“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