Grandmother Pearl inclined her head. “Why don’t you tell her, dear, about the Mark of Iron?”
Sophia looked past the old woman’s chair and saw with surprise that Theo was standing on the deck in the near darkness, out of sight, but apparently not out of earshot. She realized she had briefly forgotten all about both her nausea and her anger. After a moment’s hesitation, he moved closer and sat down. “The Mark of Iron,” he said quietly, “may be any bone made of metal. Most often it is a person’s teeth. They are sharp and pointed, and they tear.”
Sophia recoiled. “They tore the man’s wings with their teeth?”
“They were defending the gate. They were only doing what was expected of them.”
Grandmother Pearl nodded. “It’s true that the guards argued in their defense that they had been protecting the gate. And there was, they claimed, no way for them to know that the stranger was in fact a nephew to the king, returning to Nochtland after years on the northern frontier. The king, however, declared that the Mark of the Vine should have been proof enough.”
“What happened to the king’s nephew?” Sophia asked.
“His wings were shredded by the guards but over time they re-grew, like new leaves.”
“But the guards were put to death,” Theo added.
Grandmother Pearl turned toward him. “The guards were sentenced to death, yes, and the long enmity between the two Marks began to deepen. It had been a mere dislike before, a suspicion, but with the execution of the palace guard the gulf between them grew. The Mark of the Vine is held to be a sign of privilege and aristocracy. Among the royals, the mark often emerges as wings. For others, it might be a patch of skin, a lock of hair, a pair of fingers. The palest weed, if you’re lucky enough to be born with it, is enough to make the humblest child a blessed one. Those who have the Mark are favored in the Baldlands, and those who don’t have it—ordinary people like you and me—attempt to emulate it. The Mark of Iron is held to be a sign of barbarism and disgrace. Today, no one with the Mark of Iron would dare set foot in Nochtland. They’ve all been driven out. The royal family have come to see conspiracy in the smallest piece of metal. It has gone from being disdained to being criminal.”
“Not farther north,” Theo put in.
“Very true,” Grandmother Pearl agreed. “The raiders in the north wear their iron teeth with pride, and they take no shame in baring them to all the world. You will even see them in Veracruz, and on the roads around the city. Still, they all avoid Nochtland. Fair to say?”
Theo gazed out toward the water. “For sure. People with the Mark of Iron have a way of ending up on the wrong side of the law, even if they’ve done nothing wrong.”
“And some will class those with the Mark of Iron as wild men—or worse. It’s not unusual to hear them called ‘creatures’ or ‘animals’ by those who are especially narrow-minded, which is why I warn you.”
“But are those with the Mark of Iron really so terrible?” Sophia asked.
“Of course not,” Theo scoffed. “The raiders I know are no worse than anyone else. They’re just people—some good and some bad.”
“So you see,” Grandmother Pearl said, “it’s a cruel way of thinking, that has divided people in the Baldlands over many decades.”
Sophia realized that the sun had set completely. The sky was dark and filled with stars, and a slender moon hung on the horizon. “So that’s what they mean when they talk about ‘creatures.’”
“Well,” the old woman said, “there are also what you and I would call creatures—animals from other Ages and strange beings you don’t see on land or sea.”
“Like the Lachrima,” Theo said. Sophia rolled her eyes in the darkness.
Grandmother Pearl was silent for a moment. “Yes, like the Lachrima.” She lowered her voice. “I don’t hold with superstition, but there are some on board who wouldn’t like to hear you say that word. It’s thought that naming them brings them closer.”
“Who would have thought? Pirates are afraid of something, after all,” Theo said, grinning, the somber air that had previously taken hold of him apparently banished.
“Oh, yes! We like gunfire well enough, but apparitions and Lachrima are another matter.”
“Have you ever heard one?” Theo wondered avidly.
“I have,” she said somberly. “The first time was long ago, in the Baldlands, but only a few years back, when we were in Havana, I heard one haunting a ship called the Rosaline.”
“They’re not just in the Baldlands, then?” Sophia asked.
“They’re most often found there, but you might hear one almost anywhere. This one had been aboard the Rosaline for weeks. The poor sailors were at their wits’ ends. When they came ashore in Havana, they abandoned ship, and the captain couldn’t convince a single soul to return. In the end, either the captain or someone else cut the ship loose, letting it drift empty with nothing but the Lachrima. If it hasn’t sunk, it’s out there now, sailing around the world with its lone passenger. Eventually it will no doubt fall to pieces—an empty vessel on an empty sea. The Lachrima will disappear and fade with time.”
“Oh, they disappear,” Sophia said with sudden comprehension. She thought back to Mrs. Clay’s story and the Lachrima’s abrupt vanishing at the border. “How? Why?”
“Hard to say. It’s for this reason that they appear to some as monsters, to others as phantoms, and to still others as only a distant sound. In Xela they appear most in the last form; people refer to the crying as el llanto del espanto, ‘the spirit’s lament.’ No one knows how they disappear. They are not understood well at all, poor creatures. But my sense is that they comprehend their fate. They know that they are disappearing. And they are terrified of it. Wouldn’t you be?” Grandmother Pearl pushed herself to her feet. “Well, with that I’ll leave you. Have I distracted you from your seasickness?”
“Yes, thank you.” Sophia said earnestly. “I forgot all about it.”
“Good. Tomorrow we’ll talk of happier things, no?” She rested one hand on Sophia’s forehead and then let her hand float until it found Theo’s forehead. “Good night, children.”
“Good night, Grandmother Pearl,” he said, taking her hand in his and kissing it gently.
“Ah!” she said, gripping his hand between both her own. She felt his scars almost tenderly. “That’s why you gave me your left hand before, dear boy.” She smiled down at him. “There’s no shame in this hand, Theo. Only strength.”
He gave a forced laugh, but didn’t reply.
“Only strength,” she repeated, patting his hand. “Good night. Sleep well.”
17
A Swan in the Gulf
1891, June 25: 17-Hour 41
After 1850, with the expansion of the rum and sugar trade between the United Indies and New Occident, piracy in the Caribbean grew increasingly lucrative. Plantations in the Indies were faced with the prospect of either continual theft along the trade route or costly collaboration. Most opted for the latter, and as the years progressed pirates saw many of their ships transform into legitimate businesses charged with managing the trade route. There resulted a widening gulf between thieving pirates and their more prosperous cousins in the plantations’ employ.
—From Shadrack Elli’s History of the New World
CALIXTA AND BURTON Morris came from a long line of pirates. Their parents and grandparents had sailed the dangerous waters of the Caribbean when every ship, regardless of its sail, was a potential enemy. No one who met Calixta and Burr, as he was known to all, suspected at first from their easy manner the tragedy that lay in their past. In fact, it was the tragedy itself that allowed them to enjoy life so fully; they knew it could be taken away in an instant.