Read an excerpt of Map of Shadows

"It is not drawn on any map; true places never are."

Herman Melville, Moby Dick

 

Prologue

Michael Farren sat at his desk in the old map shop, an antique parchment in front of him portraying the ancient city of Bath. An oversize globe sat on a low table nearby, its sepia tint displaying a seventeenth-century world that no longer existed. The borders had moved, the names of the countries had changed, and yet he kept it here to remind himself of what had once been. And what could be again.

His shop sat on Elizabeth Buildings, around the corner from The Circus, a circle of power built around one of the porous gates into the Borderlands. By day, he sold vintage maps to visiting tourists. By night, he watched and waited, performing the etching ritual. His gnarled hand held the fountain pen he had used for a lifetime of cartography as he traced over the fading lines on the map with a fine nib.

But tonight, Michael's hand shook as he etched the lines he knew so well with ink of blood and pitch. He tried to concentrate on the arc of the Royal Crescent, the straight line of Brock Street and the curves of The Circus. They were symbols of ancient Druids, a crescent moon attached to the sun by a narrow ley line, a power running deep under the earth.

The Circus was modeled on Stonehenge, the outer circumference matching the temple of Druidic power not far from here on Salisbury Plain. The Mapwalkers had protected the border for so long, but now, something was coming. It had been building in strength, biding its time, waiting until the Ministry was weak. Now there were only a few pure blood Mapwalkers left, and the Shadow Cartographers were rising.

The clock struck one and the cry of a night bird came from outside Michael's open window. The air smelled of summer, elderflower and honeysuckle … But then, something else.

Sulfur.

The air crackled, and the wind picked up, blowing into the shop. The maps on the walls lifted, their rustling sound speaking of change and borders redrawn.

"No, no," Michael whispered as he traced the lines faster, trying to restore the integrity of the carefully planned city. But his pen slipped as the ink began to rise off the page, a thick black ooze that obscured the precise Georgian streets. In the mirror of its shine, Michael saw the shapes of Borderland creatures, teeth bared as they slunk through the trees. The map began to change, the streets of Bath shifting as darkness crept into squares and gardens.

He reached for the phone, pressing a key code he'd only used once before back in darker days he had hoped never to see again.

"It's weakening," he said to the Ministry official who answered. "I'm going to perform the ritual. Send Bridget as soon as you can, but I'll get started. There's no time to wait."

Ignoring the protests on the other end of the line, Michael hung up. He grabbed his leather satchel and walked out of the door into the little pedestrianized street. Clouds scudded across the night sky above him, and a sudden freezing wind whipped his coat around his legs, blustering down between the buildings.

A howl rose up, a feral sound of wild creatures with no place in this city. Michael quickened his pace, almost jogging to the end of the street, past the art gallery and left towards The Circus, only meters away.

A dense fog, a mist of undulating grey, obscured the circle of tall plane trees in the center of the Georgian terrace. The street-lamps flickered as Michael walked into the round, taking a breath as he tried to see within.

Thunder rolled overhead, and a flash of lightning lit up the sky, arching over the mist as it began to rain. There were shapes within the fog, slinking bodies with sharp teeth, pacing at the edges of the grey as it pushed out away from the inner circle.

Michael's heart raced. It had been a long time since he had faced Borderland creatures, since he had drawn this hard on his blood magic. He had hoped that the sacrifice of his family line was done with and that watching and renewing the lines would be enough. But now, the edges of the Earth-side map were blurring, and if they were to protect the city of Bath and this version of the world, then he had to go in there. It was one level of magic to etch lines on a map, but another to etch them into the earth itself.

He took a step towards the mist, clutching his leather satchel tight against his chest, the instruments of the Cartographer inside. He opened the flap and pulled his antique five-pointed compass from within. It was silver in a turned ivory pocket case, made in the seventeenth century, a time of explorers when the Cartographers were powerful men who carved up the earth, drawing the borders that would shape the political landscape. This compass had been present at the division of the Borderlands when his ancestors had shored up the boundary lines. Its needle had pointed to true north since that day.

Now Michael looked down as the needle spun around, wildly oscillating back and forth, unable to discern the right heading. He tucked it inside his waistcoat pocket, taking another step forward, steeling himself to enter the haze.

Tendrils of mist curled out towards him, wrapping around his feet, a subtle pressure, probing, testing. A chill ran through his bones and Michael gasped at its touch. He sensed the influence of a Shadow Cartographer here, one of those who sought to redraw the boundary and open the porous border to the feral horde beyond. He had to get to the center of the circle before it was too late.

Michael stepped into the mist, and the city of Bath receded, the curved terrace buildings disappearing as he walked further in. The circle of trees was only a few meters across, but it was as if he stepped into a forest. The heavy trunks loomed over him, leaves dripping with rain as it pelted down from above. The air was thick, and Michael's breathing became labored as he struggled to inhale the viscous atmosphere. It stank of the Borderlands beyond, a fetid soup of the diseased and dying, rotting flesh and the rubbish of those clustered in the camps without hope. So unlike the pristine civilization of Bath that he and the Ministry lived to protect.

