“Tell us what you saw, Theo,” Sophia urged.
“I was taking the road north, see, the one that lies west of Nochtland. I met up with some raiders there yesterday morning—ones I know from home. They said they’d seen birds migrating north. Which made no sense, because it’s not the right time for that. And the birds weren’t in flocks—they were just flying, thousands of them, all kinds, together.” Martin had been serving breakfast, but one by one they put down their forks and lost all interest in their food.
“A weirwind wouldn’t cause the birds to migrate north like that,” Veressa said slowly.
“That’s right. That’s what we said. And then we heard from one of the travelers on the road about the Lachrima.”
“What about the Lachrima?” Sophia asked. Only Martin continued steadily eating his eggs.
“He said there’s an Age, far to the south. An unknown Age, populated entirely by Lachrima.” Everyone other than Martin stared at Theo. “And now they’re marching north.”
After a long silence interrupted only by the sound of Martin chewing, Sophia spoke. “That doesn’t make sense. Veressa told us yesterday, Theo,” she said, “that the Lachrima were born along the edges of the Disruption. They are made by the border itself.”
“What are you getting at, Sophia?” asked Burr.
“The thing is,” she said, thinking aloud, “it seemed strange that no one knew about the Lachrima in New Occident. Of course they would be in the Baldlands, if they were made along the borders and borders were everywhere in the Triple Eras.” She paused. “But why would all these Lachrima suddenly appear?”
“I told you,” Theo said. “They live in this southern Age and they’ve decided to march north.”
“But that doesn’t seem right. Everything I’ve heard is that the Lachrima aren’t like that. They don’t move around together; they’re solitary—aren’t they?”
“That’s true,” Veressa agreed.
“What if—” Sophia thought of Veressa’s and Mrs. Clay’s stories, Shadrack’s note, the distant memory of reading maps in the hidden room of 34 East Ending. And then two images sprang into focus—the maps of the East Indies she had read on the day that Shadrack disappeared: one with the memories of a quiet convent; the other, drawn a decade later, showing nothing but a deadly stillness. “What if an Age south of here suddenly changed, and a new border appeared?” And then she said: “That’s where the Lachrima are coming from—the new border.”
Everyone except Martin looked at her in surprise.
“I see what you mean,” Veressa exclaimed. “If we agree that the Lachrima are ordinary people transformed by the sudden appearance of a new border, the appearance of such a border would make itself apparent by the sudden emergence of Lachrima. Yes, that could be it.”
There was silence at the table. Martin put down his knife and fork, drank the last of his coffee, and energetically cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, loudly. It was the first time he had spoken since they had all gathered in the kitchen. “I believe this is where I come in.” The group turned to looked at him. “Young Theo is right. We should leave the palace—and the city. And, you, my dear,” he said to Sophia, “are also right.” He pushed his chair back and slapped the table dramatically. “And I have a piece of proof to offer each of you.” He removed two small glass containers from his pockets. They both appeared to hold soil. “I finally looked up the coordinates for the island, Burton,” he said, “and I realized why it seemed odd when you first gave me the sample. This,” he said, holding up the glass container in his right hand, “is a sample of remarkable manmade soil that Burr brought me yesterday. It was collected on a very small island some fifty miles off the eastern coast of Late Patagonia. This,” he said, holding up the other container, “is a sample of twenty-first age soil that he brought me nearly a year ago. What I did not realize until late last night is that these samples are taken from the same island.”
It took a moment for them to grasp the significance. “You mean the soil on the island changed,” Sophia said. She knew then, without any doubt, that she was right; the maps of the Indies had shown two different Ages.
Veressa gasped. “Good heavens, Father—not only are there new borders, but the borders are moving!”
The table erupted with questions. “Yes,” Martin said over the din, “we don’t know how or why or to what effect, but the borders are indeed moving. I had thought it might be an isolated incident, but what Theo says makes it appear far more likely that the shift is a continental one, and that the change is occurring across the entire length of Late Patagonia. If the circumstances were different”—again, he raised his voice to silence the exclamations—“I would not recommend leaving Nochtland. After all, our best resources for understanding this mystery are here, in my laboratory and,” he said to Veressa, “your library. But I am afraid my second bit of proof somewhat changes the possibilities.”
To Veressa’s obvious confusion, her father gave her an apologetic look and covered her hand with his own. “I am sorry, my dear.” Then, to everyone’s complete astonishment, he began to roll up his pant legs. “You see,” he said, speaking with effort as he bent over, “after my extraordinary experiment yesterday with the morning glory seeds, which Burr and Sophia were fortunate enough to witness, I found myself wondering about the potential of this curious manmade soil.” He had rolled up his right pants leg to his knee, and everyone in the kitchen could clearly see the barklike texture of his uninjured leg. “Late last night I had a sudden inspiration,” Martin went on, his voice somewhat muffled as began to roll up his left pants leg. “I thought to myself, if it has such immediate and surprising results with a seed, what would it do to a cutting? Or, in this case, a stump?” He straightened up, rather winded by his efforts.
From the knee down, his left leg was solid silver.
“Father!” Veressa exclaimed, running to him. “What have you done?”
“Unbelievable!” Burr said under his breath.
Sophia tentatively reached out, touching the cold silver of his shin.
“And yes,” Martin said ruefully, “I’m afraid it is very real and very permanent. As Sophia and Burr observed, the morning glory threw silver roots. I was not sure whether the stump would grow as a branch or a root, and here we have the answer. It seems I now have one leg with the Mark of the Vine, and one leg with the Mark of Iron.” He shook his head and stared down at them. “And I consequently doubt very much whether it is wise for me to stay in the palace.”
Veressa sprang to her feet. “No—we must leave as soon as possible.” Her voice was calm but quite firm. “You’ll stay here and pack our things, while I tell Justa that she must evacuate the city. Then, when I return, we’ll leave together.”
“We shouldn’t go by land,” Calixta put in. “The Swan will be much quicker.”
“I agree,” Burr added. “We can sail immediately—it will take us two days to return to Veracruz. All of you are entirely welcome to come with us.” He turned to look at Sophia, whose eyes were downcast. “Sophia?”
Sophia folded her hands around the straps of her pack, which at the moment felt indescribably heavy. It seemed the wrong thing to do; she had not expected to leave so soon. Her mind whirled over all that she had learned since arriving in Nochtland. These discoveries were significant, and there was something important to be done. They could not leave—not now. And yet there seemed to be no other choice. “Thank you. I’ll go back to the Swan, too.”