The Glass Sentence (The Mapmakers Trilogy) (19 page)

“The old man gazes at the boy steadily, and though it pains him to answer, he speaks. ‘This city was abandoned long ago. A seer told the city elders: “A boy from this underground city will destroy your entire city, and every one of you who remains in it will perish.” Fearing the seer’s words, the elders abandoned the city, and they moved to the surface, where they hoped to escape the prophecy. My mother was the seer, and she was the only one who remained. She was of the belief that words, once they are spoken, have a way of coming true. My mother has long since passed away, and now it is only I who live here.’ The boy listens to the words of the seer, and he realizes that in his attempt to find his home he has destroyed it. He weeps until he can hardly see, and his tears make a pool, not unlike the underground pools all around him. When he stops weeping, he opens his eyes and sees his reflection in the pool made by his tears. And then, as he watches, the scars on his face begin to vanish. They fade away, and a whole, beautiful face stares back at him. Those who had known him certainly would have loved him. But no one else survives. He remains underground with the seer, living in the buried city for the rest of his days. And that is how the legend says the world ends.”

They were all silent. “Your mother told you
that
as a bedtime story?” exclaimed Calixta.

Grandmother Pearl sighed. “She lived so much in the dream world, and she had a hard life. She was never very sharp on where ordinary life ended and tragedy began.”

“I should say,” Burr commented.

“But it’s not
true
, is it?” Sophia asked anxiously. “It hasn’t really happened?”

“Well that’s the strange thing about time in our day and age,” Grandmother Pearl said. “You never know what happened before and what happened after. I really don’t know. My mother always told it as a legend.”

“I don’t understand why that story would be on this map, or why the map would be so important.”

Grandmother Pearl nodded. “I might be wrong, after all. It just sounded similar. These memories could take place almost anywhere. There is no shortage of such destruction.”

Sophia turned the map over gently to still the images, and as she did so she glimpsed something through the glass. She held it before her and peered at the deck, where one of the floorboards seemed to shine as if lit from within. “What is that?” she asked. Without the glass, the floor of the deck once again looked uniform in the dim moonlight.

Burr looked at her curiously. “What?”

Sophia raised the glass again and the floorboard stood out clearly. “There,” she said, pointing. “One of the floorboards seems to have light coming out from behind it.” She put the glass down. “That’s strange. But only when I look at it through the glass.”

“Let me see that,” Burr said, with less than customary politeness. Sophia handed him the glass. “Amazing,” he whispered. “Calixta, look at this.”

Calixta held the glass up and caught her breath.

“What is it?” Grandmother Pearl asked anxiously.

“Seen through the glass,” Burr said slowly, “one of the floorboards appears luminescent.”

“Aceituna’s floorboard?” Grandmother Pearl exclaimed.

“Yes. Captain Aceituna,” Burr said, turning to Sophia and Theo and lowering his voice, “left us all his paper maps and charts. He also left us a map that points to his—what would you call them, Calixta?”

“Emergency funds,” she said, returning the glass to Sophia with a thoughtful expression.

“Buried treasure?” Theo breathed.

“Well, not actually buried,” Burr said. “But yes—treasure. Emergency funds. In case of hostile takeover, he engraved the map in cedar and placed it—face down—in the deck of the ship. It is that floorboard—the one that shines so brightly through your glass, Sophia.”

18

Chocolate, Paper, Coin

I
T
TOOK
ONLY
a few experiments to determine why the Tracing Glass illuminated Aceituna’s instructions. Though she examined almost every inch of the
Swan
through it, Sophia found that only one kind of object shone: maps. The nautical charts that Burr had brought her shone like sheets of hammered gold; the map of the island drawn by Shadrack glowed as if alive with starlight; Calixta’s cabin, the walls papered with maps, seemed flooded with light that shone through a dozen map-sized windows. As a final experiment, Sophia asked Burr to draw a map on a blank sheet of paper while she observed him through the glass. At first, the blank sheet, Burr, and his quill all looked quite ordinary. But the moment the faint line he had drawn became a route, the paper took on a different aspect. When he drew a small compass in the corner, the sheet fairly glowed.