A howl came from further in, echoed by another, calls from the wild wolves that had once roamed this land. They had been driven into the Borderlands, hunted to the edge of extinction like so many of the species in the realm beyond, waiting for their opportunity to roam free again. But they did not belong here, and he would not allow them to run loose in his city.

Michael caught a glimpse of one behind a tree, its powerful body still as it stared at him with yellow eyes. It growled, baring its teeth. The sound sent a shiver up Michael's spine, the call of the predator triggering ancient fear inside. But this was his realm, even though they were pushing at the boundary. He still held power here.

He pulled a ritual knife from his satchel, the yellowing ivory blade bound with a leather strap, tied into a series of knots around the end. Passed down from the time of the Druids, the blade had been used to sacrifice for many moons, and each drop of blood strengthened its power. The Blood Cartographers used such blades to mark the borders of Earth-side and tonight, Michael would use it once more.

He faced the wolf, drawing himself up to his full height, broadening his shoulders. He met its eyes, holding the knife out in front of him. The wolf sensed something wild within the man and backed away, slinking behind the tree. But Michael knew it would be back, along with its pack. These predators were only the forerunners of what lay beyond. They were sent as scouts, testing the boundaries of how far the Gate could be pushed open. This time, he feared it was wider than ever before. 

He didn't have much time.

Michael walked to the center of the great trees, reciting the longitude and latitude of where he stood, the geographical coordinates that anchored the Gate to Earth-side. His voice grew stronger as he spoke, turning the numbers into an incantation. He planted his feet strongly upon the ground and rolled up his sleeve, baring his arm to the chill mist. The vapor curled around him, almost clawing at the scars that patterned his skin over faded tattoos. His veins ran with the pure magic of the Blood Cartographers, and now Michael knew he must call on it once again.

He put the knife against the flesh of his arm and began to carve the lines of the Gate, the circle and the crescent joined by a ley line of power as he chanted the numbers that bound this place to the physical realm. He fell to his knees, dropping the knife beside him as he dipped a finger in his wound and painted over the ground the ancient symbol of the five-pointed compass, the sigil of the Illuminated Cartographer. The storm broke overhead, the wind lashing the branches of the trees into whips that thrashed at the old man as his blood dripped upon the earth.

Michael felt his strength fading, a heaviness creeping over him as the chill mist descended. Dark powers swirled about him, and his voice faltered, hesitating as the numbers began to fade in his mind. His fingers paused over the ground, his blood dripping out. He was suddenly paralyzed, unable to speak.

A figure stepped from the trees, his features obscured by the tendrils of mist that wound around him. He wore a cloak of wolf pelt, an artifact from the Borderlands, but underneath, Michael could see he wore a suit cut from a cloth of earth. This man strode between worlds, a Shadow Cartographer, one of those who sought a new world order by remaking the maps. There was something about him, something familiar, but the mist pressed into Michael's mind, clouding his vision, making him forget.

A low growl came from behind him, and the wolf stepped from the shadows to stand by the Shadow Cartographer, its teeth bared. Behind it, the pack waited, eyes fixed on their prey.

"You're too weak this time, old man. Your kind is ending, and the Borderlanders will soon take what you have kept from them for too long."

Michael heard his words as if from afar, the sound muddled by the heavy atmosphere. In earlier times, this man would not have dared face him, but now he knew the truth. He was old and tired, his magic faded.

The wolves circled closer, sensing his weakness. Michael picked up the knife again, his movements slow as if he was underwater. The blade was heavy in his hand and strength drained from him as his blood ran onto the ground. One wolf darted in to lick at the growing pool. Michael spun with his knife, slicing at the beast but it ducked away unharmed. Another ran in to bite at his legs, its heavy body tipping him off balance. The pack formed a circle around him, teeth bared.

Two of them darted in behind, growling as they tore at his clothes, ripped through to his flesh. Michael spun again, but another two ran forward, worrying at him.

He was outnumbered.

Perhaps that had been the plan all along, after all, he was the watcher on this Gate. He thought of Bridget on her way up from the Ministry. He couldn't let her be taken as well.

He had one chance left to close the Gate, even though it would only hold a short while. But for now, it was the only way.

He looked up at the dark man watching from the shadows. He sensed triumph at the victory to come, but it would end here.

"For Galileo," Michael said, his voice strong as he spoke the words of the Illuminated Cartographer.

The wolves snarled and leapt towards their prey. Michael spun away from them, using the last of his strength to push through the pack.

He turned the blade, pressing it against his chest and hurled himself at the largest of the plane trees. Its hard trunk pushed the knife deep into his heart as Michael wrenched himself sideways, ripping himself open, falling to the ground.

Agony flashed through him as his blood pumped out, soaking the tree roots and the earth where he lay.

But the Gate was renewed by his sacrifice.

The mist curled into a vortex, and the wolves howled as they were sucked back inside the Borderlands. Michael lay panting with pain, trying to hold on long enough to watch the end.

The Shadow Cartographer stood watching him for a moment, resisting the swirl of the wind. "Your kind is ending," he whispered. "Your death only buys a little time before the change to come."

He bent to pick up Michael's five-pointed compass, then slipped it into his pocket as he spun away, stepping back through the Gate of Shade, trailing the last of the mist behind him. The grand Georgian buildings emerged, and through the branches of the trees, Michael could see the stars above. This was his earth still, and Bath was safe.

