“We waited in the rain all night,” Burr admitted.
“Poor children! The line must have been eternal, with the eclipse only three nights away. Have you slept at all, Sophia?”
“A little,” she said breathlessly, trying to keep up.
“Do you like eggs?” he demanded, whirling to face her.
“Yes,” Sophia replied, nearly running into him.
“Wonderful!” Martin said, continuing his race through the conservatory. “We’ll have eggs and hot chocolate and mushroom bread.” He muttered something that Sophia could not hear. “I’ll even let you sleep an hour or two,” he added, “before we get to work.”
Sophia wondered what this work could possibly consist of, but she refrained from asking, and a moment later Martin opened a door at the far end of the conservatory. “The royal botanist’s apartments,” he said, ushering them in. “Please make yourselves at home.”
22
The Soil of the Ages
1891, June 28: 6-Hour 34
Based on continuing research with samples collected from across the Baldlands, there have been no less than 3,427 discrete Ages identified within the territory. The range covered by the samples, if the method is correct, is to date no less than five million years. But this range is scattered throughout the entire region, and some areas contain fairly limited diversity. For example, the Triple Eras, as Nochtland, Veracruz, and Xela are collectively known, represent primarily three Ages, with very small samples of others.
—From Veressa Metl’s “Local Soils: Implications for Cartology”
THE ROYAL BOTANIST fulfilled such an important role for the palace—and, indeed, for the entirety of the Baldlands—that the appointment came with a private residence at the rear of the palace, connected to the conservatories. Much like Shadrack, Martin had managed to fill his rooms with all the tools of his trade. A large kitchen, a laboratory, a study, a dining room with a table fit for twenty, and four bedrooms were fairly overflowing with strange scientific equipment, books on botany and zoology and geology, and, of course, hundreds of plants. Unlike Shadrack, however, Martin kept his rooms in order, and the chaos of vegetation and equipment was carefully contained on dozens of shelves and in heavy glass cabinets that crouched in the corners of every room.
After serving them the promised eggs and mushroom bread—all the while talking without pause about the cultivation of the cacao that had gone into making their hot chocolate—Martin reluctantly allowed his visitors to rest. Burr clearly knew his way around, and he disappeared with a yawn.
“The back bedroom?” Calixta asked, already leading Sophia away.
“Yes,” he replied. “Sleep well!”
A broad, sun-filled bathroom with tiled floors and walls—and more than a dozen potted orchids—adjoined the bedroom. Sophia, knowing how particular Calixta was about the state of her clothes and hair, greatly appreciated her kindness in offering to bathe second.
Here, in the botanist’s apartments, Sophia felt almost as safe as she had in Boston. She lay in the porcelain tub and watched the sun glitter against the tiles, the water’s warmth stealing through her. She moved the soap absently over her skin and then lay still, letting her muscles relax. Finally, she stepped out of the tub and wrapped herself in a bathrobe, the cotton soft against her skin. As she tied the sash around her waist, she felt a long sigh building up in her chest; and then, suddenly, the icy numbness in her mind cracked and thawed. She hiccupped, choked, and found that she was crying.
She doubled over, weeping. “There, there,” said Calixta, putting her arms around Sophia and rubbing her back. The cries seemed to twist their way out in painful jerks. Sophia hardly knew where these heaving sobs came from. But she knew that the horror of Shadrack’s disappearance had been made easier, somehow, by Theo’s presence, and now he was gone. And Shadrack—
Sophia gave a sharp gasp. Shadrack might be dead, for all she knew. “That’s it, sweetheart,” Calixta whispered, as Sophia’s tears diminished, “get it all out.” After a long while, Calixta gave her a squeeze and then a reassuring smile. “Let’s get your hair untangled before you go to sleep.” Calixta dried her hair with a towel and then combed it out, humming quietly all the while. The gentle pull of the comb and the low wordless song made Sophia unbearably sleepy. She hardly remembered crawling into one of the high beds, which she had to reach by means of a little ladder. A cotton nightgown that was not hers but that fit her well was laid out on the bed. She drew it on over her head and fell asleep the moment she lay down.
When she awoke, she did not know where she was. Then she remembered and sat up.
Something had changed while she slept; Sophia felt better than she had in ages. The agonizing wait in the rain, Theo’s desertion, the long ride from Veracruz, the unending seasickness aboard the Swan, the unlucky train ride through New Occident: they were all over. She felt bruised and sore, as if her body and mind had been trampled, but at least the worst was over. An unexpected wave of relief rushed through her.
Calixta had closed the wooden shutters, and sunlight leaked in through the cracks, filling the room with a pale, amber light. She was fast asleep in the other bed. Sophia climbed down the ladder as quietly as she could and rummaged in her purse for her pocket watch. It was past ten, by New Occident time—half the day already gone.
She could not find her clothes, but someone had left a white dress embroidered with blue vines on the chair near her bed. Surprisingly, it fit; the pressed cotton smelled faintly of starch and lavender. A pair of blue slippers beside the chair were only a little large. She took her pack and slung it over her shoulder. Slipping her watch and the spool of thread into the pocket of the dress, she quietly closed the door behind her.
For a moment she stood on the cool stones of the corridor, letting the newly found sense of recovery settle through her. She could almost feel her limbs gaining strength. Then she heard Burr’s unmistakable chuckle from a nearby room, and she made her way along the corridor until she found the open door of the laboratory. Martin was studying something through his spectacles and talking animatedly to Burr, who stood next to him, beaming.
“It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen!” Martin exclaimed. “I cannot even begin to date it, though that in itself . . . Astonishing! And you say a sailor took it from an island where?”
“Good rest?” Burr asked, seeing Sophia in the doorway.
“Sophia!” Martin smiled, blinking hugely through his spectacles. “How did you sleep?”
“Very well, thank you. Calixta is still in bed.”
“Let her sleep,” Martin said. He pulled her to where he had been standing at the table. “Burr tells me you are of a scientific family. You simply must see this.”
“You’ll have to explain a bit,” Burr put in. “I haven’t told Sophia anything about your work.”
“I will, I will,” Martin said impatiently, pulling a short footstool toward the table. “Up you go.” Sophia was nonplused, but climbed the footstool nonetheless. “Look into the glass!” Martin exclaimed excitedly. “Oh!” he said, suddenly removing his spectacles. “You need these.” He fastened them onto her face. Everything around her was a blur of color. “Here,” Martin said, gently tipping her head down, over the desk.
Sophia found herself looking at what appeared to be fist-sized rocks with jagged, golden stripes. She gazed at them in confusion and then took off the glasses. There on the table was a jar filled with loose, sandy soil. “I don’t understand,” she said.