20

At the Gates

1891, June 26: 10-Hour #

Welcome to Ensueño Inn. Please stable horses and anchor arboldevelas after checking in. Please do not bring your horses into the courtyard. Our floors will thank you!

Sign at the inn’s entrance

NORMALLY, MAZAPÁN RELIED on hired guards for protection on the route between the Veracruz market and Nochtland, where he had his chocolate store. His wagon bore the royal seal—a leaf encircled by its stem—which attracted highway bandits. But on this trip, Calixta and Burr could offer more expert protection. Burr hired horses for Calixta, Theo, and himself. Sophia, who had never ridden, sat in the cart with Mazapán.

She had been hoping for a chance to speak with Theo. The last of her anger had faded as they walked back through the market, his scarred hand in hers, and it had given way to a compounded sense of anxiety. For one thing, they were back on land and once again easy targets for Montaigne and his men. And now they had Theo’s dangerous raider to worry about as well.

She couldn’t help it; staying angry with him was impossible. She wanted to know who the raider was, and why he was chasing Theo, and whether he was likely to return accompanied by more like him. It was obvious to her, now, that Theo had been telling her the truth about his past—but he had told her too little of it. What she most wanted now was to sit down and hear everything, from beginning to end. But he rode separately, sometimes ahead and sometimes behind, and apart from asking an occasional question about the route, he seemed utterly uninterested in the journey.

Instead, the story she heard was Mazapán’s. He told her about his store in Nochtland and the winding street that led to it and the delicious pottery he made in the large, sun-filled kitchen. He spoke with the accent of the southern Baldlands, like Mrs. Clay. His clothes—thin leather boots, white cotton pants, and a shirt embroidered with vines—while apparently commonplace in the Baldlands, would have stood out in Boston. His sizable belly, wavy brown hair, and large mustache all seemed to shuffle back and forth when he laughed. Sophia was only half listening and kept turning around to see if anyone was following them. Only when Mazapán handed her the reins and said, “All right, concentrate now—keep them at a steady pace,” did she realize that the kindly chocolate vendor was doing his best to distract her. She felt suddenly grateful and a little ashamed. “Why do they call you Mazapán?” she asked. “Is that your whole name?”

He smiled. “Actually, my name is Olaf Rud. But no one here can pronounce it. You see, my grandfather was an adventurer from the Kingdom of Denmark—a place that today lies in the far north of the Closed Empire. He was traveling here when the Disruption occurred. It became obvious afterward that he could not return; everyone he had known and loved had disappeared.”

Sophia nodded, intrigued. She had read about such stranded travelers—exiles who lost their home Ages—but each case was different and uniquely interesting. “So he stayed.”

“So he stayed. And with him, his unusual name, which no one can pronounce. Everyone calls me Mazapán. It is the Spanish word for marzipan, and Spanish is one of the many languages still spoken in the Triple Eras. In the past I was known for making marzipan candy”

“Why in the past? Don’t you make marzipan anymore?”

His mustache drooped. “Ah, that’s not such a happy story.”

“I don’t mind,” Sophia said. “If you don’t mind telling it.”

Mazapán shook his head. “No, I am past minding. I’ll tell you, though I am afraid it will not give you the most pleasant impression of Nochtland. Still—I am sure you will discover its charms.

“You see, I learned to make marzipan with my teacher—a master chef who could have turned his talents to anything, but decided he liked candy best. From him I also learned to make chocolate and spun sugar and meringues—all manner of confection. Well, my teacher was not young when I began learning from him, and he passed away just a year after I opened my own shop. Much of his business passed to me, and I did what I could to match his high standards. I was fortunate to attract the attentions of the court, and I began serving banquets for the royal family—in the palace of Emperor Sebastian Canuto.”

Sophia was astonished. “Banquets of candy?”