For now.

As his blood pulsed more slowly, Michael thought of his granddaughter, Sienna. He hadn't seen her for so long, staying away in an attempt to shield her from a future he wouldn't wish on anyone. But now it seemed that she might be the only hope to close the borders for good.

 

Chapter 1

Sienna's footsteps echoed in the long corridor, acres of books in racks either side stretching into the shadows ahead of her. Dim lights came on as she walked, triggered by her movement.

It was like a bomb shelter down here. The world could be ending above ground in Oxford, but below the streets, she would be cushioned by the padding of ancient tomes. Sienna smiled, lost in thought. She could build a shelter down here in the underground stacks of the Bodleian Library. A den of ripped pages and a fire from words once considered special but now merely fuel. And she could read. Who could be lonely when there was so much to learn?

She passed into an older section of the library. The functional metal shelving changed to wooden stacks with carved lintels and wheels on the end to move them closer together. Sienna frowned. She didn't recognize this part of the library. She stopped and tugged on a cord to turn on a brighter light and bent to read the sign on the end of the nearest row. Geopolitics of Borders and Boundaries. She frowned and looked down at the retrieval slip in her hand. This was nowhere near where she was meant to be.

Sienna sighed. It was only her second week working in the library, and once again, she was lost. She should have turned left at Metaphysics, but she must have walked straight past the stack. By the time she retraced her steps and made it back over there, the Head Librarian would be tutting and looking at his watch, frown deepening in his furrowed brow. Books first, readers second, and lowly library clerks most definitely last. She turned and looked back the way she'd walked. The stacks stretched away, seemingly endless, darkening to shadow.

She sat down on the floor for a moment, leaning back against the shelf, sending up a cloud of dust into the air. The remains of crumbling pages, words written by those long dead, saved down here as if somehow, someone would recall them up to the rarefied air of the University once more.

She really needed to get a life.

It had been a year since leaving St Peter's College where Sienna had read Geography. Her friends had moved to jobs in London, but she hadn't been ready to leave Oxford. It had become her home over the years of study, a welcome escape from the suffocating cocoon of her mother's house. So she'd flitted around various short-term jobs and then finally landed this position, hoping it might be the right fit. But as she sat surrounded by old books, Sienna knew that this was over too.

Perhaps it was time to give in and move to London like everyone else. Perhaps she should even try again with Ben. They had been inseparable in her first two years at college, but he was a year older and got a job in the City after Finals. They'd held it together for the first year, but when she didn't move as he had expected, they began to drift apart. Right now, Sienna felt untethered, like a boat bobbing freely on the waves. She should be experiencing the exhilaration of freedom, but instead, she found herself longing for the shore. London hadn't felt like the right direction, but maybe it was time to give it another chance.

She looked at her watch and stood up again. Clutching the retrieval slip, she retraced her steps, navigating by the signs at the end of the corridor until she found the book and hurried back to the Head Librarian's desk. He looked up as she emerged into the main vault of the Radcliffe Camera. His shaggy white eyebrows arched over his wire-rim glasses and Sienna felt his disdain rest upon her. He tapped his watch.

"Sorry," she whispered, as she placed the book on his desk. "I'm going out for my break now."

Sienna turned before he could stop her and hurried up the little stairs and out onto the steps of the Rad Cam. The air was fresh outside. Mid-June and still a little chilly, but there was a patch of sun on the other side of the square. Walking down the steps, Sienna turned on her phone, and within seconds, it started beeping with text messages and missed calls. Her mum had been calling on and off for the last hour. That was unusual. She was over-protective, but this was a lot even for her.

Sienna stood in the sun at the corner of the square by Brasenose Lane and called back.

"Hi, Mum. What's up?"

"Oh, sweetie. Something dreadful has happened. Your grandfather –" Her voice broke with a little sob.

Sienna frowned. Her mum's dad was already dead, mourned as a beloved granddad who had always shown her interesting things in the hedgerows and fields near their country house. Her father's dad was a distant memory, a man she hadn't seen or heard from since the year she started high school. He had been around after her father had disappeared, lost on a geographic survey to Antarctica, but then he'd faded into the background.

"What do you mean? What's happened?"

Her mum blew her nose. "Your grandfather's body was found this morning in Bath, just down the road from his map shop. They're saying it's some kind of ritual murder. A friend of his, Bridget, called me and told me the news. She wants to talk to you."

Shock slammed through Sienna at the words. Her grandfather murdered? It seemed impossible.

"Bridget said he left something for you, something your dad wanted you to have."

Sienna's breath caught in her throat. Ten years and the pain of losing her father still hurt, but curiosity rose at her mother's words. "Do you have her number?"

"She said you should go to Bath, to Grandad's old map shop and she would meet you there." A pause, then her mum's voice changed. "I don't think you should go, sweetie. You're working now, and you're busy. You don't want to go to that musty old map shop. It was always a complete mess when I went there with your dad back in the day. I'm sure this Bridget can send whatever it is."

