“All right,” Theo yelled. “Let’s go!”
Then they were abreast of it. A burst of air shook the car. Theo quickly regained his footing; then he took a running start and jumped. Sophia glanced behind her. She had only a few seconds. She saw Mortify, a car-length away, launch the grappling hook. It seemed to hang in the air, suspended: a whirling shape that caught the light of the rising sun. The bright cluster of silver grew larger, swinging toward her, its sharp points glittering as they twirled.
Sophia yanked herself back to the present. Don’t lose track of time now! she told herself desperately.
She ran with all her might toward the edge. She jumped. A moment later she felt hard metal slam against her face, her back, her knees; she was rolling—rolling fast, like a marble over a table top. She could find nothing to hold onto, and the edge rose up before her. Suddenly something fell across her legs, pinning her down. She opened her eyes. Her head was hanging over the edge of the railcar, but she was safe. Theo had tackled her, and his weight was holding her in place.
She scrambled up just as the train jolted into motion, heading east. The other train was already far in the distance. “Where is he?” she cried. “Did he follow us?”
“He didn’t jump,” Theo said, raising his voice to be heard over the mounting noise. Sophia saw with surprise that he was smiling at her with frank admiration. “That was totally reckless, but it worked.”
“What?”
“Waiting until the last second so he couldn’t jump after you.” He pointed to the far edge of the roof. The grappling hook hung from the ladder like a snagged kite, its rope dangling.
“Right.” Sophia took a deep breath. The train began to pick up speed. “We have to get off.”
“Next station,” Theo shouted.
They lay against the cold roof as mile after mile of flat land passed by. Sunlight yellowed the fields around them, making fog of the humid air. The metal rattled painfully against Sophia’s chest, and the station seemed ages away.
Finally, the train began to slow. It rolled up alongside the platform of the station they had passed at dawn. ROUNDHILL, read the wooden sign swinging over the station door. Sophia and Theo crawled to the end of the car and made their way off the roof.
14
The Glacine Age
1891, June 23: Shadrack Missing (Day 3)
In the chaotic political wake of the Disruption, the Vindication Party emerged as more stable and lasting than most. Founded on the philosophies of Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Women, the party pushed aggressively—and successfully—for women’s rights. Perhaps without the Disruption the Vindication Party would have met with more resistance, but in such turmoil, it laid claim to certain territories that were never again contested. Suffrage became a stepping stone, and soon women could be found in parliament, at the head of major manufacturies, at the helm of universities, and in other seats of power.
—From Shadrack Elli’s History of New Occident
SHADRACK HAD SLEPT very little during his nights of captivity. Though they had given him water and a few scraps of food, he could only taste the wooden block. The damp wood, reeking of other men’s fear, left a horrible aftertaste that nothing could erase. His face had not been cut by the wires, but he did not want to test his luck a second time. He had good reason to believe that in Blanca’s mansion the bonnet was only one of several horrors.
They had moved him from the chapel to a small room in a high turret. His room—a low space that must once have been used for storage—contained only a basin and a ragged length of blanket. A narrow window, no wider than a forearm, allowed a view of the circular drive near the entrance. He used it to keep track of the passing time, doing his best to shake off the chilling influences of the stone walls and the conversation with Blanca.
She had destroyed Carlton, leaving him a mindless shell. Exactly how, Shadrack did not know, but it seemed clear that she felt no compunction and would easily do the same to him. Nevertheless, he knew that under no circumstances could he help her find the carta mayor. Much as he grieved for Carlton, he drew his mind forcibly to the problem at hand. He could not allow Blanca to succeed.
The problem of how to stop her kept him awake at night. But he could not concentrate; the mansion was full of peculiar noises. At times he heard a cooing or weeping, faint and ethereal, hovering above a louder and more jarring sound: a near-constant, high-pitched creaking, like that of a pulley or a wheel. It seemed to stretch through his room like a fine, caustic web, allowing him no sleep. It settled in the air, so that even when it stopped he continued to hear it.
On the second night of his captivity, one of the Sandmen opened the door and placed a cup of water and a rind of dry bread on the floor. “Please tell me what that sound is,” Shadrack said. He was sitting with his back against the stone wall, his injured leg, bruised and sore, resting on the cold floorboards.
“What sound?” the man asked.
“That sound—the creaking.”
The man stood silently for a moment, as if attempting to connect Shadrack’s words with a meaning. His scarred face worked slowly over the problem. Finally a dim illumination passed into his eyes. “It’s the wheelbarrow.”
“The wheelbarrow? For what?”
“For the sand,” the man replied, as if this were self-evident.
“The sand for what?” Shadrack persisted.
“For the hourglass.” The light vanished from the man’s eyes, as if the very mention of the hourglass had snuffed out his thoughts. He stepped back and slammed the door before Shadrack could speak again. The creaking continued, sharp as a saw.
The third morning dawned cool and gray, and Shadrack watched, through his narrow window, what appeared to be travel preparations. The journey to the estate by unscheduled train had suggested from the start that Blanca had powerful ties to one of the railways. The presence of private railcars in the drive with a distinctive hourglass insignia confirmed it. For several hours, the Nihilismians had been loading supplies. At midmorning, two of them appeared at his door and led him from the room.
Shadrack made no effort to resist. He could hardly summon the energy to stand. At first, he thought they might take him to the railcars, but instead they wound their way deeper into the building through long stone passageways. It was Shadrack’s first view of the artwork and historic treasures that filled the mansion. The paintings, tapestries, sculptures, and cultural artifacts overflowing the corridors put Boston’s museums to shame. “Tintoretto,” he groaned under his breath, pained both by his leg and by the brief sight of such a masterpiece hidden away from the world. Indifferent to the fabulous treasures around them, the Sandmen dragged him down several sets of stairs and finally entered a vaulted corridor that ended behind the altar of the chapel. Blanca waited in the center of the room.
“Shadrack,” she said quietly, ignoring his rumpled clothing and look of plain exhaustion. “You and I are leaving soon. Our errand is more urgent than you realize, and our time is running short. But where we go depends entirely on you.” She hesitated. “I know how much you disapprove of my plan at present, and I realize you need persuasion to assist me in finding the carta mayor.”
“I’m not sure ‘disapprove’ does it justice,” he replied.
Blanca walked toward him, the gray silk dress she was wearing quietly rustling, and she gently touched his arm with her gloved hand. “Once I explain, I have no doubt that you will be persuaded,” she went on, as if he hadn’t spoken.