“Oh, yes—nothing else. I suppose I could cook some beans if my life depended on it, but I have to rely on my wife for everything of substance. I am not much good at anything other than candy. The banquets were quite complete in their details, if I do say so myself. Everything on the table—the tablecloth, the plates, the food, the flowers—was made of candy. The plates were made of chocolate, like those you saw, but the food and flowers were usually made of spun sugar and marzipan. The pleasure people derived from the banquets was in how the candy was disguised. It all looked like real food, real flowers, real dishes. And it is one of humankind’s simplest and most eternal pleasures to be knowingly deceived by appearances. I, too, enjoyed the banquets; I created more and more fantastic feasts with more elaborate and detailed dishes.

“Unfortunately, someone used my displays of innocent deception for a less innocent purpose. For Princess Justa’s sixth birthday, the banquet was more resplendent than any I’d served the royals before. All the members of the court were there; the emperor and his wife and daughter were at the head of the table. I had made marzipan orchids for decoration, because the empress’s favorite flower was the orchid. You have heard of the Mark of the Vine?”

“A little. I don’t really understand it.”

Mazapán shook his head. “To my mind, it is simply one more of the infinite differences that distinguish us from each other. My hair is brown; your hair is fair; Theo’s is black. Simply different. In the Baldlands, there are some who take great pride in having a particular shade of hair or skin. I find it rather ridiculous. But to continue—the empress had the Mark of the Vine. Her hair was not hair like yours or mine; it consisted of orchid roots.”

Sophia wrinkled her nose. “Orchid roots?”

“To you, no doubt it sounds strange. The entire court considered it the height of beauty. They were thin, white strands, the orchid roots, which she wove and bound into towering designs. Naturally, it gave her a love and affinity for the orchid flower. Her daughter Justa inherited this trait.”

“She has roots on her head, too?”

“No, Justa’s hair also bears the Mark, but it takes the form of a grass—long and green. I have not seen her since she was a child, but I am told it is very beautiful.”

Sophia diplomatically said nothing to contradict him.

“I had created marzipan orchids particularly for the empress, and there were vases all along the table. As the banquet began, the guests sampled the food, the flowers, the utensils, and even the plates. At one point—I was watching from the side of the room, naturally, to ensure everything went smoothly—the empress took up a marzipan orchid and ate it. I knew she would; there were banquets when she ate nothing but the flowers! She had another, and another. And then—suddenly—I knew something terrible had happened. The empress’s face was horrible to see. She clutched her throat and then her stomach. She crashed forward onto the table, her fabulous hair cascading onto the plates. Immediately, the entire room was on its feet. A doctor came at once, but it was too late; the empress was dead. She had been killed by a very rare poisonous orchid that someone had placed among the marzipan orchids.”

Sophia gasped. “Did they accuse you?”

Mazapán shook his head. “Fortunately, no. I was questioned, of course, but they soon realized I had nothing to gain from the empress’s death.”

“How terrible,” she said sympathetically.

“Indeed. Though they did not blame me, the emperor never wanted another such banquet, naturally enough. And I, for my part, though I knew I had not been to blame, could not help feeling some responsibility. Had I not created the marzipan orchids, no one would have been able to plant the poisonous orchids among them.”

“But that’s ridiculous!” Sophia exclaimed. “They just took advantage of how real the banquet looked.”

“Yes.” Mazapán shook his head. “But why invite such danger? I gave up the marzipan and the spun sugar and the meringue. I stayed with the chocolate dishes and utensils, because they, at least, cannot be used for ill. The worst that can come from biting into a plate or cup substituted for one of mine is a broken tooth!” He laughed.

“I suppose you’re right.” After a moment, she added, “Princess Justa must have been heartbroken to lose her mother.”

“No doubt she was,” Mazapán said, but his tone was uncertain. “As I said, I haven’t seen her since her sixth birthday, but she was a strange child. She was—how to say it?—cold. I could not tell whether she was truly emotionless or simply very shy, but she seemed so devoid of the usual charm of children that I confess I never warmed to her. If what I hear is true, she has become a quiet, withdrawn woman.” He paused, lost in thought for a moment. “We’ll be changing horses soon,” he resumed. “There’s a place up the road.”

The land they were passing through was flat, the vegetation cut away from the road to prevent thieves from hiding and ambushing travelers. They passed a few peddlers with wooden cases on their backs and a pair of riders.