Sienna half listened as she remembered being in the antique map shop as a child. The wonders of the world rendered in so many different ways. The smell of thick paper and ink, the weight and size of the maps on the wall, intricate tiny streets and imagined animals in the corners, cartouches of long-dead kings, calligraphy of names that no longer existed. Sienna remembered running her hands over the maps, feeling a vibration of energy, like they wanted her to step inside somehow. Then the concern on her dad's face, a sadness, like he wanted her to see only printed paper, not the worlds beyond the maps. After he disappeared, Mum had never taken her back there.

"I want to go," Sienna said, cutting off her mother's words.

"But what about your work?"

Sienna looked up at the dome of the Radcliffe Camera and the spires of All Souls College behind it. A gaggle of students burst from Brasenose College, chatting as they walked off to lectures.

"It's not really working out. So I'll go this afternoon. It's only a few hours on the bus to Bath."

"But I can't get down there, sweetie. You shouldn't go alone."

"I'm just going to the shop, Mum. I'm not going to visit the morgue or anything."

Her mum sighed. "Alright, but call me later. Your Grandfather was a meddler in life. I would expect him to be just as bad now he's gone."

* * *

As the bus drove through the outskirts of Bath a few hours later, Sienna gazed out the window at the fine Georgian terraces made from the distinctive honey-colored limestone that made the city famous for its architecture. Bath was smaller than Oxford, but there was a similar sense of historic weight about it. A World Heritage Site dominated by the ancient Roman Baths and a medieval Abbey, Bath had become a fashionable Georgian spa town, made famous in the books of Jane Austen.

Sienna remembered her dad talking about the background of the Farren family, how they had lived in Somerset for generations. He had only left the area because her mum had been set on London, the hub of politics surrounding their foreign aid work. But now Sienna was returning, without Dad, and with Granddad gone. The only Farren left in their line.

The bus stopped downtown, and Sienna walked up through the shops, navigating past the grand Abbey and up the hill towards The Circus. She passed a group of American tourists on the edge of Queen Square, their guide explaining loudly:

"This square marks the bottom of a key with The Circus at the top of the hill as the round end. Seen from above, it forms a Masonic shape built into the architecture of the city along with symbols of Druidic times."

His voice faded into the hubbub of the traffic as Sienna continued walking uphill towards the circle of trees visible on the rise at the end of the terrace.

As she reached the top, she paused to catch her breath, looking at the Georgian townhouses that curved around in a perfect circle. Three tiers of windows, each flanked by classical columns, rose up towards the blue sky. Stone acorn finials topped the buildings, and between each tier, a carved frieze of nautical elements, serpents and masonic symbols wove its way around. In the center of the circle, five huge plane trees stood tall on green grass, their leaves rustling in the breeze. It would have been a peaceful scene, a glimpse into a regal past, but today, bright yellow Crime Scene tape wound around the trees. Police officers stood on the perimeter, faces impassive, even as tourists took photos of the curious spectacle.

Sienna's heart thumped as she crossed the road and stood on the edge of the tape, as close as she dared go. Scene of Crime Officers still worked on the grass, but she could see between them to the trunk of the largest tree. Even from this distance, she could see it was stained with blood.

What had happened here last night? Her grandfather ran an antique map shop, so why would anyone want to hurt him? Perhaps his friend Bridget would be able to help.

Sienna turned and walked down Brock Street turning off before the Royal Crescent into Elizabeth Buildings. It was a short pedestrianized street, an eclectic mix of little shops and cafés punctuated by colorful flowers and wooden benches. She passed a curiosity shop with a maritime trunk in the window, alongside a carved wooden cross from one of the derelict churches in the nearby countryside. There was a shop selling crystals and fossils, next to a painting and craft store with glass jewelry in the window; an art gallery; a secondhand bookshop and there, in the middle, her grandfather's map shop.

While the other stores bustled with tourists, the map shop remained locked, its window in shadow. Sienna walked up and looked in at the window display. An old county map of Somerset stood in central position, its hills marked with green contoured shading. Next to it, her grandfather's book on the history of cartography, propped open by a tiny engraved globe in a wooden box. It was dark inside, but she could just make out his desk at the back, surrounded by racks of maps in plastic wrapping and the huge globe that had fascinated her as a child.

"You must be Sienna."

The voice made her jump and Sienna turned to see a woman with close-cropped dark hair standing behind. Her eyes were a piercing blue, and although the lines around them suggested the woman was over forty, she possessed an almost elfin look of mischief that made her appear younger. She wore a long dress of patchwork linen in shades of green, like the fields of the West Country in summer, interspersed with the bright yellow of rapeseed.

"I'm Bridget Ronan, a friend of your grandfather's. I recognize you from his photos. Michael had that same bright titian hair, although it looks better on you." Bridget's voice had a soft Irish lilt, and Sienna found herself immediately warming to the woman.

"Thanks for meeting me."

Bridget's welcoming smile faded. "I'm sorry for your loss, and for mine. Michael was a good friend and already sorely missed." She pulled a key from her bag. "Now, come inside." Bridget unlocked the door and pushed the door open.

Sienna walked, and as she breathed in the scent of the maps, she felt like she had come home. They called to her from the display racks, and she wanted to run her fingers over the lines, tracing the borders of the world. She walked to her grandfather's desk and turned the seventeenth-century globe a little, looking for the Barbary Coast, the area of North Africa that seemed so foreign to her when she was little. She found it and touched the picture of the apes sprawled over modern Algeria, a smile playing about her lips as she remembered the stories her grandfather told of times past.