Clearly the glass map, whatever else its contents, illuminated other maps. Sophia pondered the significance of her discovery while Burr, Calixta, and Theo slept in their cabins and Grandmother Pearl sat beside her on the deck, snoring lightly. In most cases, of course, the glass would be redundant: Burr’s nautical charts were clearly nautical charts, and the glass did not make them any easier to read. But if one were looking for a hidden map, Sophia reflected, her mind whirring, the glass might be very useful.
What if a glass map was disguised in a window?
she thought.
Or what if in a whole library there were only three maps?
In such circumstances, the Tracing Glass would be invaluable.
So
tracing
means
finding,
not outlining,
she reflected. The multilingual instructions, which had once seemed so strange—“you will see it through me”—now made perfect sense. Anyone who could read would be told the purpose of the glass at first glance.

It brought her no closer to understanding the memories, but the discovery made her reconsider why Shadrack had entrusted the glass to her.
Maybe it’s not to help find
him
but to help me find another map.
A map no one can else can see, perhaps? Is Veressa supposed to help me?
Her thoughts drifted, and suddenly she sat up, electrified. She rummaged quietly through her pack and drew out her notebook. Flipping through the pages, she found the drawings she’d made after the confrontation with Montaigne.

All the different pieces of the puzzle were there: the Lachrima from Shadrack’s note, the glass map, Montaigne, and the Nihilismians who traveled with him. There had seemed to be no connection, but suddenly there was, at least for some of the pieces, because she remembered what she had been unable to recall before. Back at East Ending Street, while learning to read maps, she had asked Shadrack about a map of the world, and he had told her about something called the
carta mayor
: a memory map of the entire world, which he had said was a Nihilismian myth. Could it be that the Nihilismians believed the glass map would show the
carta mayor
?
Maybe the map of the world isn’t really hidden,
Sophia thought.
Maybe it’s hidden in plain sight.
She held the glass up before her and gazed through it at the dark night sky. “You will see it through me,” she whispered. The stars on the other side of the glass winked, fluttered, and stared like thousands of distant eyes.

—6-Hour 37: Port of Veracruz—

T
HE
S
WAN
COASTED
into port early the next morning. The city of Veracruz, eastern entry to the realm of Emperor Sebastian Canuto, gleamed like a white seashell. From the deck of a ship, Veracruz appeared like a jeweled promise; it belied the vast, fragmented landscape that lay beyond it. The cities—Nochtland, Veracruz, and Xela—preserved and even heightened their luster year by year, leaching all the wealth from the surrounding towns and flourishing in a state of exaggerated, heady splendor. Princess Justa, from her perch in the shining castle at the heart of the Canuto empire in Nochtland, could pretend that the entire land enjoyed such luxury. Her father, Emperor Sebastian, who had traveled north to pacify the bands of rebellious raiders, knew better. He understood that beyond the walled cities of the Triple Eras, the empire existed only as a smattering of besieged forts, impoverished towns, and miserable farms surrounded by wild, unexplored terrain. Sebastian had long since abandoned the goal of unifying his empire. He fought the northern raiders now less to subdue them and more to avoid the prospect of returning to a castle that he had come to understand ruled almost nothing. The thought of once again donning the meaningless robes, the glittering crown, the air of courtly gravity, depressed him and filled him with dread. He would leave such illusions to his daughter, to whom they were better suited.

Yet in the Triple Eras, to both visitors and inhabitants, the illusion appeared most convincing. Sophia stood on the deck of the
Swan
and looked out with trembling excitement: a cluttered dock; a sprawling town of white stone; and past the town, palm trees and sand as far as the eye could see. Gulls flew low, their cries hungry and urgent. She could see the muddled movement of a hundred ships crowding the shore. The discovery of the glass map’s properties had opened an unexpected door, and she had the sense that she was about to burst through it. The whole vast world of the Baldlands lay before her, its mysteries waiting to be uncovered. She was finally arriving—after what felt to her like one long, fevered age—and one step closer to finding Veressa. Her stomach jumped and then, to her great relief, suddenly grew calm as the
Swan
eased into port.

