The Glass Sentence (The Mapmakers Trilogy)

by S. E. Grove

  The rain had stopped, leaving only thin, jagged clouds that turned blue with the dawn. The cobblestone streets still shone darkly. Chimes tinkled all around, as if engaged in murmuring conversation. The cart horses plodded slowly down a long, straight road lined with trees that scattered drops of rain and filled the morning air with the scent of lemon blossoms. Behind the trees, high stone walls and even taller trees beyond them spilled out from the city’s enclosed gardens. Some of the trees were so broad and full that they seemed to crowd the houses, and Sophia noticed that one of the massive trunks was encircled by a set of stairs that led upward to a gabled house set high in the branches.

  She could hear water everywhere. A fountain in the wall to her right disgorged a gurgling stream from the mouth of a stone fish; spigots in the high garden walls spewed rainwater onto the cobblestones. The cart rolled over a bridge spanning a long canal; it stretched out on either side, bordered by low walls and long gardens. Sophia caught a glimpse of the innumerable red-tiled roofs of the houses along the canal as they crossed. Then the road narrowed; on either side, the stone walls were dotted with low doors and closed wooden shutters. The tree houses behind them were curtained and quiet. All Nochtland was still sleeping.

  Almost all: there was a child peering out from behind a set of curtains. As their eyes met, Sophia felt a sudden pang at the sight of that surprised, rather lost-looking face. She slipped her hands into her pockets to hold her watch and the spool of thread. They calmed her: time was ticking peacefully, and the Fates had been kind. Perhaps they had taken Theo away, but they had given her Calixta and Burr and Mazapán; surely they were weaving some pattern that ensured her safe travels.

  The cart turned the corner and suddenly they found themselves in a wide, tree-lined avenue. “This is the road to the palace gates,” Mazapán said.

  “Is your shop near here?”

  “Very near—but we are not going to my shop. I will leave you with Burton and Calixta at the palace. You can rest there.”

  It took Sophia a moment to understand his words. “At the palace?” she asked, confused.

  Mazapán smiled. “You are fortunate in your travel companions. Burton is good friends with the royal botanist, and you will enjoy the best accommodations Nochtland has to offer. Much better than my place,” he said, winking. “Look—on the other side of that fence are the royal gardens.”

  Across from the long stone wall along the south side of the avenue was a tall, wrought-iron fence. Behind the fence was a hedge of densely planted juniper trees, and beyond that a rank of taller trees stretched to the horizon.

  “It is difficult from here, but you might catch a glimpse of the palace through the trees,” Mazapán said. “It is mostly made of glass, and when the sun shines upon its surface it gleams like a thousand mirrors.”

  Calixta and Burr, a few lengths ahead, had paused in the cobblestone road at an enormous fountain, a wide, low pool around a jet of water as tall as a palm tree. “We are almost at the gates,” Mazapán said, slowing the cart to a stop.

  Calixta dismounted and walked up to them. “You poor thing,” she said to Sophia, “sleeping all night in those wet clothes.”

  Sophia heard the pity in her voice. “I’m fine,” she replied lamely.

  “I promise you,” Burr said, leading his horse toward her, “breakfast and warm blankets are only a short walk away.” He leaned into the cart. “Mazapán, my friend, we cannot thank you enough.”

  “It is nothing,” he replied, gripping Burr’s hand, as Sophia got out. “Come see me when you have finished your errand.” He gave her a wink. “Come by later for some chocolate!”

  “Thank you, Mazapán,” she replied, making an effort to smile. “I will.” She watched as the cart rounded the fountain, heading off down the long avenue toward the narrow streets of Nochtland.

  “Why don’t you ride the last part while I hold the reins?” Burr asked Sophia.

  “All right,” she agreed. He lifted her onto his horse and led it past the fountain to a row of guards who stood before a set of imposing gates. Wrought iron, they arched upward the height of five Nochtland spears laid end to end.