She looked up at Bridget, who stood by the door watching her. "What happened to him?"

Bridget took a deep breath. "There's a lot we still don't know." She pulled an envelope from her bag. "But Michael gave me this to keep in case anything ever happened to him. He was nearly eighty, so he expected his time to come, although not as suddenly as this." Her eyes filled with tears as she handed Sienna the envelope. "I need to go deal with a couple of things in town, so I'll leave this with you, give you some time alone here, and I'll come back in an hour or so. Okay?"

Sienna nodded, and Bridget turned away, leaving the scent of flowers in her wake. Sienna looked down at the envelope, her name written on the front in her grandfather's spidery hand.

 

Chapter 2

The doorbell tinkled as Bridget walked out and for a moment, Sienna just breathed in the air of the map shop. She sensed her grandfather's eye for detail in the angled lines of the wall displays, antique maps worth thousands of pounds hanging next to modern portrayals of emotional landscapes. After all, a map of the human heart is worth far more than the map of a city, she remembered him saying.

She looked down at his desk. An antique parchment map of Bath sat where he must have left it. It looked like something had spilled on the lines of The Circus, as if a red haze settled upon it. Why had he gone down there in the middle of the night?

Sienna sighed. She should have come to see him over the last years. After all, it wasn't so far to Bath, and even though her mother had kept them apart, there was no need to remain distant after going up to Oxford. He must have been lonely here, his only son dead, his only granddaughter estranged. A pang of guilt flushed through her. She should have been here for him, and now he was gone.

She opened the envelope to find one piece of cream paper inside, dated a year previously.

* * *

Dear Sienna,

As I write this, you are just finishing your degree at Oxford. I'm so proud of you, and I know your father would have been too. Geography was always his passion, as it has been mine, and I hope it can continue to be yours.

I'm sorry that we weren't able to be friends, but time and circumstance have stood between us. If you're reading this, I'm gone, and although I had hoped to spare you this, our family has always answered the call, and now it's your turn. Bridget will be able to explain more.

For now, the map shop is yours. I've arranged all the legal details, and it is in your name, along with the bank accounts and the flat above.

There will be those who try to part you from the shop, but the maps here are yours too. I hope you will remember how you felt their reality in your childhood. It's time to let that feeling emerge again, Sienna, because there is more at stake than you know.

 

For Galileo, and with much love,

Granddad Michael

* * *

Sienna frowned, her mind whirling with so many questions. She sat down heavily, looking up at the maps around her with new eyes. This was all hers.

She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face, even though loss resonated deep within her. It felt like coming home at last.

If she was honest, the memories of being here had driven her into studying Geography, the obsession with maps something her mother hadn't been able to remove despite emotional blackmail over the years. Your father was lost over his obsession with maps. I won't have you go the same way.

Her phone rang.

"Hi, Mum."

"Are you there, sweetie? Is it awful?"

"I'm here. It's fine. I met Granddad's friend, Bridget, and she gave me a letter."

A moment of silence and Sienna could sense her mother's dread. "What did it say?"

She took a deep breath. "He left me the map shop. The flat, the bank accounts. Even though I hadn't seen him for years. It's so strange."

"Well, that's wonderful news because you can sell it and use the money to pay off your loans and get a new start in London." Sienna tuned out as her mother rattled on about how much she could get for a place in central Bath and how lucky she was, and it was good because her father didn't leave anything and on and on.

Sienna looked around at the maps and felt them calling to her again. She stood and went to one of the racks, leafing through them as she made agreeable noises. On some of the maps, her fingers trembled against a kind of magnetic field from the paper even through the plastic sleeves that covered them. It was strange, and yet, it also felt natural. Some of the maps didn't have this effect. Maybe there was something in the paper? Perhaps Bridget would be able to help, as her grandfather had suggested.

"So, do you want me to contact the estate agents?" Her mother's voice broke through. "There's one just around the corner from you. I could get it sorted tomorrow."

"No, I need to wait a little, Mum. Let me sort this out myself."

"Well, don't wait too long. That street must look beautiful with the summer flowers out. It's a very good time to sell."

The doorbell tinkled again. Sienna turned to see a tall man enter, his frame erect, his back straight in an almost military fashion. He was distinguished, salt and pepper hair swept back from an angular face, with a patrician nose and thin lips. A vertical scar ran down from his right eye to his short beard, the skin pale and puckered around the old wound. He wore a tailored three-piece suit in English tweed and looked as if he'd just stepped out of one of the paintings from the Holburne Museum.

"I've got to go, Mum. I'll call you later." Sienna hung up and turned to the man. "Morning, can I help you?"

The man looked at her, eyes narrowing for a moment, then he smiled in recognition. "I was looking for Michael." His accent was impeccable Queen's English. "But you must be his granddaughter. I've seen pictures of you. Sienna, is it?" He reached out a hand. "I'm Sir Douglas Mercator."

Sienna stepped forward and shook his hand, meeting his grey eyes, the color of a wolf pelt. His grip was firm, his hand cool and although he was charming, there was something about him that made her take a step back. She felt rather than heard a rustle in the maps around her. "My grandfather isn't here. He … He died yesterday."

