by Perrin Briar
Cartographer ran his eyes over their exposed muscular arms in an effort to identify distinguishing marks. The guards’ faces were hidden behind their conical helmets.
The hall doors were thick, and the cartographers wouldn’t have been able to hear anything even if they’d pressed their ears to them. Cartographer would have plugged his fingers in his ears if he could hear the voices. It was more than his life was worth—more than his son’s life was worth.
The guards stiffened. and the shaft of their halberds smacked the ground, making a harsh clack! noise. Cartographer jumped, his body shaking. He was not a brave man, he knew. He’d only ever had his bravery tested once, and he had failed, spectacularly.
He’d volunteered to be a cartographer, doing his bit in the war against the pirates. He was an artist, and thought he could do a good job at replicating a map of any given area. From the thousands who had applied, he had been chosen. He’d been equal parts excited and fearful, realizing he’d just signed up to join a war he’d previously had no real part in.
What they never warned him about was the price of admission. The king’s guards turned up on his son’s tenth birthday party, interrupting as he made his wish and blew out his candles. Cartographer had stood by as they took his son away. It wasn’t until the following week, at Cartographer’s first meeting, that the truth of the matter was revealed.
He had turned up at the meeting unshaven, wearing the same clothes for the past three days. The other cartographers wore the same shabby style. Admiral himself had entered their little room and explained their loved ones had been the lucky recipients of navy scholarships. They would be given privileged positions and opportunities other cadets could only dream of. They hadn’t applied for them, of course, but Cartographers’ important role within the war meant his son was entitled to such special treatment.
Much of that meeting was now a blur in Cartographer’s mind, but one sentence had engraved itself on his brain:
“So long as you all continue to serve your king and country with the same fervor we’ve come to expect, your children will continue to receive special recognition and protection within the navy.”
Special protection.
It was clear to all present what had really happened. Their pale complexions proved that much. Their loved ones had been taken hostage. Cartographer had thought he was making a small sacrifice to serve his king and country. Instead, it was his son who was making it for him.
Cartographer shook his head. He didn’t want to think about it. It did no good to dwell on such things. He had promised himself he wouldn’t. The cartographers had evidently made the same promise to themselves and talked about everything except that which they wanted to talk about. Their loved ones.
The hall doors opened and the cartographers stood up, bowing their heads in respect as Admiral passed. The cartographers entered the hall and kept their eyes firmly on the floor, avoiding all eye contact with the king as they collected their individual pieces of map.
Cartographer’s jurisdiction was the eastern coast and neighboring islands. Not a particularly large or important area of the world, but it was more than enough danger for him.
He cursed the day he decided to be an artist, riling against his parents wishes for him to enter his family’s merchant business. If he had done as they suggested he wouldn’t have lost his son, wouldn’t have struggled to sleep for the past seven years and…
No. He mustn’t think about it. There was nothing he could do about it now in any case. He rolled his segment of the map up and tucked it under his arm. The cartographers were escorted out of the room by the guards, through the cavernous palace corridors, to the front gates of the palace.
Cartographer kept his eyes on the pavement, eyes flicking side to side. He doubled back and made wide detours in case someone had decided to follow him. It wasn’t just his own life he had to be careful of, but his son’s. Really, it was only his son’s life he had to protect. He didn’t care what happened to himself.
Unfortunately for Cartographer, he was about to get the very kind of attention he so desperately wanted to avoid.
21
“SO, HERE we are in New London,” Zoe said. “What do we do now?”
“We figure out a plan,” Bryan said.
“Nice to see you’ve worked out all the kinks,” Zoe said.
“We need to get a grip on what we’re doing here and what we’re going to do next,” Bryan said, forging ahead. “We don’t have a lot of time left.”
“Well, what are we going to do next?” Zoe said.
“We’re going to find the best cartographer in town,” Bryan said. “The king will insist on using only the best.”
“What’s a cartographer?” Cassie said.
“A cartographer is the guy who draws maps,” Bryan said. “It makes sense to talk to him first. If there’s anything worth knowing about maps, he’ll know about it.”
“But how are we supposed to find him?” Cassie said.
“By using a little thing called conversation,” Bryan said. “Something you young ‘uns don’t know anything about.”
He approached a girl selling flowers. She bawled her wares at the top of her lungs.
“Excuse me,” Bryan said in his awful broad British accent. “Perhaps you can help me.”