  Like those she had seen while half-asleep at the city gates, the guards wore long, hooded capes and masks made entirely of feathers, showing nothing but their impassive eyes. Tall plumes quivered over their heads. Their bare arms, tightly bound with leather bands and painted or tattooed with dense, swirling lines, held long spears with obsidian heads. Sophia remembered Theo’s costume at the circus, and she realized that Ehrlach had been attempting, in his limited way, to re-create the image of the Nochtland guards.

  Despite their terrifying appearance, Burr chatted with the guards as if they were pirates on the Swan. “Morning, lads. Here to see the royal botanist, as always.”

  “Does the botanist know you are arriving?” the closest guard asked.

  “He does not, on this occasion.”

  “We will send someone with you, then,” the guard said, and one of the rank stepped forward. “Who is the girl?”

  “Just a new recruit.”

  Calixta pushed her horse a step forward. “She takes after me,” she said, smiling broadly. “Impatient.”

  The guard shook his head, seemingly all too familiar with the Morrises. He opened the gate without another word and waved them on.

  They stepped onto a gravel drive that wound through the gardens and up to the palace, the walkways of colored pebbles describing a continuous pattern like a tapestry all along the drive. The path led them through a tunnel of tall juniper bushes, and when they emerged from the tunnel the palace gardens suddenly sprang into view.

  Sophia had never seen anything so beautiful. Immediately before her lay a long reflecting pool full of water lilies. On either side of the pool were two gardenia trees dotted with white blossoms, and beside those were lemon trees planted in half-moon beds. Graveled walkways branched off in every direction through the gardens, circling around stone fountains. At each corner of the reflecting pool and along the walkways stood statues of royal ancestors who bore the Mark of the Vine: still faces cut in pale marble, their leafy wings and branching arms white against the green of the gardens.

  Beyond the long reflecting pool stood the palace. It was long and rectangular and rose into multiple domes. As Mazapán had said, it was made almost entirely of glass, which glinted in the morning sun like mother-of-pearl. Two vast botanical conservatories of pale green glass flanked it. The guard led them to one side of the reflecting pool, and Sophia glanced down into its shallow green depths, seeing bright fish between the water lilies. The scent of gardenia and lemon blossoms filled the air as birds whirled out from among the branches.

  They were led not to the stone steps at front of the palace, where another line of hooded guards stood watch, but to the greenhouses on the right-hand side. The guard left them at a low door in the conservatory wall and departed with their horses. As they waited, Sophia stood quietly, listening to the fountains and the quick calls of the birds.

  The door of the conservatory was finally flung open and a small, thin man burst out. “Burton! Calixta!” he shouted. He threw his arms around Burr, squeezing him tightly, and attempted to do the same with Calixta without crushing her hat. The man wore strange spectacles with many lenses, which encircled each of his eyes like petals and winked in the sunlight. Turning his grotesquely magnified eyes toward Sophia, the man asked, “And who is this?”

  “Martin,” Burr said, “this is Sophia, from New Occident. Sophia, this is my good friend Martin, the royal botanist.”

  Then the wiry man removed his spectacles, and Sophia found herself confronted by a much more ordinary face: narrow, wrinkled deeply from laughter, and topped by a shock of unruly white hair. His long nose, like the gnomon of a sundial, pointed sharply outward and a little to his left. He observed Sophia with his wide brown eyes and put out his hand, bowing briefly as he clasped hers. “Delighted to meet you, Sophia,” he said. “And how wonderful to see
you two,” he continued, turning back to Burr and Calixta. “What a surprise. But let’s not stand here. Come in. Come in!”

  The botanist led them quickly down the walkway. Sophia noticed that he had a slight limp, but it did not slow him down. Between following Martin and responding to his questions, Sophia barely took in the leaning cacao plants, the mounds of ferns, and the light, fragile faces of the orchids that lined the path. The warm air was bursting with the scent of vegetation. “Did you just come through the city gates?” Martin called over his shoulder.

  “We waited in the rain all night,” Burr admitted.

  “Poor children! The line must have been eternal, with the eclipse only three nights away. Have you slept at all, Sophia?”

  “A little,” she said breathlessly, trying to keep up.

  “Do you like eggs?” he demanded, whirling to face her.

