Part of her still could not believe what she’d seen—the metallic glimmers from his hair, his teeth, his knife, and the silver clasps of his coat. The group of basket vendors had gone silent when the raider appeared in their midst. Now they began talking to each other in low voices. It seemed to Sophia that all of them were looking at her.
She put the half-finished basket down and hurried over to where Theo was hidden. “Are you all right?”
“I can’t see behind me. Is he gone?” he asked in a muffled voice.
“He’s gone. Come out, and we’ll find Burr.” She lifted the basket and Theo stood up. He glanced quickly around the square. Sophia turned to thank the vendor, and as she did so the woman handed her two straw hats. Her crown of braids, interwoven with long green grass, nodded as she patted her apron and spoke.
“What’s she saying, Theo?”
He was gazing distractedly around the stalls but turned back briefly. “She’s giving you those for the money you gave her.”
Sophia took the hats. “Thank you. Thank you for helping us.” The woman smiled, nodded, and returned to her tent. Sophia put on one of the hats and gave the other to Theo. “We’ll be a little hidden with these,” she said.
Theo donned the hat. “Come on—I know the way back. This way.” He put his hand on her arm and found that she was trembling. He stopped abruptly. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Sophia said, clenching her fists. The danger had passed, but only now did she feel the waves of fear washing over her. “That raider was scary.”
For a moment, his tense expression softened. He put his scarred hand in Sophia’s and squeezed tightly. “You sure fooled me. You looked like you weren’t scared of anything.” He pulled at her gently. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
19
The Bullet
1891, June 24: Shadrack Missing (Day 4)
Most firsthand accounts of the Great Disruption describe witnessing the passage of a year while time was suspended. But the prophet Amitto claims to have perceived all time past and present during his revelation, experiencing each day of twenty hours as any other. The Chronicles of the Disruption are thereby organized into 365 days: one day for each that he purportedly lived through. The days are commonly understood as chapters. Nihilismians follow the practice of naming themselves with the first word of the chapter corresponding to the day that they joined the sect.
—From Shadrack Elli’s History of New Occident
SHADRACK HAD TRAVELED extensively by electric train, but he had never been on a train quite like the Bullet. It was, true to its name, quicker and lighter on the rails than any he had ridden. But it was also better-equipped in its interior. He had passed through a full kitchen and a well-furnished study before being forced into his improvised cell. Bound hand and foot to a chair, he sat in a small, windowless closet. The wooden slats of the closet door admitted bars of feeble light. When the light dimmed, his internal clock told him that it was past seventeen-hour.
His thoughts were moving as quickly as the train, keeping pace as the Bullet raced south. It was obvious to him now, in retrospect, that the borders were indeed shifting. The signs had been there for years, but his supposed knowledge of the Great Disruption had prevented him from seeing their meaning. He cursed himself for his stupidity. He had violated one of his most valued principles: Observe what you see, not what you expect to see.
Of what use am I as a cartologer, he berated himself, when I could not even reliably see the world around me? Now, because of his blindness, he had placed Sophia doubly in harm’s way. He had sent her fleeing the ambitions of a madwoman, into the path of destruction.
It was well past eighteen-hour when the door suddenly swung open. The Sandmen lifted the chair with their grappling hooks to carry it through the doorway and set it down facing the center of the adjoining room.
Shadrack blinked in the lamplight. He was in a study as opulently furnished as the rest of the Bullet, with broad windows, thick carpeting, and a variety of desks and chairs. The Sandmen stationed themselves at the doors.
Blanca sat in the middle of the room at a long table. On the table was a sheet of copper. Beside the table were the two trunks filled with Shadrack’s mapmaking equipment, which the Sandmen had packed when they took him from East Ending Street. “I won’t deceive you, Shadrack,” Blanca said, in her musical voice. “While I know the route your niece is traveling, she and her companion are resourceful; they have managed to evade the men I sent to meet her.”
Shadrack tried not to show his relief too plainly. Then he wondered: A companion?
“This makes your situation more difficult, because it means I am less patient.” Her veil shook slightly. “As you know, I need two things from you: Sophia’s destination and the location of the carta mayor. So I will give you two choices. One for each thing I need.” She lifted the square sheet of copper, which glinted in the yellow lamplight. “You can draw me a map of the carta mayor’s location and tell me where Sophia is going.” Then she drew her other hand from under the table, revealing the dreaded block of wood with its attached wires. “Or, you can wear the bonnet,” she said almost kindly.
Shadrack stared at his lap, using the last of his exhausted energy to hide the panic he felt at the sight of the wooden block and wires. After a few moments he said, “We’ve already discussed this. You have my answer.”
Blanca sat silently for a moment. Then she stood. “You make this very hard, Shadrack. I do not like having to play the bully, but you leave me with no choice.” Her voice was mournful. She turned toward the younger of the two men. “Leave his hands and legs tied, Weeping. If he nods, take off the bonnet strings and call me. If he hasn’t done so by twenty-hour, tighten them.”
Had Shadrack imagined it, or did Blanca speak to Weeping with particular favor? The young man’s face, he noticed with surprise, was unmarked. His brown hair was clipped short, and his cheeks were clean-shaven. He pressed his lips together as Blanca gave him instructions. As she left, she gently patted Weeping’s arm. The door opened, and Shadrack caught a brief glimpse of the interior of the next car: a wooden floor, dim lamplight, and a wheelbarrow piled high with sand.
He did his best to keep from gagging as they placed the wooden block between his teeth. He did not resist; they would only jam the block in more forcefully if he did. The wires tightened across his cheeks and he grew still. He concentrated all of his attention on clearing his mind so that he would not choke. If he choked or gagged, his face would pull at the wires, and they would cut him. Shadrack breathed deeply through his nose until his pulse settled. The moment he felt calm, he knew that he would not be able to wear the bonnet for more than a few minutes. He looked up at the two men, both of whom were watching him.
The older man bore the familiar scars and the blank expression that was also, by now, familiar. He held the grappling hook as if it were an extension of his own hand: casually, almost thoughtlessly. The scarred Nihilismians had none of the usual fervor Shadrack had seen in the followers of Amitto. They lacked the zealous passion that Nihilismians carried like bright flames; no, the eyes of these men suggested loss, confusion, and an aimless sense of searching. But the unscarred younger man, Weeping, was different. He seemed like a real Nihilismian: his eyes were focused and bright with conviction. Dark green, they gazed into Shadrack’s unflinchingly. Though no compassion lingered there, they seemed to suggest something else: a clarity of purpose.