Saying the words aloud made Sienna flinch as if it made real something that had only been an idea before.

Sir Douglas' gaze didn't drop; his expression didn't falter. "Oh, I'm so sorry for your loss. You must have a lot to sort out here." He stepped forward and ran his hand over one of the maps displayed on the countertop. It was covered in glass, but Sienna thought she could smell burning, as if his touch singed the edges.

He turned back, pulled a business card from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. "I'm a dealer in antique maps, like your grandfather was." The card was embossed in gold, the word Mercator entwined with a projection of the globe.

"Oh, of course." Sienna shook her head in apology. "Sorry, I didn't recognize your name at first. Are you related to the Flemish cartographer?"

Sir Douglas nodded. "Yes, I'm a direct descendant. Our family have been in the map trade since his day." He looked around the shop, his eyes alight with interest. "I knew your father as well. He was my contemporary when we studied Geography at Oxford. I believe it is your alma mater, too?"

Sienna nodded, a little in awe of the man. After all, he was cartographic royalty.

"With Michael gone, and your father too, perhaps the shop is yours now?" His voice changed, and Sienna sensed a covetousness behind his charm. "I've been trying to buy this shop from Michael for years. He was too old to run it well of late, and I have clients who would be interested in some of the maps. I can offer you a very good deal, Sienna. You'd have more money than you need and I'd handle everything for you. This is my world, after all." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm sure you have a lot to think about, so keep my card and call me if you'd like to sell. Or even to offload some of this stock." He waved a hand around at the maps.

"Thank you. I'll definitely think about it."

Sir Douglas gave her a long look, then nodded and swept out of the shop. Sienna sensed the space exhale as if it had been holding itself in check while he was present. She went over to the map he had touched, and sure enough, around the edges, faint charring had appeared, dark patches of soot as if it had been burned. She shook her head. What was going on here?

Sienna went to the door and locked it, turning the sign to Closed. She didn't need any more unexpected visitors, and she wanted to look at the flat upstairs. Behind the desk at the back of the shop, a narrow wooden staircase wound up to the first floor. The stairs creaked as she walked up, the language of an old building, and she thought about her grandfather walking up here, footsteps heavy after a day's work.

At the top, a faded red wooden door etched with a curious five-pointed compass blocked the way. Sienna tried several of the keys until one fitted the lock and she walked in.

She had expected a musty old place, somewhere you'd expect an eighty-year-old to live, but her breath caught as she emerged into a wide open-plan living space. The walls had been opened up into archways, with picture windows looking out over the street on one side and a little courtyard at the back. A stylish kitchen and tasteful furniture made it into a modern flat, the type of place she'd only seen in magazines. Nothing like the chaos of her mother's house, packed to the gunnels with chests and boxes and bags. This was a haven and Sienna exhaled, relaxing into it.

One long wall of shelves was piled high with books, and she stepped closer to see what they were. The Atlas of Improbable Places, books of photos from abandoned cities, and a shelf of journals. They were all black, leather-bound hardbacks in the same A5 size, each with an elastic band to hold loose papers inside. They were dated on the spine, one per year going back to the 1950s.

Sienna's heart pounded as she considered them. They were her grandfather's private words, but he was gone, and after all, he'd left them here out in the open. She pulled one from the shelf and leafed through the pages. His handwriting was almost illegible, but it wasn't the words that caught her eye, it was the hand-drawn maps and sketches inside. The pencil lines were exact and confident, line drawings of temples next to a rough street map. She recognized the name of the place, but it didn't make sense. Babylon, a ruined city lost in time, but here, her grandfather had drawn it as if it were still alive, as if he had explored its streets.

The journals only added more questions to the many she already had. Sienna sat back and looked around her at the light and airy flat. It already felt like home. The job wasn't working out in Oxford anyway, so perhaps she should move here. Let Sir Douglas sell the shop and keep this part, or rent it, or something. There were suddenly so many options. She needed a coffee.

There was a little café over the street, so Sienna headed back downstairs, out the door and over to the Green Door. It bustled with customers, and the familiar smell of ground coffee filled the air. A young woman with pink curly hair and glitter in her eyebrows smiled in greeting as she arranged sweet pastries on the countertop.

"What can I get you, my lovely?" Her broad West Country accent made Sienna smile. Bath was in Somerset, after all, home of cider, rolling hills and Cheddar cheese.

"Just a black Americano, thanks."

As the young woman made the coffee, Sienna looked around at the place. Students worked on laptops as two men engaged in a heated business discussion in one corner, while a well-preserved older lady read the paper opposite them. Sienna wondered if her grandfather had sat here sometimes, and a pang of regret shot through her at opportunities lost.

She took her coffee out to the street and walked down Elizabeth Buildings towards Brock Street, wanting to catch the last rays of the sun. At the end, she turned towards the Royal Crescent where a group of tourists stood on the edge of the green lawn of Royal Victoria Park. Families sat enjoying the sun, playing games and laughing.

Sienna looked both ways and glimpsed a young, mixed-race woman walking a golden cocker spaniel on the opposite side of the road. The little dog looked up and started wagging its tail as it saw her just as a double-decker tourist bus turned the corner. It sped towards them, going too fast for the little streets. The spaniel ran out suddenly into the road, barking in excitement, its eyes fixed upon Sienna.

