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THE MAPMAKER

They passed through a warehouse district, maneuvering around lorries and wagons but few people. Then they entered the market, where many citizens walked in the streets as well as on the sidewalks directly in front of the shops. Grupnotbaggentogg turned the ramshackle carriage into a narrow street with much less traffic. Halfway down the lane a dark and light brown ball hung from a wooden beam jutting out from a storefront. The globe turned at a lazy pace, stirred by the gentle breeze. Bold red letters read Bromptotterpindosset’s Maps, Charts, Atlases, and Globes on the first line of a dark sign above the rafter. Yellow letters stretched across the second line, saying Emporium, Bazaar, Galleria, and Thrift Shop.

Grupnotbaggentogg drew up Sadie’s reins.

“Here we be.” He looked over his shoulder at his passengers. “The shop is open, but that don’t mean he’s here. His daughter and son-in-law mind the place when he goes off for the cure.”

Holt and Bardon hopped off the running boards as the old tumanhofer scrambled down the side of the cart. Holt had been on the sidewalk side and beat Bardon to the task of handing down the ladies. The squire frowned when the marione put his hands around N’Rae’s waist and lifted her out of the cart and onto the wooden planks beside him. Holt smiled into her eyes for a moment before letting her go.

A polished wooden door with a large pane of glass had an Open sign dangling from a hook above the window.

Bardon stepped in front of Holt and put a hand on the young marione’s broad chest, stopping him from following N’Rae to the door. He spoke softly so as not to disturb N’Rae and her grandmother. “Holt, the business we conduct here is of a private nature. I ask that you give the ladies a chance to make their inquiries without an audience. Could you perchance be persuaded to watch their belongings, protecting them from thieves?”

Holt bristled, then suddenly relaxed. The easy smile spread across his face. “Certainly. I serve in whatever capacity most benefits N’Rae and her grandmother.”

Bardon glanced at the ladies. They were perusing the maps, charts, and assorted merchandise in the shop windows. The trinkets from faraway ports caught Granny Kye’s attention. N’Rae examined a spangled hat from some distant city.

Under his breath, he addressed Holt. “I don’t trust you. After we get the ladies settled, I wish to have a talk with you. I would like to know why you followed us here. What are your intentions? Are you here on your own accord or at the bidding of your father?”

He patted the fine fabric of Holt’s coat. “I will expect you to tell me the truth.”

Grupnotbaggentogg turned the brass knob and entered the shop to the jangling of bells.

“Bromptotterpindosset,” he called. “Bromp! Are you here?”

A young woman came from behind a curtain covering a door to the back. Her thick blond braids wrapped her head like a crown. Bright blue eyes dominated her square face. Her nose and mouth were small for a tumanhofer. She wiped her hands on a white apron that covered the intricately woven blue, green, and gold cloth of her dress. She smiled at all the customers who’d entered the shop but spoke to the driver.

“Master Grupnotbaggentogg, what brings you here?”

“Brought some people looking for a map. Has your da gone off again?”

“Well, he’s gone off to get his noonmeal, but I reckon you meant had he gone off for the cure.” She shook her head and lowered her voice. “I’m expecting him to leave any day. His feet are driving him to distraction. Miserable, he is.” She softened her voice to just above a whisper. “And grouchy, he is. As much as I’ll miss him, I can’t wait to see the back of him disappear over the horizon.”

The old driver patted her shoulder in an awkward gesture of comfort. “It’ll be better, Saramaralindan, once he’s gone and comes back. Better for a decade or two, until the itch comes upon him again.”

She smiled and nodded. “Will you introduce me to your passengers?”

“This be Granny Kye and her granddaughter, N’Rae.”

Saramaralindan bobbed a curtsy.

“And Squire Bardon.”

Bardon stepped forward. “We require a map of the Northern Reach.”

N’Rae came to his side and added, “The western part.”

Saramaralindan frowned and tapped a finger on her chin while she surveyed one section of the wall of bookcases.

“We don’t have much in the way of inland maps for the Northern Reach. The seacoast is well charted.” She crossed to a stepstool and pushed it to where she wanted to examine the shelves. Climbing up two steps, she reached for a couple of rolled parchments. She tucked them under her arm and descended. On a large table in the middle of the shop, she unrolled the first one, putting small, elaborate, wrought-iron weights at the corners to keep the scroll open. The table was the height most comfortable for tumanhofers. Bardon had to bend to examine the parchment.

