The Glass Sentence (The Mapmakers Trilogy) (37 page)

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 knew 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

I
T
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.

The air beyond her window seemed almost to shimmer, and though she had not lit the lamps, her room was filled with gray light. She sighed contentedly. There was nothing more beautiful than the perfect quiet that came with a snowfall. She sat for a moment longer, listening to the silence encasing her, a small smile on her face.

Then she turned back to her desk. The letter was bulky and had no return address. Inside was a badly tattered envelope that had only her name on it and the word “Boston.” Someone from the post office had written “
Please forward”
along the side. Sophia cut open the second envelope and found within it yet another one. Yellowed with age, it bore her full name and address in a wide, ornate hand that made her heart skip a beat. The envelope was not sealed. She reached inside and drew out a single piece of paper that had clearly lain untouched for many years.

The letter was short:

March 15, 1881

Dearest Sophia,

Your mother and I have thought of you every moment of every day during this journey. Now, as we near what may be the end of it, the thought of you is foremost in our minds. This letter will take ages to reach you, and if we are fortunate, we will reach you before my written words ever do. But if this letter arrives and we do not, you should know that we are following the lost signs into Ausentinia. Do not think of pursuing us, dearest; Shadrack will know what to do. It is a road of great peril. We had no wish to travel into Ausentinia. It traveled to us.

All my love,

Your father, Bronson

Acknowledgments

I
AM
GRATEFUL
to the late Sheila Meyer for her early support, many years ago, as I made fumbled attempts to write for young readers. Her encouragement stayed with me as I followed other pursuits; I will always remember her kindness as I took those first uncertain steps.

I wish to thank Dorian Karchmar not only for finding such a wonderful home for this book but also for taking on a very different kind of project than expected and for working with me through so many versions. My thanks to Matt Hudson as well for offering detailed comments on more than one of those versions.

The wonderful home at Viking would not exist without Sharyn November, who has been tireless in her passionate, thoughtful, and really quite humbling support for this book. I have been buoyed since the pages first reached her by her unflagging enthusiasm. I appreciate the meticulous reading from Janet Pascal, the inspired contributions of Jim Hoover and Eileen Savage, and the wonderfully Shadrackian cartographical creations of Dave A. Stevenson.

I am grateful to the many friends who read versions of this book as it was taking shape. Among them, Benny, Naomi, and Adam gave much-needed advice on an early version of Part I. Lisa and Richie also kindly read and responded to an early draft. I especially wish to thank Sean, Moneeka, Paul, Alejandra, and Heather for offering enthusiasm, detailed comments, fact-checking, and excellent ideas that have made the world of the Great Disruption more coherent and fun. I am grateful to Pablo for the frequent input—as helpful as it is humorous. Thanks to my mother, for her unshakable faith in Sophia, and to my father, for delving so earnestly (and repeatedly) into the workings of this world. One of the great pleasures of inventing it has been discussing it with all of you. Thanks to my brother for his unquestioning belief in this project at every stage. Finally, I wish to thank A.F. for taking every part of this story—metaphysics, mechanics, characters, author—to heart.