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gradually drifted away.
    To them, the border closure was pointless. The Territories and New Akan were next door to the Baldlands; their families and friends lived there. People came and went all the time. The
real
foreigners, they argued, were settlers from places like Connecticut, who ignored existing treaties and tried to seize land in the Indian Territories. Tensions between settlers and existing residents had grown strained. Prime Minister Cyril Bligh, who wished to overturn the border closure and who sought a peaceable solution to the disagreements, had been appointed, it seemed, too late. By the time he was appointed in January, so many altercations had erupted that even hiswell-known skill at negotiation was ineffectual. Sophia took a deep breath. “And what’s the good news?”
    â€œThe good news is that Miles said they are returning. It sounds to me as if they are making their way back to us now, even as we speak.” Shadrack attempted a smile. “So they will be home soon.”
    Finally,
Sophia thought. “When do you think they’ll be here?”
    â€œIt could be any day now. I know you’ll be glad to have Theo back.”
    â€œYes.” It was true, she would be glad. The search for Minna and Bronson—and things in general—had become so much more difficult in his absence.
    Theo had not been particularly helpful with the search. When they went to the Boston Public Library to look for leads, Sophia spent hours reading, while Theo, after reading for a few minutes, inevitably drifted from his desk to chat with the other library patrons. Moreover, he made a joke out of everything, even things that were very serious. When a promising lead turned into a dead end, his ridiculous comments went on and on until Sophia had to laugh. Perhaps this was why things were worse without him. Dead ends were not funny, but Theo could make them seem like the funniest thing in the world.
    Sophia and Shadrack sat in silence, staring down at their untouched food. The kitchen clock over their heads ticked loudly.
This is when I should say something,
Sophia told herself.
I must tell him about the archive.
“I went to a new archive today,” she said, before she could reason her way out of talking.
    There was a pause. “Did you?” Shadrack asked. His voicewas falsely bright. Sophia could see in his eyes that he hated himself for that falseness, and it filled her with sympathy.
I feel the same way,
she thought.
I hate the falseness, too.
She wanted to say something that would make it all right—something that would explain that she missed the lessons in cartology and desperately wanted his help, but that she understood, and that even though she was disappointed, he was still her beloved uncle Shadrack.
    Somehow, talking about the search for Minna and Bronson had become something that made them both feel guilty: Shadrack, because he was not doing enough to help; and Sophia, because it felt like she was accusing Shadrack of not doing enough to help. Suddenly, she did not want to tell him about the Nihilismian Archive at all. “I did.” She gave her own false smile back. “Nothing useful yet. I’ll let you know if I find something.”
    â€œThat sounds like an excellent proposal. Come,” he said. “We should eat. We’ve both had long days. And I’m afraid I’ll have to hole up in the study to do more work after dinner.”
    Sophia nodded, burying the sense of disappointment. “Let’s eat, then.”
    â€”1892, June 1: 7-Hour 59—
    S HE WAS WAITING at the Nihilismian Archive when the doors opened the next day. As the bald attendant appeared in the doorway, Sophia scanned his face quickly for some sign: outrage, suspicion, alarm. None of it was there. He noddedexpressionlessly when she showed him her card and ushered her in.
Safe for today, then
. She nodded in return and made her way up to room 45.
    Remorse had offered to leave