S. Grove: The Glass Sentence

“Good to see you, Sophia.” The warmth of the house and the exertion of the argument had made his cheeks pink.

“Mrs. Clay says you got a letter from Veressa,” Sophia said to Shadrack.

“I did.” He turned away from the table and flung himself into an armchair. “And Miles refuses to believe any portion of it.”

“That’s not what I said,” Miles growled.

“Have they mapped more of the glacier?” Sophia asked again.

“For the most part,” Shadrack sighed, “she wrote with news of the new mapmaking academy. They enrolled nearly a hundred students at the start of the year.”

“A hundred!” Sophia repeated.

“They have the run of the palace. Best use it’s ever been put to, I imagine. They have not mapped more of the glacier, although they have made short expeditions—collecting expeditions. Martin continues to work on the theory that their manmade soil became too toxic for the Glacine Age to survive. He has tested the water of the glacier repeatedly and been unable to pinpoint the source of its toxicity, which is why Miles here rejects the theory out of hand. I pointed out,” Shadrack said, rising from his chair, “that just because Martin cannot prove how it is toxic does not mean it isn’t.”

Miles rolled his eyes. “For Fates’ sake, man, aren’t you willing to entertain the possibility that the soil of the Glacine Age was toxic but no longer is? That’s all I’m proposing. It’s merely one possibility among several.”

Sophia shook her head as Shadrack launched into his reply. Theo returned, eating contentedly from his bowl of snow, and she joined him as he dropped back into his armchair. “I guess they have to think about the academy now,” she said ruefully. “But Veressa promised she’d make more maps of the glacier.”

“Who sent you a letter?” Theo asked curiously, seeing the edge of the envelope in Sophia’s pocket.

“I don’t know.” She pulled it out and examined the unfamiliar writing. “I’ll let you know when I’ve read it. I’m going upstairs to watch the snow.”

Theo reached his scarred hand out quickly to Sophia’s. “How many inches?”

Sophia replied with a shy smile, pressing her fingers against his palm. “There’s at least four already. Maybe eight by tomorrow.”

“Everyone will be on the street. We should go outside.”

“Let’s—come get me.” She grinned. “I’ll lose track of time.”

Her friend winked at her. “No doubt.”

In her room, she put the bowl of watery snow and the half-filled cup of coffee on her desk and sat down. After she opened the drawer, retrieving the letter opener from its place beside Blanca’s silk scarf, she stopped to look out the window at the icicles hanging from the eaves. Her hand slipped into her pocket, and she closed her fingers around the spool of silver thread that still accompanied her everywhere: the gift from Mrs. Clay and the Fates that had led her across the ice in another Age.

The air beyond her window seemed almost to shimmer, and though she had not lit the lamps, her room was filled with gray light. She sighed contentedly. There was nothing more beautiful than the perfect quiet that came with a snowfall. She sat for a moment longer, listening to the silence encasing her, a small smile on her face.

Then she turned back to her desk. The letter was bulky and had no return address. Inside was a badly tattered envelope that had only her name on it and the word “Boston.” Someone from the post office had written “ Please forward” along the side. Sophia cut open the second envelope and found within it yet another one. Yellowed with age, it bore her full name and address in a wide, ornate hand that made her heart skip a beat. The envelope was not sealed. She reached inside and drew out a single piece of paper that had clearly lain untouched for many years.

The letter was short:

March 15, 1881

Dearest Sophia,

Your mother and I have thought of you every moment of every day during this journey. Now, as we near what may be the end of it, the thought of you is foremost in our minds. This letter will take ages to reach you, and if we are fortunate, we will reach you before my written words ever do. But if this letter arrives and we do not, you should know that we are following the lost signs into Ausentinia. Do not think of pursuing us, dearest; Shadrack will know what to do. It is a road of great peril. We had no wish to travel into Ausentinia. It traveled to us.

All my love,

Your father, Bronson

I AM GRATEFUL to the late Sheila Meyer for her early support, many years ago, as I made fumbled attempts to write for young readers. Her encouragement stayed with me as I followed other pursuits; I will always remember her kindness as I took those first uncertain steps.

I wish to thank Dorian Karchmar not only for finding such a wonderful home for this book but also for taking on a very different kind of project than expected and for working with me through so many versions. My thanks to Matt Hudson as well for offering detailed comments on more than one of those versions.

The wonderful home at Viking would not exist without Sharyn November, who has been tireless in her passionate, thoughtful, and really quite humbling support for this book. I have been buoyed since the pages first reached her by her unflagging enthusiasm. I appreciate the meticulous reading from Janet Pascal, the inspired contributions of Jim Hoover and Eileen Savage, and the wonderfully Shadrackian cartographical creations of Dave A. Stevenson.

I am grateful to the many friends who read versions of this book as it was taking shape. Among them, Benny, Naomi, and Adam gave much-needed advice on an early version of Part I. Lisa and Richie also kindly read and responded to an early draft. I especially wish to thank Sean, Moneeka, Paul, Alejandra, and Heather for offering enthusiasm, detailed comments, fact-checking, and excellent ideas that have made the world of the Great Disruption more coherent and fun. I am grateful to Pablo for the frequent input—as helpful as it is humorous. Thanks to my mother, for her unshakable faith in Sophia, and to my father, for delving so earnestly (and repeatedly) into the workings of this world. One of the great pleasures of inventing it has been discussing it with all of you. Thanks to my brother for his unquestioning belief in this project at every stage. Finally, I wish to thank A.F. for taking every part of this story—metaphysics, mechanics, characters, author—to heart.