The Glass Sentence (The Mapmakers Trilogy) (14 page)

“Shadrack. You can have the glass if you give me Shadrack.”

Montaigne’s smile broadened. “How did I know you might say that? What a good thing that I came prepared.” He reached into his coat once again for the long leather wallet, and he drew out a small piece of note paper. “I’m afraid Mr. Elli is
ages
away,” Montaigne said, “and I wouldn’t trade him anyway. But you might be interested in this.”

Without letting Sophia see what was on the paper, Montaigne carefully ripped it in half. He handed the top half to Sophia, who snatched it quickly from his hand. It read:

dear sophia,

There was no mistaking Shadrack’s handwriting. “Give me the rest of it!” she cried.

“Now, now,” Montaigne said. “As I said: I am willing to trade. You can have the rest of the letter when you give me the Tracing Glass.”

Sophia sat silently. The train was slowing down. They were doubtlessly nearing a station. The train lurched as it turned the corner, and she glanced down at the torn piece of paper in her hand. She wanted the rest of the letter. More than anything, she wanted to read for herself that Shadrack was safe. “All right,” she said.

“Sophia!” Theo burst out. “Don’t give it to him. Make him
take
the map if he wants it.”

Sophia glanced at him and shook her head. Montaigne nodded, smiling. “Smart girl.”

“Give me the letter.”

“The glass first, if you please.”

Sophia reached for her pack and pulled out the pillowcase. She drew out the sheet of glass that lay inside it and handed it over. Montaigne took it, held it up in his gloved hand, and peered through its clear surface. “Moonlight, eh?” he murmured again. “Very clever.” He turned to the other men. “All right, we’re done here.”

“The letter!” Sophia scrambled to the edge of the bunk.

“Don’t fret, Miss Tims—I always keep my word,” Montaigne said airily. He dropped the other half of the piece of notepaper on the bed.

Sophia snatched it up, and as the train slowed to a stop and the men began to file out of the compartment, she read Shadrack’s message:

T H E
y have said al
L
i c
A
n pla
C
e on t
H
is pape
R
I
s your na
M
e.

—sh
A
drack

“Wait!” Sophia said.
“That’s it?”
She jumped down from the bunk. “You made him write it. It doesn’t even say anything!”

Montaigne winked once again. “I never said the letter was worth reading. That wasn’t part of the deal.”

Sophia grabbed his arm. “Where is he?” she asked, her voice near breaking. “Tell me he’s all right.”

Montaigne calmly freed his arm from Sophia’s grasp. “He’s not your concern any longer, little girl,” he said coldly. Every trace of amusement had vanished from his face. “You should bear that in mind.” He shut the door behind him.

13

The Western Line

S
OPHIA
RUS
HED
TO
the window. As she’d expected, Montaigne and the other men were on the platform, walking away. They had gotten what they wanted.

“That’s him, Sophia,” Theo said. “Montaigne. I saw him outside your house.”

Sophia seemed not to hear him. “We should be in Charleston by dinnertime. But will it be dark by the time we leave?”

Theo stared at her as if she had lost her mind.

“I have to check,” she said, diving for the folded paper schedule that she’d left on the seat. “The connecting train for New Akan departs Charleston station at seventeen in the evening. We get in at near sixteen-hour, so we have about an hour before the connection.” She sat down with a look of frustration. “That’s very close.”

“I’d much rather not,” Theo said slowly, “but don’t you want to follow them? We can still get off. They might lead you to your uncle, and at the very least you can get the map back.”

Sophia shook her head. “No. I don’t want to be anywhere near them when it gets dark.”

The whistle blew and the train lurched forward. “Well, there they go,” Theo said. “And there goes your chance to follow them.” He looked out through the open window, and then he leaned forward abruptly.

“Hey—!” he said. He closed and opened the small window closest to him. It was set in a metal frame no larger than a sheet of paper and it shut with a small latch. The metal frame of the window was empty; the windowpane had been removed. “Sophia,” he said, the truth slowly dawning on him, “you gave them the
windowpane
?”

Sophia nodded. “I thought of it when you went to the washroom. I put the windowpane in the pillowcase. The map is in my sketchbook.” She bit her lip. “But once it gets dark and they look at it in the moonlight, they’ll know.”

Theo raised his eyebrows and dropped down on the seat beside her. “Not bad,” he muttered, under his breath.

“Maybe they’ll be too far from Charleston by that time,” Sophia continued. “Since they got off here. They might stay here or go north. They must not be going to Charleston. So we have a little time—depending on where they are when the moon comes out.”