“This one has great detail of the coast, including rock barriers under the water that would sink a ship.” She unrolled the other and shifted the book weights. “This has some sketchy references to inland topography, but we are not certain as to its accuracy. Are you planning to travel in this region?” She waved her hand over the scantily marked territory.

“Yes,” Bardon replied. “But I had hoped for a better map.”

“If you return this way, would you stop and give us information about the area? Could you keep notes and maybe draw sketches of what you see?”

Granny Kye tugged on Bardon’s sleeve. “I could do that.”

The door opened, the jangling bells announcing a newcomer.

“It’s you, Bromptotterpindosset,” said Grupnotbaggentogg in warm welcome.

“Humph! Aye, it is,” said the neatly dressed tumanhofer without enthusiasm. He looked younger and wealthier and much more sour than the driver. He scowled at the older tumanhofer through wire-framed spectacles, and a glimmer of mischief sparkled in his eye for only a moment. “And it is you, Grupnotbaggentogg. Do you need a map of Canal Street, or perhaps a chart of Blecoe Warren?”

Instead of being offended by the shopkeeper’s gruff tone, Grupnotbaggentogg laughed and slapped him on the back. “Nay, I brought travelers on their way to the Northern Reach. They need a map, of course.”

Bromptotterpindosset studied each of his customers in turn. His scowl did not break, even when he gazed upon the fair N’Rae.

“Daughter!” The word rattled the silence. “Get me the chest in the back room.”

“Which chest, Father? The room is filled with chests.”

The tumanhofer growled in his throat and his whiskers shook. “The one in green leather. The one with rusted clasps. The one under the Dabotnore volumes. That one!”

“The one that hasn’t been moved in ten years or more?”

“Yes, of course,” he bellowed. “What other one would I want when we speak of the Northern Reach?”

Saramaralindan rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. “I can’t imagine. I’ll get it for you, Father.”

She was gone with a whoosh of the heavy curtains.

Bromptotterpindosset moved to the table and studied the parchments unrolled there. The muffled sounds of heavy objects being shifted came through the doorway.

Bardon responded to a grunt from Saramaralindan. “Perhaps I should assist your daughter.”

The shopkeeper waved his hand as if it were no matter to him. Bardon went through the curtained door. He soon returned with a chest covered in decaying, green-dyed leather in his arms. He set it on the table.

Bromptotterpindosset blew over the top and dust flew. He opened the clasp and tilted the lid upright. A small book, several scrolls, and a sextant rested among cobwebs and bits of torn paper.

The tumanhofer pulled out the navigational instrument and set it aside. He picked up the scrolls, one at a time, and brushed them off on his sleeve. Almost with reverence, he lifted the small book in his hand. He held it up, and his gaze went from one face to the next around the table.

“This,” he said, “is the diary of Cadden Glas, an adventuring doneel. He chronicles his exploits, complete with notations about flora and fauna, geographical discoveries, observations of the populace, and information about landmarks, rivers, and other descriptive details on how to get here and there in the Northern Reach. He explored the region for decades. The book, however, is written in the language of the meech. Do any of you speak meech?”

They shook their heads.

“Understandable. It is a difficult language to speak…easier to read. Do any of you read meech?”

Again negative shakes of heads met his question.

Bromptotterpindosset grinned. The smile—a set of teeth that were big, white, and numerous—separated his mustache-laden upper lip from the beard dripping off his chin. Bardon couldn’t remember ever seeing a grin so magnificently absurd.

“Then I must inform you that most certainly, without a doubt, it will be necessary for you to take upon your journey to the Northern Reach someone who does speak and read meech. Fortunately, I know of someone who is capable of both these endeavors. And it just so happens that he is in the position to do some extensive traveling at this time.”

“Ha!” Grupnotbaggentogg threw back his head and echoed his own exclamation. “Ha! So you’re off for the cure, eh, Bromp? Well, just remember your age and try to get back in three or four years. You’re not as young as you used to be, even if you are a generation or two behind me.”