Sophia had noticed that the wind chimes, so prevalent in the Veracruz market, also hung at regular intervals on posts at the side of the road. Their constant ringing had become familiar—almost comforting. “Are those to mark another path?” she asked now.

“Ah—no,” Mazapán said, following her gaze. “Those are warning chimes. They warn travelers of a weirwind. Do you have those in the north?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Weirwinds can be long or short, wide or narrow, but they are all deadly. Powerful walls of pure wind that draw you in with a force of a cyclone.”

“Like tornadoes.”

“Yes, very similar; like a wall of tornadoes. For weeks now, they have forecast the approach of a weirwind from the south. The chimes will announce its arrival so that people on the road and in the cities can take cover underground. Ah—here we are.”

They had a quick meal at the inn, which to Sophia’s relief was all but deserted. While Burr and Theo changed the horses, Sophia stood with Calixta and Mazapán by the cart, keeping an anxious watch on the empty road.

A strange shape appeared on the horizon, moving toward them at a tremendous speed. She was about to call Calixta, but then she saw what it was and her jaw dropped in disbelief.

It appeared to be a sailing tree—a slim wooden vessel twice as high as Mazapán’s cart, propelled by broad green sails. Enormous leaves grew from the base of the mast and were tied at its tip, cupping the wind. The spherical wheels, woven like baskets from a light wood, were painted gold. The ship seemed to float, gliding effortlessly on its tall wheels. A girl not much older than Sophia leaned lazily over the railing at the stern.

Sophia watched, enthralled, until it was no more than a speck. “Mazapán, what was that?”

“Ah! You’ve never seen an arboldevela.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Boldevela for short. It’s a vessel with living sails and a wooden hull.”

“Do you have one?” she asked eagerly.

He laughed. “They’re rather expensive for ordinary people. But they’re not uncommon. You’ll see more of them in Nochtland on the roads and in the canals.”

They changed horses twice more before stopping for the night at the halfway point between Veracruz and Nochtland. Sophia had been dozing off for the last several miles, resting her head against Mazapán’s arm. As the horses slowed, she opened her eyes and fumbled for her watch. It was one by the Baldlands clock and past two by the clock of New Occident.

“The innkeeper here saves a room for me,” Mazapán told her. “If we’re lucky, there will be another one empty. We’ll be tucked away and sleeping in no time.”

After stabling the horses, they made their way up the tiled walkway to the main building. The royal seal beside the door and an imposing portrait of the royal family in the foyer announced that the inn was a licensed lodging house. Mazapán lit a candle from the stack left conveniently on the foyer table and led them down the open corridor of the inn’s inner courtyard. Sophia and Calixta took one of the rooms that stood open and Burr, Mazapán, and Theo took another. As she stumbled sleepily out of her clothes, Sophia realized she hadn’t had a chance to speak with Theo all day. She shivered. The room felt cavernous, with its bare stucco walls and high, beamed ceilings, and the sheets were stiff from having hung to dry in the sun; but Sophia hardly noticed. She dropped into her narrow bed and fell instantly asleep.

—June 27, 3-hour: At the Inn—

SOPHIA AWOKE IN the dark, her heart pounding. The nightmare she’d been having still filled the edges of her mind like a fog. She could hear the weeping: the piercing cry of the Lachrima that in her dream grew louder and louder until it obliterated all other sound.

The inn was quiet; the delicate ringing of chimes, swinging gently in the night breeze, was all she could hear. She reached for her watch, and her fingers trembled as she opened the familiar brass disc to read the time, but the room was too dark to see it.

Sophia dressed and pulled on her pack. With a glance toward Calixta—a white shape under the sheets of the other bed—she opened the door and stepped out into the cool night air.

Padding along the tiled corridor of the inn’s courtyard, Sophia felt the nightmare dissipating. Night jasmine wound up along the beams, filling the air with intoxicating sweetness. Her watch, by the light of the night sky, read just after three-hour. She walked toward the courtyard’s entrance, toward the stables. The chimes hanging from the beams of the open corridors tinkled softly as she passed under them.