  “Yes,” Sophia replied, nearly running into him.

  “Wonderful!” Martin said, continuing his race through the conservatory. “We’ll have eggs and hot chocolate and mushroom bread.” He muttered something that Sophia could not hear. “I’ll even let you sleep an hour or two,” he added, “before we get to work.”

  Sophia wondered what this work could possibly consist of, but she refrained from asking, and a moment later Martin opened a door at the far end of the conservatory. “The royal botanist’s apartments,” he said, ushering them in. “Please make yourselves at home.”

  22

  The Soil of the Ages

  1891, June 28: 6-Hour 34

  Based on continuing research with samples collected from across the Baldlands, there have been no less than 3,427 discrete Ages identified within the territory. The range covered by the samples, if the method is correct, is to date no less than five million years. But this range is scattered throughout the entire region, and some areas contain fairly limited diversity. For example, the Triple Eras, as Nochtland, Veracruz, and Xela are collectively known, represent primarily three Ages, with very small samples of others.

  —From Veressa Metl’s “Local Soils: Implications for Cartology”

  THE ROYAL BOTANIST fulfilled such an important role for the palace—and, indeed, for the entirety of the Baldlands—that the appointment came with a private residence at the rear of the palace, connected to the conservatories. Much like Shadrack, Martin had managed to fill his rooms with all the tools of his trade. A large kitchen, a laboratory, a study, a dining room with a table fit for twenty, and four bedrooms were fairly overflowing with strange scientific equipment, books on botany and zoology and geology, and, of course, hundreds of plants. Unlike Shadrack, however, Martin kept his rooms in order, and the chaos of vegetation and equipment was carefully contained on dozens of shelves and in heavy glass cabinets that crouched in the corners of every room.

  After serving them the promised eggs and mushroom bread—all the while talking without pause about the cultivation of the cacao that had gone into making their hot chocolate—Martin reluctantly allowed his visitors to rest. Burr clearly knew his way around, and he disappeared with a yawn.

  “The back bedroom?” Calixta asked, already leading Sophia away.

  “Yes,” he replied. “Sleep well!”

  A broad, sun-filled bathroom with tiled floors and walls—and more than a dozen potted orchids—adjoined the bedroom. Sophia, knowing how particular Calixta was about the state of her clothes and hair, greatly appreciated her kindness in offering to bathe second.

  Here, in the botanist’s apartments, Sophia felt almost as safe as she had in Boston. She lay in the porcelain tub and watched the sun glitter against the tiles, the water’s warmth stealing through her. She moved the soap absently over her skin and then lay still, letting her muscles relax. Finally, she stepped out of the tub and wrapped herself in a bathrobe, the cotton soft against her skin. As she tied the sash around her waist, she felt a long sigh building up in her chest; and then, suddenly, the icy numbness in her mind cracked and thawed. She hiccupped, choked, and found that she was crying.

  She doubled over, weeping. “There, there,” said Calixta, putting her arms around Sophia and rubbing her back. The cries seemed to twist their way out in painful jerks. Sophia hardly knew where these heaving sobs came from. But she knew that the horror of Shadrack’s disappearance had been made easier, somehow, by Theo’s presence, and now he was gone. And Shadrack—

  Sophia gave a sharp gasp. Shadrack might be dead, for all she knew. “That’s it, sweetheart,” Calixta whispered, as Sophia’s tears diminished, “get it all out.” After a long while, Calixta gave her a squeeze and then a reassuring smile. “Let’s get your hair untangled before you go to sleep.” Calixta dried her hair with a towel and then combed it out, humming quietly all the while. The gentle pull of the comb and the low wordless song made Sophia unbearably sleepy. She hardly remembered crawling into one of the high beds, which she had to reach by means of a little ladder. A cotton nightgown that was not hers but that fit her well was laid out on the bed. She drew it on over her head and fell asleep the moment she lay down.

  When she awoke, she did not know where she was. Then she remembered and sat up.