"Zippy! Come back!" the young woman shouted as the bus barreled down on them.

 

Chapter 3

Sienna dropped her coffee and stepped into the road.

She swept the little dog up into her arms as the bus horn blared and she darted back to the pavement. The spaniel licked her face, and she laughed, heart pounding at the near miss, wondering what the hell had made her step in front of a bus for a random dog.

The young woman crossed over the road. She was early twenties, similar to Sienna's age, but her features were a dark opposite. Her black curls were cropped close, her eyes almond-shaped with high arched eyebrows. She wore a plain black t-shirt and jeans, and she had tattoos down one arm. A globe intertwined with geographical symbols and a five-pointed compass, just like the one on her grandfather's door.

"I'm so sorry," the woman said. "He suddenly pulled out of my grip when he saw you." Sienna cuddled the little dog close as he nuzzled her neck. The woman frowned. "It's odd though, he doesn't do that with many people. Do we know you?"

Sienna shook her head. "I've just arrived." She pointed back down the street. "The map shop was my grandfather's."

The young woman's eyes widened in recognition. "You're Michael's granddaughter?"

"You knew him?"

She nodded. "Of course, yes. Oh, my goodness. I'm so sorry about his death." Sienna thought she could see more than just regret in the woman's eyes. Did she know something more? "Did you see Bridget already?"

"Yes, she gave me a key for the shop. Does everyone know everyone here?"

The young woman laughed. "It's a small city, and the map community is tight knit, for sure." She put out a hand. "I'm Mila Wendell."

Sienna put Zippy down and shook Mila's hand. "Sienna Farren."

"I helped your granddad out in the shop sometimes and often manned his stall at the map fairs in London if he was too tired to travel."

Her words cut through Sienna. She should have been the one helping. "I met Sir Douglas Mercator as well. You must know him?"

Mila's expression darkened. "Yes, of course. He's … Well, he doesn't usually come around this part of town much. He and your grandfather didn't get on. Actually, that's an understatement. What did he want?"

Sienna turned back towards Elizabeth Buildings. "To buy the shop."

Mila shook her head. "The old bastard's been trying to take it over for years. But before you make a decision, you should know a bit more about what Michael stood for. Did you find his compass?"

Sienna shook her head. "No, Bridget just gave me a letter."

"I know where it's kept. I can show you if you like. I know he'd want you to have it."

Together, they walked back to the map shop. Mila tied Zippy to a bench outside, and he lay down facing the shop, clearly used to the place. When they walked in, Sienna felt the maps warm to them both, and she sensed that Mila was welcome here. She didn't know how she knew it, and there were more questions piling up, but for now, Sienna was just glad to have someone around who knew her grandfather and seemed to love the shop.

Mila walked over to a chest of drawers with a glass display cabinet on top. "Michael kept some of the most precious maps here, away from sticky wandering fingers." She looked up. "Do you know anything about maps, about how much this is all worth?"

Sienna shook her head. "I studied Geography but it wasn't so much about maps, and I don't know anything about the antique or collectable side." She paused, looking around at what was left of her father's side of the family. "But I want to learn."

Mila met her eyes and then she nodded. "There's more to learn than you think." She knelt down and pulled a round wooden box out of the drawer, frowning as she felt its weight. She pulled the lid off to reveal an empty velvet case. Mila's face fell. "They must have taken it from him."

"Who? The people who killed Granddad?" Sienna knelt down next to her. "Do you know who it was?"

Mila took a deep breath. "It's complicated. I don't know what to tell you about his death, but a Cartographer's compass is his most treasured possession."

Sienna stood up. "This is all so crazy. This morning I woke up in Oxford and everything was fine, and now I'm here, and Granddad is gone. Murdered. I have this shop, but I also have an offer for it. Should I just take the money and run?"

Mila smiled softly. "If your life is elsewhere, then of course. I know Michael would understand. He would have wanted you to have a full life without the weight of family expectation. Bridget can help you sell the place if it's what you want."

Mila's words struck a chord because she didn't have a life elsewhere. Not really. Sienna knew she'd been aimless and wandering for too long, unable to choose a path forward. Her father had made his choices and paid the ultimate price. Her grandfather too had met his end because of something to do with the maps. Her curiosity burned to know more, but there was a touch of fear there too. If she walked away now, she could go to London, patch things up with Ben, start anew with money in her pocket, student loans paid off, maybe even have enough to buy a place. And yet …

She touched the maps in the case before her, sensing a texture in the air around them, like running her hand through a field of wheat. There was something anchoring her here, and she wanted to know what the hell was going on, why Granddad died, and how there could possibly be sketches of long-dead cities in his journals upstairs.

Mila walked over to the globe and spun it around a little way. "Michael kept your ancestral history from you, but perhaps it's time for you to make your own map, Sienna."

The doorbell rang again. Bridget walked in and smiled to see Mila. "I'm glad you two found each other already."

"Zippy saw to that." Mila laughed, then she turned serious, indicating the empty case. "Michael's compass is gone."

Bridget frowned. "Then things are going to get worse. Sienna, I know you're confused. Michael tried to keep you away from all this, but now you have to know. Come with me to the Ministry of Maps. Come and see what your grandfather worked on. And your father too."