Theo looked at her admiringly. “That’s a pretty slick move.”

“Yes,” she said, without enthusiasm. Now that Montaigne and the Sandmen were gone, she was starting to feel the weight of what she’d done. She clenched her hands tightly; they were trembling. “They will not be happy when they figure it out.”

“No doubt,” Theo said, leaning back. “Well, there’s nothing we can do until we get to Charleston. And at least now we have the train to ourselves.”

Sophia nodded. She felt no relief. She was thinking of the hooks that the Sandmen had carried, trying not to imagine how they put them to use. She shivered.

—16-Hour 02: Charleston—

T
HEY
SPEN
T
THE
day in dread of the approaching evening. The train reached Charleston late, pulling into the station at almost two past sixteen. They unloaded their trunks and had time to eat a quick dinner of bread and cheese and cold meat in the busy station before the train to New Akan starting boarding. Sophia had written a letter to Mrs. Clay on the train, and she posted it hurriedly. The last rays of sunlight streamed in through the high windows. Pigeons filled the vaulted ceiling of the station, and the sound of train whistles cut shrilly through their low, incessant cooing.

Sophia had seen no sign of Montaigne or the Sandmen. There were businessmen traveling alone and families traveling in large groups. A small party of nuns waited patiently in the station atrium. The train to New Akan was fully booked, and as they waited on the platform they saw why: a long chain of police officers stood beside a waiting crowd of foreigners, all of whom were departing by train.

Sophia was struck by the defeated look of these unwilling travelers. Some seemed indignant or outraged. But most seemed simply bereft, as did one couple with resigned faces whose child cried quietly and ceaselessly, gripping the skirt of an old woman beside him. In between cries, he pleaded, “Don’t go, Grandmother.” She placed a trembling hand on the little boy’s head and wiped at her own tears. For that moment, as she watched them, Sophia could not think about the approaching darkness and the threat that might come with it.

“All aboard!” the conductor called, and the passengers began to file onto the train. Sophia followed Theo to the last car, dragging her trunk behind her.

Once they had found their compartment and her luggage was stowed, Sophia watched the station platform.
The Gulf Regional
was an older train, with a rather bumpy leather seat and dim lamps. It took several minutes for everyone to board, and then at seventeen-hour the conductor blew the whistle. The train glided out of the station into the falling darkness.

Sophia sighed with relief. “Good thing it’s summer and the sun sets so late,” she said, eyeing the pale moon.

They settled in and Sophia opened her pack to distract herself. She held the glass map up to the window, but nothing happened; there was still not enough moonlight. As she returned the map to her notebook, she saw the two scraps of paper from Shadrack’s letter. There was little satisfaction in having tricked Montaigne, she thought despondently, when Montaigne had managed to trick her as well. They had clearly made Shadrack write the note for the very purpose of deceiving her.

But as Sophia stared at the note, she realized that there was something a little strange about Shadrack’s handwriting. His hand was clear and assured, as always, but it was broken in places by strange capitalizations:

dear sophia,

T H E
y have said al
L
i c
A
n pla
C
e on t
H
is pape
R
I
s your na
M
e

—sh
A
drack

She wrote the capitalized letters one by one in her notebook, and as she finished she gasped. “Theo, look!”

After a moment, his face lit up. “The Lachrima,” he said softly. “Let me see that.” He read it over. “Why would he write that?”

“I don’t know.”

“He could just be warning you about them,” Theo said.

Sophia frowned. “Maybe. It seems strange, though. Why warn me about something that everyone’s already afraid of?”

“But he doesn’t know you know about them.”

“That’s true, though I heard Mrs. Clay telling him about what happened to her. It still seems strange.” She took back the note. “Theo, tell me what else you know about them.”

“I can tell you what I’ve heard,” he said, his voice warming. The Lachrima were clearly a favorite subject. “Like I said before, I’ve never seen one, but there’s a lot of them near the borders. They usually hide—they try to stay away from people.”

“Why do you think there are so many near the borders?” Sophia mused.

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe there’s something about the borders—something that draws them there.”

“Maybe.” But he was clearly unconvinced.

“Have you ever heard one?”

“It’s hard to know. Sometimes when you hear someone crying, people say it’s a Lachrima, but that’s just because they’re afraid it might be one. I’ve heard crying, but supposedly the sound a Lachrima makes is different—much worse. It’s a sound you can’t get out of your mind.”

“Poor Mrs. Clay,” Sophia murmured.