A rock garden with cacti and wooden benches divided the guest rooms from the stables. She stopped, surprised, at the sight of someone sitting alone in the moonlight. It was Theo. He had turned at the sound of her approach and slid over to make room on the bench. “Can’t sleep either?” he asked.

Sophia shook her head. “I was having a nightmare. What about you?”

“Yeah, can’t sleep.”

She studied him. His scuffed boots were untied. He looked out intently into the darkness as if waiting for something to emerge from it. “Are you worried about the raider?”

“Not so much.”

Sophia hesitated. She wanted to know more, but she didn’t want to hear another set of lies. She took in his thoughtful expression and decided to risk it. “Why was he chasing you?”

Theo shrugged, as if to say that the story was hardly worth telling. “His name is Jude. He usually stays pretty far north—near New Orleans. Remember I told you about the girl who kind of raised me, Sue? She was about ten years older than me, and she got to be really good at raiding—one of the best. She joined Jude’s gang a while back. I found out a couple years ago she’d been killed in a raid because Jude sent her in by herself and warned the people she was coming. He set a trap for her.”

“That’s awful,” Sophia said.

“He doesn’t like anyone being better than him. Smarter than him. Well, I knew it was just a matter of time before Jude wandered over to the New Occident side. In the Baldlands there’s no law to speak of and the raiders do whatever they like, but in New Occident . . . New Orleans has the biggest prison I’ve ever seen. I just made it my business to tell the law that Jude had blown up all the railroad lines they’d been building into the Baldlands.” He smiled with satisfaction. “Next I’d heard, they’d put him in prison for eighteen months.”

“Was it true?”

“Sure. Raiders don’t like the idea of having tracks into the Baldlands, because then there will just be more people and more towns and more law.”

Sophia examined him critically for a moment. “So you didn’t do anything wrong,” she finally said.

“I don’t care if what I did is wrong or not. I got back at him, didn’t I? He got Sue killed—he deserved it.”

“And you’re not worried he’ll follow you?”

Theo shrugged again. “Doubt he will.” He winked and snapped his fingers into a pistol. “Besides, Jude’s nothing compared to the guys hunting you.”

Sophia’s heart sped up again. “I hope they don’t know where we are.”

“Haven’t seen hide nor hair of them yet.”

“I think I might have figured out why they want the map, though.”

Theo looked at her with interest. “Why?”

“Well, you know how I told you the Nihilismians think our world isn’t real?”

“Yeah.”

“Shadrack told me once that they believe in a legend about a map called the carta mayor: a map of great size and power that contains the whole world. The Nihilismians think it shows the true world—the world that was destroyed by the Great Disruption—not just our world. But no one knows where it is.”

“And the glass you have might find it—the carta mayor.”

“Yes. If it’s something that doesn’t look like a typical map”—she remembered the onions at the market—“the glass would make it visible. But I have no idea what the carta mayor is supposed to look like or where it is. Shadrack made it sound like it wasn’t actually real.”

“But these guys think it is.”

“Clearly.”

“You know,” Theo said thoughtfully, “your uncle did go to a lot of trouble to keep them from finding it—the glass. Maybe he thinks the carta mayor is real.”

“I thought about that. But the glass map could just be valuable on its own. I mean, it could be useful for all kinds of things. Not just what the Nihilismians want it for.”

“That’s true, I guess.”

Sophia was silent for a moment. “Hopefully Veressa will know.”

Theo kicked off his boots and pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his socked feet on the bench. “Have you thought about how to find her?”

“Once we get to Nochtland, I’ll ask where the academy is. The one they studied at. I’m sure they keep track of everyone who went there. I think that’s the first step.”

“Yeah. And then she’ll know where Shadrack is for sure.”

She wished she could be as certain as he was. “I hope so. I really don’t know.” She paused. “Maybe we should have followed the Sandmen off the train when we had the chance. They could have led us to Shadrack.”

“No way; we did the right thing. Look, you’re doing what he said to do. Mazapán will know the academy. Calixta might even have heard about it—have you asked her?” Sophia shook her head. “Then you’ll find Veressa. And she’ll know what to do.”

