The Golden Specific (9 page)

Sophia stood at the door, astonished. “All right,” she finally said.

In her own room, she took out her notebook, struggling with what she knew was an unreasonable sense of injury. Theo had been frightened by something, and she understood the impulse to shut himself away. But she did wish he could have taken comfort in her company.

For a time she wrote and drew, filling a page with the news of the evening: an account of the beaded map; a drawing of Bligh; and Broadgirdle, hulking and full of menace. When she heard Shadrack's footstep on the stairs, she looked at her watch and found that it was already two-hour.

“You are still awake?” Shadrack asked, standing in her doorway.

“I was waiting for you,” she replied.

He stayed in the doorway. “Sorry to keep you up so long.”

“What happened?”

Sophia watched Shadrack's tired face contract slightly. “Broadgirdle had some ludicrous proposal about dissolving the treaties, just as Cyril said.” He looked at the notebook before her. “Writing your thoughts for the day?”

“But what did the prime minister mean by ‘leverage'?” Sophia asked, ignoring his question.

Shadrack ran a hand through his hair. “Broadgirdle has a nasty habit of using information about people to threaten them. If he found out I wasn't really a cartologer, but that all my maps were drawn by you and Mrs. Clay, I would do anything he asked for him to keep my secret.”

Sophia didn't smile at the feeble joke. “Did he threaten you?”

“No, no. He didn't threaten me. He's an unsavory character, and I have no wish to lock horns with him. But he was on good behavior tonight.” He smiled. “Truly. I would tell you if there were reason to worry.”

“Would you?”

“Of course.” Shadrack smiled reassuringly, but there was nothing reassuring about the emptiness of his smile, or the worry in his eyes.

 8 

Index A.D. 82: Volume 27

A
SLIGHT
SOUND
woke Sophia the next morning. She opened her eyes a crack. All the familiar occupants of her bedroom rested quietly in the gray light of early dawn: the neatly ordered desk, the painting of Salem above it, the rows of books, the wooden desk chair piled with pillows, and the folded clothes over the back of the chair. But there was one unexpected occupant—a figure standing by the window.

“Shadrack?” she mumbled. The figure turned. Sophia opened her eyes and saw a familiar shape in a long traveling dress. Her
voice, low in timbre and just above a whisper, seemed to fill the room: “
Take the offered sail.”
Then her face came into focus. It was Minna.

Sophia sat up abruptly. “What?” she whispered.

Minna smiled slightly. In the dawn light, the peculiar texture of her dress and skin were more clearly visible: she seemed made of crumpled paper, translucent but tangible. Sophia could just see the contours of the desk behind her.
“Take the offered sail.”

“What do you mean, the offered sail?” Sophia rose, ready to take a step closer—

The figure was gone.

Sophia stood staring, eyes wide and heart pounding, at the place where her mother had been. Then she sat back down slowly. As before, the sight of Minna made her overjoyed and anxious at the same time. What did it mean? What sail? Sophia felt a flash of frustration at the riddle, and then she reminded herself that whether or not she understood the words, Minna's appearance was a sign—a sign from the Fates.

I have to find what I'm looking for at the Nihilismian Archive,
she said to herself.
Today.
She hurriedly pulled on the clothes from her chair—a cotton skirt with side pockets, a linen shirt with horn buttons, gray socks, and her worn brown boots—and thrust her lifewatch and the spool of silver thread into her skirt pocket.

As she brushed and then braided her hair, glancing at herself in the small oval mirror hanging inside her wardrobe, a
door opened and closed downstairs: Shadrack was already leaving for the ministry. Sophia quickly packed her satchel and descended to the kitchen, casting a glance at Theo's closed door on the way. She ate breakfast alone in the silent house.

The beaded map lay on the kitchen table where Shadrack had left it the night before. She unrolled the square of linen and eyed it thoughtfully, remembering the sense of delight she had felt when they all began reading it together. It had been short-lived.

The unexpected sound of a door opening on the second floor interrupted her thoughts. A moment later, Theo padded down the stairs and joined her at the table, reaching comfortably across it for the bread and butter. She studied him. The fear she had seen in his face the day before had vanished. He was once again the unflappable Theo she knew so well.

He smiled. “Morning.”

Sophia stared. “That's
it
?” she asked indignantly.

He gave her a look of wide-eyed innocence. “What?”

“You wouldn't even open your door last night. Are you going to tell me why?”

Theo shrugged, buttering his bread liberally.

“Is he a raider?”

“Yeah,” he replied, noncommittally.

“I guess what you said before about not lying to me isn't true anymore,” she murmured.

Theo put the bread down. “I'm sorry.” His voice was sober and serious. “I just can't talk about it. I have to figure some things out first.”

Sophia leaned back in her chair. She reminded herself that the previous summer, she had so often doubted Theo; she had pressed him for answers, and he had kept his silence for good reason. For a moment the sight of his scarred hand, cut again by the guard of Nochtland, flashed before her. “All right. I won't ask more. But just the same,” she added, “when you're ready to talk about who he is, I'd like to know.”

He grinned, giving her a snap of the fingers that ended in a gesture like a pointed gun. “You'll be the first to hear.” He nodded at the map, changing the subject. “Made any progress?”

“No—I haven't started reading it yet.”

“We can do it today, if you want. Head over to see Miles and read it there.”

Sophia looked down at the table. “I have to go to the archive.”

Theo chewed thoughtfully. “Okay. When are you getting back?”

“Not until the end of the day.”

“I guess I'll head over to see Miles on my own, then,” Theo said, reaching for another piece of bread.

“To ask him about the Eerie?” At his obvious confusion, she added, “You must have left before he started talking about it.” She recounted the overheard conversation and the worried comments about someone named Goldenrod who might not make it through the summer. “Did you know Miles was looking for the Eerie?”

