Neither Winona nor Tarboda have any clue what the United Kingdom is, or the
North Atlantic Isles, or anything else that it might be called. If they ever
called it something else, they don’t know that either, because it doesn’t
even seem familiar when he tries to talk about a big land mass above France
on the map. To them, there’s pretty much only ocean there. That’s when Mateo
remembers that at least one little bit of England remained where it was
meant to be, as its own tiny island. “Follow me.”
“Follow you where?” Tarboda questions, but he and Winona follow anyway.
“We’re gonna see if Bristol is here, or not. We’ll need to find some wheels,
though, if they’re even a thing here.” They’re on a path, and that looks
like a road in the middle distance, so vehicles existed here at some point.
“We have yet to see a soul.”
“What are we expecting?” Winona asks.
“We’re expecting it to be missing,” Mateo answers. “We’re expecting nothing
but water. That’s assuming I’m taking us in the right direction.”
They start walking northwest, which is about as accurate as Mateo can get
with the orientation. They see the occasional farm building, and more roads,
but no other signs of life. If the isles were sucked into a portal, the
process may have been detrimental to complex life. If it happened a long
enough time ago, maybe the plantlife came back on its own, Mateo doesn’t
know how it works. Or maybe they’re just in a rural area, and nobody happens
to be around. Finally, after a solid five-k, they find a small town, just
waking up for the day.
“Morning!” a local calls out to them from across the street. He jogs over to
them. “Are you nomads? I’ve already eaten, but my nanny will be making
breakfast for my children soon. You’re welcome to join, and then stay with
us for a night.”
“We’re not nomads,” Winona explains. “We’re just travelers. We’re looking
for a town called Bristol.”
The stranger frowns, but not in a sad way. “Hmm. Never heard of it.” That’s
a good sign. “The county cartographer would be able to help you. She’s heard
of every street, every building, in the whole world.”
“Oh, wow. Tell me,” Mateo says, “how big is the world?”
He smiles. “Why, I’m not sure. She would know that too. If you’re asking how
much land there is, though, I think it’s about 150 leagues wide, and 200
leagues long.”
“And there’s nothing beyond it?” Tarboda asks him.
“Beyond the ocean?” He laughs. “Not that I know of. Explorers used to
search, but I think they gave up on it.” He narrows his eyes at them
playfully. “Wait a second, you wouldn’t happen to be from beyond the ocean,
would you?”
“What would happen to us if we were?” Winona asks.
“Well, we would celebrate, of course! New friends? We only ever get new
friends when babies are born! They’re great, but they don’t say too much,
and they’re always complaining.” He’s either talking in the more general
sense of an isolated population, or there aren’t millions of people here,
like there ought to be. “Anyway, I must get to work in Winterbourne Stoke in
about an hour. The cartographer lives over there! Good luck!” He just heads
down the street, not getting into a car, which suggests that he’s going to
walk, and if he has to be there in an hour, it’s probably pretty far away.
Hopefully they do have cars here somewhere. They would ask, but he’s busy,
and he’s been so nice.
The cartographer’s house is across the street from a park, so that’s where
they sit until a more appropriate hour. By the time they feel like it’s late
enough, guessing by the sun, a fairly old woman comes out of the house. They
approach her cautiously, but when she sees them, she smiles as joyfully as
the man did. People are real friendly ‘round these here parts. She speaks
before they can even explain why they’re there. “Nomads, no doubt! Please,
accompany me to work. I would love to hear stories of your travels.”
Mateo decides to take a risk. “We’re from the world beyond the ocean.”
She frowns in a disbelieving way, and looks around for eavesdroppers. “Tell
me where, and if you try to lie, I’ll know. I’m aware of all the islands.”
“We’re not from an island, we’re from Kansas City,” Mateo says.
She perks up. “Funny you don’t consider it an island. We’ve always suspected
that the residents could not see outside the bubble. Tell me, how did you
escape?”
“The bubble?” Mateo asks. While she’s not responding, he looks away to
think. “You’ve seen this bubble? From the outside?”
“Not personally. I’ve seen video footage, taken from the scouting plane. How
did you escape?” she repeats.
Mateo keeps thinking. “What other places have you seen? Easter Island,
maybe?”
“Yes. That, plus Kure, Muskoka District, El-Sheikh Zayed, Panama, and Machu
Picchu.”
“Have you heard of those places?” Mateo asks Winona.
“I’ve heard of Panama and Machu Picchu, of course, but that’s it,” she
answers.
“Kure is in Japan,” Tarboda adds. “I flew missions there during World War
VI.”
“And I’ve heard of Muskoka,” Mateo says. “It’s in Canada. Have you ever
heard of Canada?” he asks the cartographer.
“Nope, are people nice there?” she asks.
“Very,” he replies. “Are all the others in bubbles?”
“None of the others is,” she says. “Only Kansas City, and we only called it
that because we saw signs for Kansas City, Kansas, and Kansas City,
Missouri. We figured Kansas and Missouri were the subdivisions, and their
conventions reverse the order.”
Mateo gets back into his own head. He had always wondered why they called
The Fourth Quadrant its own reality when it just seemed to be a pocket
dimension. Based on his interactions with the people living there, they
believe that their universe is as small as the metropolitan area. He wonders
how they explained the sun, because it’s only now that he knows that the sun
he’s looking up at right now is the same one. There’s a whole world out
there, and the key to reaching the farthest corners of it lies in that
circle of stones to the southeast. He’s sure of it. “We have to go back.”
“We have to go back where?” Winona questions.
“Stonehenge. Those stone archways aren’t just well-placed rocks. They’re
doorways. They’re portals.”
“I don’t understand,” the cartographer admits.
“That’s okay,” Mateo says. “I don’t understand it either. We just have to go
back where we came from. I really appreciate the information, and thank you
to your people for being so pleasant and accommodating.”
“Wait,” she says. “Information should go both ways.”
“I’ll do you one better,” Mateo begins. “If I’m right, there’s a way back to
your world of origin, so you’re about to meet billions of new friends.”