Sophia didn’t answer, but sat quietly, listening to the chimes. “I like the pirates,” she said eventually. “We were lucky to meet them.”

Theo grinned. “Yeah. They’re solid. You can count on them.”

“I was lucky to meet you, too.” She watched him as she said it.

Theo’s smile flickered like a sputtering candle, but then his grin returned, easy and calm in the moonlight, and Sophia thought she must have imagined it. “They don’t call me Lucky Theo for nothing.”

—8 Hour 30: On the Road to Nochtland—

A STEADY RAIN had begun to fall, and Mazapán kept stopping to check that the flap over the cart was secure. “I’m sorry, Sophia,” he said more than once. “But if the dishes are wet, I’ll get an earful at home.”

“It’s okay,” Sophia said, curling up as tightly as possible under the cart’s narrow awning. She longed for the spare clothes that were in her abandoned trunk, probably stowed in a train depot somewhere along the Gulf line.

Calixta and Burr rode side by side under broad, colorful umbrellas, engrossed in conversation. Theo trailed behind the cart, seemingly unwilling even to ride with the others. When she did see him, he stared sullenly at his reins and refused to meet her eyes. He reminds me of me, Sophia thought, when I’m moping. She was baffled. When they’d parted, close to four-hour, Theo had seemed to be in good spirits.

It was some time past sixteen-hour on Sophia’s watch when she saw something on the road ahead of them. At first she thought it was only a group of travelers, but as they approached she realized that it was many travelers—hundreds of travelers—all stalled on the road. They had reached the outer limits of Nochtland. She could just barely make out the high profile of the city walls through the heavy rain and the falling darkness.

“They check everyone who comes in through the gates,” Mazapán explained with a sigh. “I’m afraid we’ll be here for hours. I’d forgotten the eclipse festivities are taking place in a few nights. Everyone from miles around has come to see them. They occur so rarely, and the astronomers say this will be the first total lunar eclipse since the Great Disruption.”

Sophia was too tired to engage him in conversation. She could see the sails of a boldevela far ahead of them in the long line. Calixta and Burr slowed their pace to ride alongside the cart, and Theo rode up briefly. “I’m going to see how long the line is,” he called out. Before anyone could say anything, he had spurred his horse and taken off. Within seconds, he was swallowed up by the darkness.

“Why is he checking the line?” she asked Mazapán uneasily.

“Who knows? Long is long. We’ll be here at least until nine-hour. Twenty-hour, for you,” he added, with a smile. “What a relief that my day is eleven hours shorter. I won’t have as long to wait.”

Sophia knew he was trying to distract her. “That’s not how it works,” she said with a faint smile, staring into the rain. Ahead of them were a large party of traders traveling on foot. They shuffled along slowly, hunched under their cloaks. As the line inched forward, Sophia saw Theo returning. He rode up to her side of the cart, and she realized that his expression had grown even more strained. He was pale, his eyes tense with anxiety. “What is it?” she asked immediately, thinking of the raider from the market. “Did you see someone in the line?”

Theo leaned toward her. “I said I’d see you safely to Nochtland, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” Sophia said, even more uneasy now.

“Well, we’re here,” he said, his voice hard. “You kept your word, and I kept mine.” He leaned in farther, pulled her face toward his, and gave her a rough, awkward kiss on the cheek. “’Bye, Sophia.” He turned the horse away and galloped off in the opposite direction, back toward Veracruz.

Sophia stood up. “Theo!” she shouted. “Where are you going?” For a moment it seemed to her that he turned to look over his shoulder, and then he was gone.

“Let him go, Sophia,” Mazapán called up to her. He eased her back onto the seat. “I’m sorry, child, but you’re getting soaked. Take this cloak and try to keep warm.” He put his arm around her. “He rode away,” Mazapán shouted over the rain, by way of explanation, to Burr and Calixta, who were trying to ask what had happened. “No, he didn’t say why—he just rode away,” he repeated.

“Just like that,” Sophia said emptily.