state, so she kept her eyes on the ground and made her way slowly up the stairs. When she reached the library, she closed the map room door behind her.

The boy was crouched on the floor, rummaging through maps on the carpet. He looked up at her and stopped what he was doing. “Hey,” he asked again. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

He nodded, then followed her gaze to the strewn papers around him. “I was just looking for a map. Maybe a map of New Occident. Does he have one? I mean, with all these maps lying around . . .”

“Yes,” Sophia said. Her mind moved very slowly. “I can find you one. But I can’t—not right now.”

“No,” he agreed. He stood and tried vainly to arrange some of the broken feathers strung around his waist. He and Sophia stared silently at one another for several seconds. “I’m Theo,” the boy finally said.

“Sophia,” she replied.

“Sophia, I should have explained that I came to find your uncle so that he could help me. I heard about him at the wharf—the famous cartologer in Boston. I thought he might help me get home. I’m not from here.”

“I know,” she said softly. “You’re a wild boy from the Baldlands.”

Theo paused in surprise and then one side of his mouth lifted in a smile. “Yes—I wasn’t sure you’d remember.”

“Dressed like that? You’re very memorable.”

“I guess that’s true.” Theo laughed. He glanced down at himself and then looked at her. “I ran away this morning. When the circus set out.”

“You ran away.”

“Yes.”

Sophia couldn’t think of what to say next. Her mind wasn’t working properly—she couldn’t think why it mattered that he had run away.

“Sophia,” Theo said. “You have to figure out what you want to do, and so do I. Could I—It’d be really nice if I could change out of this.”

She blinked. “You mean that’s not how you normally dress?”

Theo paused. “Of course not,” he finally said. “This was what that idiot Ehrlach put on me for the show.”

“Oh.”

“I could really use some soap,” Theo said. “And maybe some paint thinner. These are stuck on with honey and glue—they’re murder to wash off. And some clothes?”

“Of course.” Having to think about things like paint thinner and soap was a relief. She could tidy the house and put things in order. The paint thinner was in the washroom next to the kitchen; there were clean rags there, on the rag heap. She moved through the wrecked rooms, through the shattered china, torn paper, and broken furniture. It was as if she had been dropped in a stranger’s house. Oddly enough, this thought made it easier to bear. “You can use Shadrack’s bathroom,” she said, climbing the stairs. Theo followed her, leaving his telltale feathers everywhere.

Surprisingly, the second floor seemed untouched. The men must have found what they were looking for or believed there was nothing of value in the bedrooms. “I think there are some clothes of my uncle’s you can wear,” she said. “They might be a little big.”

“Anything you’ve got I’d appreciate,” Theo said. “So long as I don’t have to wear the feathers.”

Sophia looked through Shadrack’s wardrobe and found a small shirt and some pants and a belt. The shoes would all be too big. She pointed out the bathroom and gave Theo the paint thinner and the clothes. He said, “Thanks,” and then paused. “Hey, I—you’re not going anywhere, right?” Sophia looked at him blankly. “I was wondering—I’m going to need a place to stay. Just one night.”

Sophia realized what he was asking. “You can stay.”

“Thanks. I owe you.” He snapped his fingers with a practiced air, ending in a gesture like a pointed gun. “It would be good to get that map, too, if that’s okay. Tomorrow I’ll get out of your hair.”

The door shut, and after a moment Sophia heard the sound of running water.

Standing in Shadrack’s bedroom, which looked so normal, she was once again overcome. The leather armchair, the books on the end table beside it, and the piles of maps—it was as if her uncle had only left the room for a moment and was about to return. The blue rug was worn in a path from the door to the mahogany secretary, which, for once, stood unlocked and open. Sophia moved toward it, feeling a faint flutter in her stomach. Shadrack never left his desk open.

A splatter of ink on the blotter and the open journal left no doubt in her mind: Shadrack had been surprised while sitting here, writing. Seeing her name on the page, she read the last entry anxiously.