  Something had changed while she slept; Sophia felt better than she had in ages. The agonizing wait in the rain, Theo’s desertion, the long ride from Veracruz, the unending seasickness aboard the Swan, the unlucky train ride through New Occident: they were all over. She felt bruised and sore, as if her body and mind had been trampled, but at least the worst was over. An unexpected wave of relief rushed through her.

  Calixta had closed the wooden shutters, and sunlight leaked in through the cracks, filling the room with a pale, amber light. She was fast asleep in the other bed. Sophia climbed down the ladder as quietly as she could and rummaged in her purse for her pocket watch. It was past ten, by New Occident time—half the day already gone.

  She could not find her clothes, but someone had left a white dress embroidered with blue vines on the chair near her bed. Surprisingly, it fit; the pressed cotton smelled faintly of starch and lavender. A pair of blue slippers beside the chair were only a little large. She took her pack and slung it over her shoulder. Slipping her watch and the spool of thread into the pocket of the dress, she quietly closed the door behind her.

  For a moment she stood on the cool stones of the corridor, letting the newly found sense of recovery settle through her. She could almost feel her limbs gaining strength. Then she heard Burr’s unmistakable chuckle from a nearby room, and she made her way along the corridor until she found the open door of the laboratory. Martin was studying something through his spectacles and talking animatedly to Burr, who stood next to him, beaming.

  “It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen!” Martin exclaimed. “I cannot even begin to date it, though that in itself . . . Astonishing! And you say a sailor took it from an island where?”

  “Good rest?” Burr asked, seeing Sophia in the doorway.

  “Sophia!” Martin smiled, blinking hugely through his spectacles. “How did you sleep?”

  “Very well, thank you. Calixta is still in bed.”

  “Let her sleep,” Martin said. He pulled her to where he had been standing at the table. “Burr tells me you are of a scientific family. You simply must see this.”

  “You’ll have to explain a bit,” Burr put in. “I haven’t told Sophia anything about your work.”

  “I will, I will,” Martin said impatiently, pulling a short footstool toward the table. “Up you go.” Sophia was nonplused, but climbed the footstool nonetheless. “Look into the glass!” Martin exclaimed excitedly. “Oh!” he said, suddenly removing his spectacles. “You need these.” He fastened them onto her face. Everything around her was a blur of color. “Here,” Martin said, gently tipping her head down, over the desk.

  Sophia found herself looking at what appeared to be fist-sized rocks with jagged, golden stripes. She gazed at them in confusion and then took off the glasses. There on the table was a jar filled with loose, sandy soil. “I don’t
understand,” she said.

  “This soil,” Martin said, “was found by a sailor on a remote island—where?” he asked Burr.

  “South of the Indies, close to the coast of Late Patagonia.”

  “And it appears to be from an Age we know nothing about. I cannot even begin to guess what Age it comes from, but I know it is an undiscovered Age just from looking at the soil!”

  “How can you tell?” Sophia asked doubtfully.

  “Because this soil is manmade!”

  “How is that possible?”

  “It isn’t!” The botanist laughed with delight. “That is what is so extraordinary. It is utterly impossible, and yet it has been done. This soil comes from an Age that we know nothing about—I am guessing in the extremely distant future. But who knows? It might be a past Age.” He raised his eyebrows and smiled.

  “I really don’t understand,” Sophia said again.

  “Come,” Martin said, pulling her peremptorily off the stool. “Follow me.” He limped rapidly toward the other end of the room.

  Sophia followed as quickly as she could, and Burr joined them at a round table near the window. Pinned to it was a paper map full of penciled notations and numbers. “The earth,” Martin said excitedly, “is probably about four and a half billion years old. That is—dated from our time. Though the Baldlands contain a vast collection of Ages, a great number of them lie in the thousand-year span to which the United Indies and New Occident also belong. You might say we are roughly in the same Age-hemisphere. But other parts of the world contain Ages that are thousands—or even millions—of Ages away from ours. My research—one small part of it,” he qualified—“is to date the various Ages by dating their soil.”

  Sophia examined the map more closely, but the numerical notations were still unintelligible. “So all these numbers are dates?”