Burr gave the crew special instructions: apart from Grandmother Pearl and Peaches, who would be staying with the ship, they were granted a week’s holiday. Burr announced that he and Calixta would be accompanying some of their merchandise into Nochtland, and that he would carry parcels or messages for anyone who planned to avoid the trip inland. “We’ll be sailing at eight the night we return,” Burr told the crew. “And don’t forget we’re on the nine-hour clock here. So when I say eight, I mean eight on the Baldlands clock.”

The pirates dispersed, and Burr joined Calixta, Theo, and Sophia. “It’s market day. Why don’t I go in to find Mazapán?” he asked his sister.

Calixta gave him a look. “I think we should just hire a coach. You’re being cheap.”

“Is it expensive to get to Nochtland?” Sophia asked worriedly, realizing she had no idea how far New Occident currency would take her.

Calixta waved her hand dismissively. “You and Theo are guests of ours, darling, so don’t even think about spending a penny. The coach hardly costs anything anyway,” she said to Burr.

“Mazapán has a cart,” Burr said. “There’s no sense hiring a coach when he can take us. I’ll go find him, come back for the crates, and we’ll be off in an hour. You stay here and collect marriage proposals, eh, dearest?” Calixta walked off in a huff. Burr settled his broad hat comfortably onto his head. “Sophia, Theo—any wish to see the market?”

“Do you think we’re—is it likely we’ve been followed to Veracruz?” Sophia asked worriedly.

“Possible,” he admitted, “but unlikely. Your admirers in New Orleans may have discovered our intended route, but they can’t have gotten here before us.”

They needed no further persuading. “While we are there, would I be able to post a letter to Boston?” she asked.

“Best to leave it with Peaches. He’ll take it to the next
paquebot
bound for the Indies, and from there I’m sure someone will be traveling to Boston.”

As they crossed the crowded dock, Sophia found it easy to keep Burr in sight because of his enormous hat, but somewhat difficult to keep up with his long stride. He easily dodged men carrying crates on their backs, a swinging load of timber, and a runaway pig that was screaming its way to shore with its owner close on its heels. The Boston waterfront seemed a quiet and orderly place in comparison to Veracruz.

The tumult of leaving, loading, unloading, and boarding was made worse by the activity just beyond the docks, a dense network of stalls, carts, and makeshift counters. The mass of people around them seemed to be carried by a tide that flushed them through like grains of sand: streaming along quickly, piling up and clogging the way, and spilling over irresistibly. Beyond them and slightly to the right, a white border of stucco buildings—the city of Veracruz—made but a feeble dam against the market’s onslaught. As Burr pushed through the crowd, Sophia clutched her pack and at the same time took a firm hold of one of his coattails.

Once they had entered the market, it was difficult to see clearly, because Sophia was immediately sandwiched tightly between Burr and Theo. As they inched along, she caught glimpses of vendors selling tomatoes, oranges, lemons, cucumbers, squash, onions, and dozens of kinds of produce that she had never seen before, spread out on blankets or piled high in baskets. They passed a stall with bags of white and yellow powders that she realized were flours, and another that sold fragrant spices: cinnamon and clove and pepper filled the air. A woman with a small tent set up about her had cages full of chickens, and just past her was a man with pails full of fish. Sitting placidly beside the man, wearing an awkward collar around its slippery neck, was a toad the size of a full-grown man. Sophia’s eyes widened, but all of the people around her ignored it, as if nothing could be more commonplace. The vendors hollered as they passed, some in English and some in other languages, naming their prices even as they wrapped their wares for customers and counted change.