I struggle with how much to tell Sophia. She must understand the dangers, but there is a fine line between useful comprehension and needless alarm. While she left to buy supplies, I visited Carlton in the hospital, and I was shocked by his condition. The article did not mention the horrible mutilation of his limbs and face. I can only assume they mean to withhold this for purposes of the police inquiry. He does not recognize me; he recognizes no one. I doubt if he has preserved any cognitive faculties. He is like a helpless child. He makes inarticulate sounds, occasionally, and seems to feel pain when his injuries are dressed, but he has no other awareness of the world around him. It seems to me impossible that this could be the result of some ordinary assault. . . . Rather, I begin to suspect that someone

The entry ended there. Horrified by the image of Carlton Hopish ruined, Sophia drew back. What had Shadrack suspected? Could he have seen something at the hospital that had placed him in danger? There was no message for her in those pages, as she had hoped—only an ominous riddle that left her even more frightened. She felt the tears welling up in her eyes and took several deep breaths to stop them.

Shadrack’s armchair, where he always read for an hour or two before going to bed, still bore the impression of where he had sat the night before. Sophia stumbled over and dropped down into it. It smelled of cedar and pine and paper; Shadrack’s smell. What if she had seen him reading in his armchair for the last time? She could already imagine how the room would look in a year, or five, or ten. It would look just like her parents’ bedroom down the hall: the walls would discolor in strange patterns; the books would warp from one humid summer after another; the clothes and shoes would seem to shrivel and age. She had been trying to hold the thought at bay, but now that she pictured Shadrack’s room slipping into abandonment, she could not avoid it. Again, the moments expanded, and Sophia imagined a long future without him, without her parents—entirely alone. The thought made her curl up in the chair, and she wrapped her arms around her knees.

Sophia felt something sharp against her side. She ignored it. But the more she ignored it the more it jabbed into her ribs, until finally she sat up and shoved the pillow aside. To her surprise, it felt hard. She lifted the pillow. Propped behind it was one of her old drawing notebooks.

What is my old notebook doing in Shadrack’s armchair?
she wondered dully, picking it up. The notebook felt
heavy
. She untied the two leather laces that held its covers closed, and the book fell open to what looked like a note. She recognized Shadrack’s handwriting at once, even though the message was brief. It read:

Sophia—go to Veressa. Take my atlas. Love, SE

Beneath it was a glass map.

Sophia stared at the map and the note in wonder. Shadrack had left her a message after all! And he had found the perfect place for it. Between the heavy pages of her drawing notebook, the thin pane of glass lay well protected. Sophia ran her fingers tenderly over her uncle’s writing. The message sounded urgent, but not despairing or afraid. Shadrack hadn’t told her to hide or run away. Sophia felt something—not relief, but determination—course through her. She remembered what Shadrack had said before under very different circumstances: “
All you need, Sophia, is something to
do.”

And now she
did
have something to do: she had to take Shadrack’s atlas and find Veressa, wherever that was. And perhaps when she found Veressa, she would find Shadrack!

Sophia jumped to her feet. First, she decided, she had to read the glass map. The fading sunlight from the window had no effect. She hurriedly lit the flame-lamps and held the map up to one. Once again, nothing happened. The glass had no inscription as to its time or place, and it was completely transparent.
Could this simply be a plain piece of glass?
she wondered. No, impossible. Why would Shadrack leave her a sheet of glass unless it was a map? She examined it carefully, holding it close to the light. Sure enough, in the bottom left corner was the etched mapmaker’s sign: a mountain range atop a ruler. But the map would not wake. She bit her lip and carefully placed the glass back between the pages of the notebook. It would have to wait. She had to find Shadrack’s atlas.

— 17-Hour 45: Searching for the Atlas—

N
OTEBOOK
IN
HAND
,
Sophia rushed back down to the library. She took a deep breath, placed the book on the sofa, and dropped to her knees. Shadrack’s atlas could not be hard to find; it was tall and wide and would stand out from the other volumes. She rummaged through the piles impatiently, searching for the burgundy-colored binding. Then she realized it would be easier if she simply reshelved them.