They came to an abrupt halt. Panting heavily, almost unable to hear anything over their own breathing, they strained their ears and waited for any guards who might have followed. “They’re not behind us,” Theo said, gasping. They searched the alley for a place to hide. As they neared the canal, Sophia saw a stone ledge below one of the bridges. They slid down the steep embankment and crawled with relief onto the damp shelf. Backs to the wall, well hidden from the street above, they sat recovering in the shade.
“Show me your hand,” Sophia demanded.
Theo, still catching his breath, placed his right hand palm-up on Sophia’s knee. Sophia felt her throat constrict when she saw the raw, bleeding gash. And then, as she had guessed—too late, the moment they stood pinned to the palace walls—she saw the hard metallic glint inside the wound. The iron bones of Theo’s hand had stopped the spear.
She understood now why he had tried so hard to stay out of Nochtland, and she understood what a risk he had taken by entering it. Ripping savagely at the seams, she tore off the long sleeves of her cotton shirt, dipped one of them in the canal water, and wiped the blood from the wound. With the other sleeve she bound his hand, tucking the end in over his knuckles. Theo did not complain or resist. He sat with his head against the wall of the bridge and his eyes closed. “It’ll close up quickly,” he said tiredly. “It always does.”
Sophia sat back. She felt tears on her cheeks, and she wiped them roughly away. “I’m sorry I didn’t agree to meet you outside the gates this morning,” she said, swallowing hard. “I should have trusted you.” She wanted to put her arms around him so he would know how sorry she was, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Theo smiled, his eyes still closed. “Don’t be. No reason to believe a liar.” Sophia could not tell if he was joking or not. She held his bandaged hand loosely in her own and sat silently, watching the sparkling water of the canal grow dark as it glided silently under the bridge.
—8-Hour 42: Under the Nochtland Bridge—
THE MORNING PASSED, the traffic overhead on the bridge growing louder. Once her immediate exhaustion passed, Sophia began to feel restless and uncomfortable on the stony ledge below. They could not leave the city without knowing what had happened to Veressa, Martin, and the pirates. Perhaps, Sophia thought, they could ride to Veracruz to enlist the help of the Swan’s crew, but the trip there and back would take four days. At that rate, the Lachrima might already be upon them. She checked the time; it was nearly nine by the New Occident clock.
Theo opened his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “We should get going.”
“We can’t leave without them. For all we know, they’re being tried and sentenced for treason.”
“I knew you would say that. Ordinarily, I’d argue with you. But we need them if we’re going to sail out on the Swan. And,” he added with a smile, when Sophia grimaced at his selfish logic, “I think we can actually help them.”
Sophia had to smile back. “Of course we can,” she said, though she sounded more confident than she felt. For a moment, she listened to the water chuckle quietly as it passed under the bridge. “Do you think Justa will evacuate the city?”
“No way. Even if Veressa gets the chance to tell her, Justa won’t believe her. They’ll probably think it’s all part of the great conspiracy by the Mark of Iron. Think about it. Martin’s got a silver leg. Burr pulled out his sword and pistol. And there’s nothing to prove what I told them about the Lachrima. They’re probably all sitting in a dungeon somewhere right now.”
“The city will still think it’s just a weirwind moving north.”
“Yeah, and they’ll be waiting for the wind chimes to announce it.” Theo gave a derisive snort.
“So if they don’t evacuate the city,” Sophia thought aloud, “they will still have the eclipse party tomorrow. Martin said it lasts all night. People come from everywhere to attend it.” She paused. “All kinds of people.”
Theo eyed her thoughtfully. “I see what you’re thinking. We could sneak in and they might not notice us.” He nodded. “Good idea. But we’ll need costumes.”
“And we need somewhere to stay until then. Maybe we can stay with Mazapán.” Sophia paused. “Unless the guards think to go there.”
“They will.” Theo flexed the fingers of his injured hand experimentally as he stared out onto the canal. “Do you know where his store is?”
Sophia shook his head. “He described it to me, but he didn’t say where it was. We can ask.”
They left the safety of the bridge with reluctance, climbing the embankment onto the sunny street filled with pedestrians and horse-drawn carts and boldevelas. Keeping an eye out for guards, they walked toward the city center. Theo asked an old woman selling violets if she knew the store of the chocolate vendor known as Mazapán, and she directed them without hesitation toward a narrow alley a few blocks away. When she saw it, Sophia recognized the awnings and storefront Mazapán had described.
But they were too late. The store was surrounded by guards in long capes and fierce feathered masks. Beside her, Theo drew in his breath. “They’re already here,” he whispered, surprised.
“But Mazapán didn’t do anything!”
“They must have arrested Burr and Calixta. Mazapán brought them to Nochtland. They’ll have questions for him,” Theo said grimly.
“Poor Mazapán.” She shook her head and backed into the alley. “We’ll have to go somewhere else.”
28
Sailing South
1891, June 28: Shadrack Missing (Day 8)
And when it hears your beating heart,
The Lachrima will take apart
Your very peace, your every dream
With its intolerable scream.
—Nochtland nursery rhyme, second verse
THE SMALL CABIN where Shadrack had already spent one day and one night was in many respects similar to a ship’s cabin. Two narrow bunk beds were wedged into the walls, across from a round porthole that looked out onto the road as the boldevela sailed along. But unlike a ship, the boldevela took its shape from the massive tree at its center. The cabins were built among the roots, and behind their walls lay the packed dirt that sustained the tree’s growth. The rooms smelled of earth, and the occasional root had wormed through the walls. Shadrack could see little else, as the Nihilismians had bound him hand and foot and tossed him onto the upper bunk. At certain moments, as the boldevela met with forceful winds, it took all his strength not to roll off.
The time would have passed with crushing slowness under ordinary circumstances, but for Shadrack it was made worse by his state of mind. Escape now seemed impossible. He had hoped to gain Weeping’s trust—perhaps even his assistance. Instead, he had cost Weeping his mind and lost his best possible ally. He was on his own, unable to free himself, in some corner of a ship sailing overland south at incredible speed, and utterly unable to save himself—let alone Sophia.
The Southern Snows were moving north, destroying everything in their path. He strained against the ropes in frustration. For all he knew, the snows had already reached Nochtland. The glaciers would arrive, and the city would vanish, leaving nothing but the footprint of its lakes and canals. Sophia would be gone forever. He lay still for a moment; it would only make him more useless if he assumed the worst. He had to believe there was still time, and he had to find an opportunity for escape.