The thin man holding out a small black rectangle said something, and the woman responded fiercely. “I don’t care if it’s a map reader. You still can’t pay with it.” She snatched back the man’s parcel and pointed over her shoulder. “If you want to talk maps, go see the woman who sells maps.”
Sophia watched, wide-eyed. The thin man, who wore a dirty overcoat, leaned forward to ask a question. It took him a moment to get the vendor’s attention; she had already moved on to another customer. When he tugged on her sleeve, the woman looked at him crossly. “Yes,” she said curtly. “The one selling onions.”
Turning to look behind her, Sophia caught a glimpse of a woman standing behind several baskets full of onions. Burr was still talking excitedly to Mazapán, who had begun to pack up his dishes. Theo was nowhere to be seen. She thought he’d been following as they wound through the market, but now she was not so sure. With one last glance at Burr, Sophia decided that his hat would make an easy landmark and dove into the crowd.
If it was difficult to squeeze through the market with Burr, it was even harder on her own. She was caught up and pushed along past several stalls. It’s like being on a trolley made of people, she thought. She glimpsed a basket full of onions. And here’s my stop. She wriggled out as hard as she could, using her elbows perhaps more fiercely than was necessary, and a moment later found herself pressed up against the baskets. Next to her, the thin man was leaning forward to talk to the vendor.
The woman shook her head as he spoke. “I’m sorry, sir. I only have onion maps. You’ll find the market in Veracruz thin on maps. All of the map vendors stay in Nochtland.”
The man turned away dejectedly and drifted back into the crowd. He seemed tired and haggard, as if he had been traveling for too long. An explorer from another Age, short on funds, Sophia thought sympathetically. She watched him go and then turned to the baskets full of onions. The one closest to her had a little paper pinned to the edge that said NOCHTLAND. Another basket said XELA, and yet another was labeled SAN ISIDRO.
“Where are you headed, dear?” the vendor asked loudly. “I’ve got maps to any place in the Triple Eras, many other places besides.” Her dark hair, entwined around half a dozen fragrant gardenias, was pulled back in a tight bun, and she had tiny leaves and flowers painted in dark green ink across her brow.
Sophia hesitated a moment. “Nochtland,” she said.
“They’re right in front of you, then,” the woman said cheerily. “But frankly, you don’t need it if you’re leaving from here. Just follow the main road. Can’t miss it. It’s about two days travel with good horses.”
They seemed to be ordinary yellow onions with coppery skins. “How do these work?”
“What’s that, dear?”
“How do these work? Are they really maps?” Sophia wished she could look at them through the glass map, but it was midday, and the crowded market was no place for something so precious.
The woman seemed unsurprised. “Not from here?”
Sophia shook her head. “I’m from Boston; from New Occident.”
“Well, these are Way-Finding Onions. Guaranteed to have been planted in their location’s native soil. Each layer of the onion leads you onward until you arrive at your destination.”
“What do you mean, ‘leads you onward’?” Sophia asked, fascinated.
“They don’t necessarily take you by the quickest or easiest route, mind you,” the woman said. “But they’ll get you there.”
Sophia reached into her purse for her money. “Do you take money from New Occident?”
“Cacao, silver, or Triple Eras paper. But I’ll take New Occident paper; I can change it at a better rate.”
Sophia was taking out her money when she suddenly felt a violent push from the crowd behind her. “Watch it,” she said irritably. Then she felt an arm around her waist, and someone pulled her away from the stall and into the crowd. “Hey!” she said. As she clutched her money and her pack and tried to keep from falling, she looked at the person who had grabbed her and saw with astonishment that it was Theo. “You’re hurting my arm,” she shouted.
Theo ignored her protests. “Come on,” he said, dragging her onward. He wove through the crowd, keeping his head low and holding Sophia’s wrist tightly.
“Theo, what is it?” she panted, when she had the chance. “Is it Montaigne?”
For a moment, he seemed to not recognize the name. He frowned, looked over his shoulder, and led them behind a stall selling leather goods.
“Is it Montaigne?” Sophia asked again, her voice rising.
“It’s not Montaigne,” he said brusquely. “It’s a raider I used to know.”
Sophia realized that, amid the usual commotion of the market, there was an even greater commotion coming toward them. Angry shouts erupted as two people toppled against a stall, sending it tumbling. “A raider?” Sophia asked, gasping for air as they ran along an empty stretch between two of the leather shops. “Why is he chasing you?”
“I can’t explain right now. Just have to get away from him.”
They burst out into a quiet part of the market where all the stalls were filled with baskets. “Here,” Sophia said, twisting out of Theo’s grasp. She ran toward one of the vendors. The tallest baskets were large enough to hold a whole wardrobe full of clothes—or the person who wore them. “Crouch down,” she said quickly.
“In that?” Theo exclaimed.
“He’s coming,” Sophia warned, hearing nearby shouts.
Theo stood frozen for a moment, and then he abruptly crouched down. Sophia took the nearest large basket and overturned it on top of him. It looked like just another among the many the vendor sold. “Don’t move,” she whispered. Then she ran to the astonished vendor and thrust out the bills she’d been holding. “Please—we’ll give it back in just a moment.”
The woman gave a small nod. She pocketed the money without a word and gently pushed Sophia toward the back of the stall. Saying something Sophia couldn’t understand, she handed her a small, half-finished basket.
A man burst into the quiet square. He looked in each direction, taking huge, heaving breaths. His blond hair came down almost to his waist, and his beard fanned out like the arms of a jellyfish. Both were laden with silver beads and bells that rang out every time he turned his head. His worn leather boots were coated with yellow dust, and the rawhide coat he wore trailed its ragged edges on the ground. As he turned toward her, his fists clenched, Sophia saw that every single one of his teeth was made of metal. They were sharp and made a jagged line, like the tips of old knives sharpened many times. They glinted in the sunlight, as did the silver in his hair and the long knife he drew from his belt. He stood staring back at Sophia—she could not take her eyes off him—and then slowly walked toward her.
He pointed the knife at her chest. “What. Are. You. Staring. At?” he snarled, jabbing each word at her like another knife.
Sophia couldn’t help herself. She wasn’t afraid yet; she was only fascinated. “Your teeth,” she breathed.
The man stared at her for what seemed to Sophia like an hour. Then suddenly he broke into laughter. He lifted the knife and slowly ran its edge along his teeth, making a dull clinking sound. “You like them, sugar? How about a kiss?”
Sophia shook her head slowly. She met his eyes, and the raider’s teeth disappeared into a scowl. “You can skip the kiss if you tell me which way the kid went,” he said.
She pointed to her left, away from the central market.
The raider smiled, and Sophia saw a quick glint of silver. A moment later he was gone.