“He didn't say a thing about it. Deceitful old codger. Keeping things from me.” Theo didn't seem particularly bothered.

Sophia took the spool of silver thread from her pocket and
worried the top of it, running her thumb over the wood. “You're not the only one. Shadrack didn't mention it to me, either. Maybe that was the whole reason for the trip—nothing to do with my parents or Ausentinia. Just to look for the Eerie.”

“I'm sure Shadrack had good reasons for not telling you.”

“And do you think he had good reason for pretending the conversation with Broadgirdle went well? Because he did.”

Theo finished buttering his second piece of bread. “I'm not totally surprised.”

Sophia frowned. “What does that mean?”

He chewed, avoiding Sophia's eyes. “Let's just say that peephole has been very informative.”

Sophia's frown deepened. “It's wrong to spy on Shadrack. We shouldn't have done it.” Then she realized more fully what Theo meant. “You mean he lies to us about other things?”

Theo looked uncomfortable. “I didn't say that. But you know he has an important job, with complicated things happening all the time. He probably
can't
tell you everything.”

Sophia rose from the kitchen table. “I have to go.”

“I didn't mean to upset you.”

She felt a wave of frustration. “Maybe not, but you did. And since we were spying, I can't just ask him outright about what I heard.”

“Well, I can ask Miles. I'll tell him I overheard it all and I'll get what I can out of him.”

Sophia shook her head. “That just means more lying.”

“Let me handle it,” Theo said earnestly. “I'll figure it out—
you'll see.” He stood up as Sophia left, but she did not turn back. “I'll let you know what I find out,” he called after her.

• • •

A
S
S
OPHIA
WALKED
to the trolley stop, she reflected on the hypocrisy of her comment to Theo—she had concealed the truth from Shadrack about the Nihilismian Archive, and she had outright lied at the archive about who she was. She felt a disconcerting sense of wrongness in her stomach and did not know what to do about it.
And now,
she thought, feeling even worse,
I'll find out if my lies have been discovered.

Insensible to the bright morning sun, the chattering of swallows, and the blooming lilacs, Sophia gazed blankly at the cobblestones until the trolley arrived. Then she paid her fare and boarded. She sat perfectly still, staring at her boots, until the trolley reached her stop.

Before she entered the Nihilismian Archive, Sophia paused for a moment at the base of the hill. The archive almost certainly held a vital clue: a way to find her parents, an answer to Minna's pleas, a route forward. But it might also be the end of a route. She had planned her way in carefully, but she had not planned a way out. If the attendant accused her of fraud, she had no recourse other than to run.

She opened the gates and slowly made her way up the drive. It was too early for the gardener, and almost all of the curtains were drawn. The great mansion seemed even quieter and more forbidding than usual. She checked her lifewatch and found that it was still twenty-seven minutes to the hour. As Sophia
stood in the circular gravel drive, attempting to quell her nervousness, she saw Remorse open the gates. The Nihilismian walked steadily up the path and joined Sophia. “You are here early,” she said.

“I just want to make the most of the day,” Sophia said.

“As do I.” Remorse took a key from her pocket. “This is my last day at the archive.”

Sophia looked at her in surprise. “I didn't realize you were going so soon.”

Remorse nodded, fitting the key in the lock. “My mission leaves tomorrow for the Papal States. I have a few things to conclude here before then.”

Sophia followed her into the cool foyer, realizing that by arriving early she had avoided the encounter with the bald attendant.
But he could receive the reply any time today,
she reminded herself.
And then I won't even be near the door so I can run.
She pushed these thoughts aside as they ascended to the second floor.

“I'm glad you're here early,” Remorse said, opening the door to room 45 and gesturing for Sophia to enter. “There's something I wanted to tell you about your search. Give me just a moment.”

Sophia stood by the doorway of the dark room while the young woman opened the drapes on the north side of the room and one by one lit all of the flame lamps, bringing the dark wooden shelves and polished worktables, the leather chairs and deep carpets gradually into view. Sophia went to her customary table, where the volumes of A.D. 82 were piled, and waited.

Brisk footsteps echoed in the hallway. Sophia looked with apprehension at the open doorway, fearing the attendant, but it was Whether Moreau, who said a brief good morning and settled himself at his desk without another word.

Remorse looked over at Sophia and shook her head.

As Remorse began pulling books from a shelf at the back of the room, Sophia sat down and tried to make sense of what had just occurred. Remorse wanted to tell her something, but not in front of Whether Moreau. What could it be? She thought back and realized that this morning had been one of only two occasions when Whether had not been there. And on the other occasion, an archive patron had been working nearby.

Suddenly the obvious struck her: Remorse was her ally at the archive. She had sent the Nihilismian pamphlet, and she knew what and who Sophia was looking for. How Remorse knew and why she wished to help were inexplicable, but it didn't seem to matter. She knew.

Sophia felt her pulse quicken. Her mind flew back over their brief conversations. They had talked about Nihilismian missions and Columbus and the falsity of feelings. What else? Remorse had commented on her reading:
It is not always most productive to read the volumes in order,
she had said.

That's it!
Sophia realized.
She brought this index for me to read, but she told me not to read it in order.
Which volume had been waiting for her on the second morning? She pushed her chair back and ran her finger over the books, trying to remember. Seventeen? No, she had already looked at seventeen.
Twenty-seven!

As she opened it, she glanced up and saw Remorse at
another table nearby. She had begun mending the books she had pulled from the shelf. Working with a curved needle and heavy thread, she punctured the folded sheets of paper in practiced loops, pulling and puncturing, pulling and puncturing. She flipped through the pages of the newly sewn bundles, making sure they were even and tight. Each finished set of pages went into a pile.