A Mapwalker Trilogy

Chapter 1-2

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 medieval Abbey, Bath had become a fashionable Georgian spa town, made famous by 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 wanted to live in London, the hub of politics boosting her foreign aid work. But now Sienna returned to the south-west, without Dad, and with Granddad gone. The only Farren left of 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, admiring 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. Acorn finials of stone topped the buildings, and between each tier, a carved frieze wove its way around portraying nautical elements, serpents and masonic symbols. In the center of the circle, five huge plane trees stood tall on lush green grass, their leaves rustling in the breeze. It would have been peaceful, a glimpse into a regal past, but today, bright yellow Crime Scene tape wrapped 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 walked away down Brock Street and turned 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 boutique with glass jewelry in the window; an art gallery; a secondhand bookstore and there, in the middle, her grandfather's map shop.

While the other places bustled with tourists, the map shop remained locked, its window in shadow. Sienna walked up and looked in at the display. An old county map of Somerset stood in central position, its hills marked with contoured shading. Next to it, her grandfather's book on the history of cartography, propped open by a tiny engraved globe in a lacquered wooden box. The shop was dark inside, but she could just make out his desk at the back, surrounded by crates 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. 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 so 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 it open.

Sienna walked in and as she inhaled 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. "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. I'll come back in an hour or so. That 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.