He jumped in his seat. “Sophia!” he said. “How you startled me.” He removed his spectacles. “What are you doing up?”
“I was having a nightmare,” Sophia said, unsure herself of what the dream had contained.
“Ah well—it happens. Strange place and strange doings.” He noticed that she was staring at the leg. “Oh! You hadn’t seen my prosthesis.”
She shook her head, embarrassed that he had caught her staring but relieved that he seemed not to mind. “I didn’t—Is it made of wood?”
Martin took up the leg and looked at it critically. “Indeed, it is made of wood. Brittle, lifeless wood, I’m afraid.”
“What happened to your real leg?” Sophia asked. “Your previous leg, I mean.”
He winked at her. “I lost it adventuring. Before I was old,” he said, putting down the wooden leg, “and before I had a limp, and before I was a botanist—I was an explorer!”
“You were?” Sophia exclaimed, delighted.
“I was. Not a very good explorer, as it happens. In a remote region of the northern Baldlands, I discovered a valley full of strange animals.”
“What kind of animals?”
“Enormous beasts—some as large as the conservatory! They were clearly from another Age. Well, I foolishly believed myself to be safe among them because I observed that they ate only plants—not flesh. But,” he said, smiling ruefully, “I had failed to consider that to them I probably looked like a plant.”
“What do you mean?”
Martin lifted his right pant leg. His shin was a strange color—whitish green, like the trunk of a beech tree. “You see, my legs are more tree trunk than muscle and bone.”
“I had no idea!” Sophia thought of the “sequins” on Veressa’s arms: living thorns, just like Martin’s living trunk of a leg.
“Nor did I have any idea that I would so closely resemble a tasty sprig!” Martin laughed. “I was happily taking notes when one of the beasts suddenly reached its huge head down, toppled me over with a little nudge, and bit off my foot!”
“Oh, how horrible!” Sophia exclaimed.
“It was not picturesque,” Martin admitted. “Fortunately, I was not traveling alone, and my companions helped me to safety. When I returned home, a fine sculptor created this wooden leg for me. I still have a limp,” he said, “and I could no longer be an explorer. But in fact I am grateful to that giant beast. Were it not for him, I would never have discovered botany.”
Sophia had to smile. “I suppose that’s true.”
“I hope I haven’t given you more nightmares.”
“No, I don’t think so,” she said, turning to go. “Are you going to work all night?”
“Just a little bit longer. I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep well.”
Fortunately, Sophia’s erratic inner clock did not affect her inner compass. Although the palace was very dark and she had only been to the library once, she had no difficulty finding her way. The pine needles covering the floor muffled her footsteps entirely.
Sophia checked to make sure she was alone, then slipped quietly through the double doors into the deserted, dimly lit room.
Earlier, her attention had been so focused on the four maps that she had not even thought to look around. The high bookshelves were interrupted by six tall windows that looked out over the gardens, letting in the pale, silvery moonlight; a narrow spiral staircase led to a balcony that ran the length of the shelves. Shadows clustered in the corner of the ceiling, beyond the reach of the dim table lamps.
She crossed the carpet of fern leaves to the wooden safe where Veressa kept Talisman’s maps; she had shown Sophia how it worked, the door made of intricate movable pieces, like a puzzle. Taking out the maps, she pulled up a chair and used her breath, as well as the water and matches left on the desk, to awaken the first three maps. Then she held the final map, the tracing glass, to the moonlight and rested it on top of the others.
As soon as she touched it, the memories again flooded her mind. The recollection of fleeing, full of fear, through the crowds of people was unchanged. But the other maps added a complexity that was almost transformative. The metal map, which allowed her to see the manmade structures around her, brought memories of being inside an impossibly tall pyramid. The long spiral wound its way up to the high peak. The walls around her were made of something almost transparent, like frosted glass. No, Sophia corrected herself: foggy glass, because parts are entirely clear. There were colored panes, like artwork, on the walls, but she could not see them clearly; whoever the map’s memories belonged to had rushed past them, intent on escape. When she reached the top of the pyramid, she saw the heavy object that she would soon roll off the ledge: a round stone. She took the final steps to the top, heaved against the stone, and pushed. She did not see it land, but she felt its impact as the walls around her began to shudder.
The clay map allowed her to see the landscape beyond the high tower—a vast terrain marked by high peaks and what looked like tall white buildings. And the cloth map showed strange weather unlike any she’d ever seen. Lightning flashed continually beyond the walls of the pyramid, illuminating the gray sky. A constant snow fell, ticking against the foggy panes.
But this was not what Sophia wanted to see most. She waited, and then the memory came: she burst out through the doorway onto a snowy expanse and turned to watch as the entire pyramid collapsed in an explosive burst of breaking panes and clouds of snow. Then she turned away and looked into the distance, where something almost out of sight—a black speck on the snow—moved toward her. It seemed like a person. As it drew nearer, there was a dull twinkle from something the person was holding. And then the memory faded.
Sophia was certain—certain beyond a doubt—that she knew that person. There was something about the way they ran toward her. Or perhaps it was simply the feeling—the certainty in the map’s memory—of knowing who they were. What was the glint in their hand? Something they were holding, surely—a mirror? A blade? A watch? It could be almost anything. She opened her eyes with a sigh, steeling herself to read the map once again.
“You really like libraries, don’t you?”
Sophia was on her feet in an instant, scanning the room. “Who’s there?” she whispered.
Someone moved in the shadows near the door. She heard a low chuckle, and then time came to a sudden halt as the figure stepped into the yellow light of the table lamp.
It was Theo.
26
Of Both Marks
1891, June 29: # hour
Weirwind: A weather phenomenon common in the northern Baldlands. Thought to have originated after the Great Disruption, the weirwind is the subject of numerous legends. Some maintain that the weirwinds “speak.” Scientific observers have found no evidence of this; they describe solid walls formed by continuous winds of varying strengths. The strongest weirwind on record was five miles wide and covered four hundred miles in ten days.
—Veressa Metl’s Glossary of Baldlandian Terms
SOPHIA STARED AT Theo, her heart pounding; but no matter how hard she looked at him, it was not enough. Only a day had passed, yet it seemed much longer. He still wore Shadrack’s clothes—rumpled and a bit dusty—and the scuffed boots he had taken from the shoemaker in Boston. His expression was untroubled, his smile as impudent as always. “What are you doing here?” she whispered.