“A trader I met once said he’d come across one in his house,” Theo went on enthusiastically. “He’d been gone for a week and when he got back, he could hear the Lachrima before he’d even reached the door. He walked in really quietly and just saw this tall person with long, long hair going through the whole house like a whirlwind, pulling things from the walls and wrecking everything. Then it suddenly turned around and looked at him with that faceless face. The trader said he ran right out and never went back.”

“Shadrack must know something about them.”
The Lachrima, the glass map, Montaigne, and the Nihilismians
, she thought;
what do they have to do with one another?
“Montaigne called the glass map a ‘tracing glass.’ I wonder what that means.”

“Maybe it’s just another way to describe a glass map?”

“Maybe,” Sophia considered. She tried another tack. “Do you know anything about the people he called ‘Sandmen’?”

Theo shook his head. “I’ve never even heard that name.”

“They were all Nihilismians.”

“How could you tell?”

“Their amulets,” Sophia said, surprised. “The open hand.”

Theo shrugged. “I know about Nihilismians, but I’ve never met one. There aren’t many in the Baldlands.”

“They’re everywhere in New Occident. They think our world isn’t real. They use
The Chronicles of the Great Disruption
to prove that the real world was lost at the time of the Disruption and this one—our world—shouldn’t exist. The open hand is the sign of the prophet Amitto, who wrote the Chronicles. It means ‘to let go.’”

“So you’ve never heard them called ‘Sandmen’?”

“Never. They must be somehow different. But I can’t tell how . . .” Her voice dropped off as her mind worked to connect the pieces. What had Shadrack said to her recently about Nihilismians? She could not remember. He had told her something, and it had to do with maps.
Maybe I wrote it in my notebook
, she thought. But it held no clues.

As the train rolled west, the sky darkened and a yellow moon emerged, hanging low behind the trees. Theo climbed up to his bunk to sleep, and Sophia sat watching the passing landscape, feeling anything but sleepy. Hills with crests topped by pines gave way to flatlands dotted with farmhouses. Every time the train pulled into one of the small, rural stations on the westward line, she felt certain that Montaigne and his men would board, but the people who stood under the flame-lamps were invariably sleepy, harried travelers on their way westward. So far, Sophia and Theo were in the clear.

—June 24: 1-Hour 18—

I
T
WAS
PAST
one in the morning when the train crossed the border between South Carolina and Georgia. Sophia took out her notebook. Men with scars, a cowering faceless creature with long hair, and a small sparrow came to life on the paper. Clockwork Cora sat hunched in the corner, brow furrowed, contemplating the problem. Sophia looked at the page for a long time. There was a riddle there; a riddle she had to solve. She drew a line, making a border around the Lachrima. Her mind whirled wearily over the sketched images like the wheels of the railcar.

Turning the page, she moved on to a more solvable riddle. She wrote,
“Where did T learn to read? He has traveled where else in the Baldlands?”
She glanced up at the bunk overhead where Theo was sleeping silently.
“And why no longer cared for by Sue?”
However much more commonplace, the riddle that was Theo eluded her also, and Sophia closed her notebook with a sigh.

They moved steadily across Georgia. At each stop, the whistle blew into the still night. At five, the train passed into New Akan. The sun had begun to lighten the edges of the horizon, but the sky above was still filled with stars. The flat fields spread out like calm waters on either side of the tracks. As they pulled into the first station in New Akan, Sophia leaned out the window. The humid air smelled of earth. Only a woman with two small children stood next to the station agent on the platform. The three passengers climbed aboard and the train sat idly for several minutes. Two of the ticket collectors walked onto the platform to stretch their legs. They shook hands with the station agent.

“Bill. Surprised to see you here. Thought the mosquitoes would have eaten you alive.”

“They come near me, they’re liable to drown in sweat,” the station agent said, mopping his brow. “Most humid June I can remember.”

“My clean shirt feels like I’ve been wearing it two days,” one of the ticket collectors said, fanning the flaps of his uniform jacket.

Then the whistle sounded and the ticket collectors went aboard. As the train pulled out, Sophia saw the pink light of dawn rising behind the platform.

They traveled another half hour into New Akan. The sky was beginning to lighten in earnest when the train suddenly lurched to a stop—but there was no platform. As far as Sophia could tell, they were in the middle of nowhere. Toward the front of the train, she saw what appeared to be a cluster of horses. She leaned farther out to get a better look, her belly pressed against the sill, and in the gray light of dawn she saw that the knot of horses was, in fact, a coach. A number of people were emerging from it right there, beside the tracks, and boarding at the front of the train. Two, three, four men.

The Sandmen had caught up with them.