"My father? You knew him?"

Bridget nodded and her eyes softened in remembrance. "John and I trained together. We were … friends before he was lost. There are many things for you to know if you want to."

Sienna's phone buzzed. She pulled it out and looked at the name on the screen. It was her mother again. She wouldn't want her daughter getting involved. But something tugged at Sienna. She had to know.

She rejected the call. "I'll come with you. But I haven't made up my mind about keeping the shop yet."

Bridget nodded. "Of course."

Sienna grabbed her bag, and they left the shop. Zippy jumped around, nuzzling against Sienna's leg as Mila untied him. "He likes you. He adored Michael, too, but right now, I need to take him back to the boat. I'll meet you at the Ministry later." She headed off up the hill.

"So what is this Ministry?" Sienna asked.

"Suspend your rational side for a moment," Bridget said as they walked. "It can be hard to fathom, but we have to start somewhere." She took a deep breath. "Bath has two different sides. The city is a World Heritage Site with two thousand-year-old Roman Baths, the medieval Abbey, Georgian architecture and boutique shopping. That's what most people see. But it also has an unseen dimension you won't find on any terrestrial maps. It's a portal to the Borderlands, a place where this earth bleeds into another. There are other portals in ancient places where borders blur: Athens, Rome, Damascus, Varanasi, Jerusalem. Places where people have been written in and out of history. The Ministry protects the borders, and it keeps the Borderlands from slipping back over here."

They emerged into The Circus side by side, the police still working in the center. Bridget sighed. "Your grandfather worked for the Ministry, and this is where the border opened last night. He stopped whatever might have come through. He gave his life to protect the city, not that most people can ever know about it."

Sienna heard her words and saw the bloody tree, but how could this be real? Her mind reeled with questions. They walked around the edge and headed down the hill past the shops and the Bertinet bakery, past the Guildhall, until they reached the Abbey Church of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, known locally as Bath Abbey. Its Gothic presence dominated the central city, a hub for tourists and photographers for its carved facade of climbing angels and ornate wooden door. The Bath stone glowed with a golden light as the late sun touched the tower. Bridget paused as they reached the thick walls and they stood for a moment under the flying buttresses and magnificent stained glass windows.

"The Abbey was built on a pagan site, founded as a convent, then turned into a monastery in the seventh century. It's been rebuilt several times, grander with every incarnation. The Ministry is based in the levels beneath and in some of the surrounding buildings. We also have a training facility up at the University on the hill."

"Why here?" Sienna asked.

"Bath is an ancient energy center," Bridget explained. "With the confluence of ley lines that run across Britain, the river and the underground hot springs, it has drawn people through the ages. The Freemasons in the Georgian period concentrated the energy into The Circus and so the Ministry is here to protect the area."

"Is it part of the church?"

Bridget shook her head. "Not in a religious fashion, but our facility is wound into the structure of the Abbey. You'll see when we go below."

She lead Sienna round the back of the Abbey, past the inscription marking where the first king of all England, Edgar, was crowned in 973 AD. A statue of the risen Christ emerging from the grave, shroud bandages still around him, stood marking an entranceway with thick stone steps down to a tiny door.

"It doesn't look like much," Bridget said. "But wait until you get inside."

Sienna followed her down. At first, it seemed the stone steps must lead into some equally ancient crypt, but Bridget turned when they reached the bottom and faced the stone wall.

"You can walk on into the museum below the church, but the Ministry is this way."

She touched a groove in the wall, and the stone cracked open. The outline of a door emerged, and Bridget pushed against it. On the other side, there was a library, the walls lined with books of maps and easy chairs placed next to low tables for reading. Sienna didn't recognize many of the names on the spines and part of her longed to stay here and escape into the tomes. But Bridget marched straight through, entering a code on a door on the other side and leading her on.

They emerged into a long hallway with doors leading off it, each labeled with a different title. Antiquities, Restoration, Misinformation, Illustration. They passed one door stained a deep red with the words Blood Gallery etched into the wood.

Sienna took a step towards it, but Bridget held her arm. "That's not for you just yet. There will be time to learn it all if you choose, but first, you must meet the Illuminated Cartographer. This way."

The corridor walls were full of photographs, exuberant faces of explorers around the world. As they walked by, Sienna scanned them for a glimpse of her family. She stopped in front of one where her grandfather stood in front of the temple he had sketched in his journal. "Is it really Babylon?" she asked.

Bridget turned and came back to look. "Yes, I know it's hard to understand. But there are places that have been lost Earth-side, but remain in the Borderlands. Some of us cross those borders through special maps. We are Mapwalkers, Sienna. Mila and me. Your grandfather. Your father."

Sienna turned at her words. "Is there a picture of him?"

Bridget nodded and walked along a little, searching amongst the faces. "Here."

Sienna looked up at the picture. Her dad stood with four others, two men and two women. His face was broad with a smile, his titian hair shining in the sun, his beard longer than she'd ever seen it. He wore khaki shorts and held a bulging backpack. Behind the group, what looked like a South American city stretched into green jungle. Sienna touched his face with a fingertip.

"I don't even have a grave to visit."

Bridget looked surprised. "Of course not. Your father isn't dead."