4

Tilly glanced back at the stairs. Janice wouldn’t return until well after dinner. She turned over the flaps of her jacket and carefully undid the hooks of the hidden pocket. It had been many months since she had done this, but her fingers worked quickly from muscle memory. It was as natural to her as breathing.

From within the reinforced pocket, Tilly carefully pulled out a roll of smooth leather. Mama had sewn a secret pocket into her first jacket, and as Tilly grew older, she had made a place for it in each of her new jackets—not that any of her jackets were ever actually new.

Her practiced hands unfurled the leather roll to reveal an ancient, tattered piece of parchment.

In her memory, Mama was always full of warmth and joy. But she had been uncompromisingly strict about two things. Keeping the parchment hidden was one of them.

Yellowed with age and delicate to the touch, Tilly always wondered where it had come from and how it had ended up with her. The left edge was jagged, as if it had been torn out of a book. Inside a border of black diamonds, sketched in faded black ink, was an intricate and most unusual map.

Never show this to anyone, was all Mama had told her. You must promise me. Do you understand? Tilly had nodded solemnly as she sat poised with a pencil at their rickety dining table.

What a load of crap. Over the years, Tilly had developed a sneaking suspicion that Mama had simply invented a game to keep a five-year-old occupied. But then again, she had been so serious. This is more important than anything else, my love. Every single little island must be in its place.

Tilly eased out a blank piece of paper from the stash she always kept in her backpack, along with a pencil that had been sharpened so much that it was no longer than her index finger. Stretching out on her stomach on the floor, she started sketching. Mama had made her promise to practice every day. Tilly had kept that promise until just a few months ago, when it all seemed so pointless, and she had decided to put it all behind her.

Moving her hand in the same motions she had used hundreds of times since she was old enough to hold a pencil, Tilly drew furiously. It all came back, pouring out from her fingers and through the pencil like gray blood. First, the almost-perfect circle of islands at the center, like a fortress, with just one tiny gap. Then, the maze surrounding it. Walls of islands spread out from the center in concentric circles, with gaps here and there. Then came the shipwrecks and the monsters. The symbols and letters came next. Intricate and boxy, Tilly didn’t know what language it was, and hours and days of searching in libraries and museums hadn’t shed any light. She had been tempted to ask her history teacher so many times. But Mama’s warning echoed in her mind each time, and Tilly couldn’t bring herself to do it.

With the letters done, Tilly began working on the path, the most important part of all. The dotted, circuitous path wound from the open ocean outside of the maze, taking unexpected turns and loops, and went right to the gap in the central ring. Tilly angled the pencil and shaded in the ring. What was this place? No matter how many times she had drawn it, goosebumps prickled her arms every time, and not in a good way. There was something eerie about it. Something at the back of her mind that bothered her. But she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. 

When she finally tried to clamber back onto her knees, her legs screamed in pain. How long had she been lying there? It was completely dark outside.

Tilly delicately moved the original parchment close to her drawing. She traced the two dotted paths with her fingers. Perfectly identical.

With a sigh, she picked up her drawing and held it over the fire. The flames licked the edge of the paper, and a thin trail of smoke rose up as the drawing caught fire. Tilly watched it burn, as she had done with every single copy she had made. Why? What is this all for?

Anger rose in her chest. She clenched her fists, and in a moment of rage, she grabbed the original parchment and held it over the fire too. She felt the searing heat of the flames on her skin. It was all such an elaborate lie. Even the last tiny hope of rescue had been dashed. All lies. The edges of the ancient manuscript darkened and curled.

Tears filled her eyes. Tilly pulled back her hand and let the scorched map fall on the ground.

None of this would have happened if she had just listened. She would have never ended up here. The second thing that Mama was strict about was not going near the water on her own. Why hadn’t she listened?

I want to go home, mouthed Tilly. Her eyes hurt from holding back the plump tears that threatened to break free. Her lips quivered, and her throat tightened. I’m trapped here. Tears ran down her face silently. No one cared. All you had to do was listen. They would still be here if you had just listened.

A creak of the floorboards made Tilly jump. She swung around to see a figure emerging from the darkness.