Beyond the wave of murmurs and shouts, Sophia could hear another sound: wind chimes. At least one dangled from every stall, and many of the vendors sold the chimes that hung along their tents’ edges. The air was filled with a constant melodic chiming and tinkling and ringing that reminded her of Mrs. Clay’s upstairs apartment.

Burr took a quick turn to the right, and they abruptly passed through a row of fabric stalls. One vendor after another called out her prices and displayed bolts of cloth colored in brilliant red and blue and purple. An old woman whose broad smile had a few missing teeth waved a flag made of ribbons to the passersby, jangling the chime that hung above her. The stalls that followed sold feathers and jars of beads and spools of thread. Sophia took it all in with wonderment, but Burr was quickening his pace and she had to walk briskly to keep up. He turned to the left, by stalls selling soap and bottled perfumes and incense, and then suddenly the air went from soapy to sweet, and she found herself surrounded by confections. Candies of all shapes and sizes were laid out in boxes: nougat and caramel and spun sugar and meringues. Many of the stalls sold candies she had never seen, and she only knew that they must be candy by the delicious smell that filled the air.

“We’re almost there,” Burr hollered over his shoulder.

Sophia didn’t answer—she could hardly catch her breath. Then Burr ducked into a cream-colored tent at their right. “Mazapán!” he shouted at the tall, pink-cheeked man who stood behind the cloth-covered table that served as a counter, surrounded by shelves of plates, cups, and dishes.

“Morris!” the man shouted back, his face breaking into a grin. He finished dealing with a customer, then embraced Burr. The two of them proceeded to yell at one another over the commotion, but Sophia had stopped paying attention. A woman handed her little boy a spoon that she had just purchased. With a look of delight, the boy bit off the end and walked away, following his mother, his mouth smeared with chocolate. Sophia stared at the contents of the cloth-covered table. Mazapán, she realized, was a chocolate vendor.

But his was not ordinary chocolate. Anyone who passed by the stall would have told you that Mazapán was actually a potter. His table was stacked high with beautiful dishes: plates, bowls, cups, pitchers, forks, knives, and spoons; a cake dome, a serving platter, and a butter dish; and a long procession of coffee pots with delicate spouts. They were painted with flowers and intricate designs of every color. Sophia was awestruck. She touched a small blue cup experimentally; it felt just like a real one. She looked curiously at the man who had created it all, who was still in loud conversation with Burr; then her attention was caught by the vendor at the neighboring stall—a tiny person with a fierce expression, arguing with one of her customers. “I take cacao, silver, or paper. I don’t know where you’re from, but here you can’t pay with pictures.”

The thin man holding out a small black rectangle said something, and the woman responded fiercely. “I don’t care if it’s a map reader. You still can’t pay with it.” She snatched back the man’s parcel and pointed over her shoulder. “If you want to talk maps, go see the woman who sells maps.”

Sophia watched, wide-eyed. The thin man, who wore a dirty overcoat, leaned forward to ask a question. It took him a moment to get the vendor’s attention; she had already moved on to another customer. When he tugged on her sleeve, the woman looked at him crossly. “Yes,” she said curtly. “The one selling onions.”

Turning to look behind her, Sophia caught a glimpse of a woman standing behind several baskets full of onions. Burr was still talking excitedly to Mazapán, who had begun to pack up his dishes. Theo was nowhere to be seen. She thought he’d been following as they wound through the market, but now she was not so sure. With one last glance at Burr, Sophia decided that his hat would make an easy landmark and dove into the crowd.

If it was difficult to squeeze through the market with Burr, it was even harder on her own. She was caught up and pushed along past several stalls.
It’s like being on a trolley made of people,
she thought. She glimpsed a basket full of onions.
And here’s my stop
. She wriggled out as hard as she could, using her elbows perhaps more fiercely than was necessary, and a moment later found herself pressed up against the baskets. Next to her, the thin man was leaning forward to talk to the vendor.