“Ain’t nothing a bouquet of fine fresh forget-me-nots never made better,” the flower girl said. “Only a penny each.”
“They’re very nice,” Bryan said. “Tell me, do you know where I might be able to find the local cartographer?”
“Cartographer?” the flower girl said. “What’s that?”
“It’s someone who draws maps,” Cassie said.
“And what would you be wanting to do with a map maker, my love?” the flower girl said.
“There’s a boundary dispute in our village,” Bryan said. “We need a map to decide which party has the right to the land.”
“The East Islands, I take it?” the flower girl said.
“That’s right,” Bryan said.
“Afraid I can’t help you,” the flower girl said. “But these daffodils might provide some relief.”
“They are beautiful,” Bryan said, making a show of bending down and sniffing them. “But if I was compelled to locate the cartographer, where might he be found?”
“Might as well look for a needle in a haystack,” the flower girl said. “No one knows where the cartographer lives.”
“Why’s that?” Bryan said.
“You East Islanders sure don’t know a lot about how things are done, do you?” the flower girl said.
“Blame our backward ways,” Bryan said.
“It’s for security reasons,” the flower girl said.
“Security?” Bryan said.
“On account of pirate attacks,” the flower girl said. “There’s a lot of attacks as it is, but imagine if they were to get their grubby hands on a map of the whole kingdom. We wouldn’t get a moment’s peace with them pillaging and stealing and the like. Perhaps that’s the reason for the land dispute? Lilies are perfect for funerals.”
“I don’t need any flowers,” Bryan said, patience running thin.
The girl’s expression turned sour.
“And I don’t need to have my time wasted, thank you very much,” the girl said, turning and shouting her sales spiel at the passing crowd.
“That went well,” Zoe said as they headed away.
“We got some information,” Bryan said. “Not what we were hoping for, but it’s better than nothing.”
“You should drop your fake British accent,” Zoe said.
“Why?” Bryan said. “I think I sound debonair.”
“You sound like Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins,” Zoe said.
“I take that as a compliment,” Bryan said.
“You shouldn’t,” Zoe said.
“We need to split up,” Bryan said. “Speak to as many people as we can. Someone must know where we can find the cartographer.”
/> “All right,” Zoe said. “But promise me you’ll drop the accent. Or you’ll be picked up by the cops for disturbing the peace.”
22
ADMIRAL HATED most memorials. They harked back to a moment of loss in the past and promoted the wrong kind of remembrance; to forgive our enemies, to love them, to take a softer line in future.
Nothing could be more suicidal.
Life was about looking forward, not back. To learn from prior mistakes was a must, of course, a necessary component of improving systems and strategies. It was not about disposing of those targets altogether, but refining them for a more efficient system.
The lords and ladies stood behind the king, providing a united front. They faced a large open space, looking at a single short plinth. On it was a metal plate displaying the face of the young prince. It was the one day in the entire year that King would get to his feet and use his own legs to carry his mammoth self across the short expanse and lay a wreath at the foot of the memorial.
King’s lips moved, but Admiral never heard the words he spoke. He often wondered what they were.
The king had fawned over his youngest son in a way he never had with his eldest son, Admiral. But Admiral wasn’t jealous. Far from it. He was grateful for the distance his father’s war on the pirates granted him. His father was prone to violent outbursts, and they were aimed at whoever happened to be in the vicinity at the time. The young prince was often that method of release.
Admiral could see the effect it had on the malleable young mind. He felt sorry for the kid, and always made time to play with him, treating him like the little boy he was for once, without the crushing weight of duty on his shoulders. They were not close. Admiral was too busy to spend the required amount of time that that kind of relationship demanded.
Admiral regretted not spending more time with the young prince. Especially with what happened to him.
Prior to that fateful day, the British had been hitting the pirates hard, smashing their forces to smithereens. Admiral continued the work his own father had started. But their success came at a cost.
The British navy’s attacks had driven the pirates to desperation. They hit the coastal towns and villages in retaliation, often not even taking any of the produce, only intending to inflict as much damage as possible, taking the locals to recruit for their ships, forcing them to work the decks, so the British were actually fighting their own population.
The British continued to attack, continued to pound the pirates into submission, into near-oblivion. Only the very best pirates and navigators remained, and the British were hunting them down mercilessly. Stoneheart himself had evaded them a dozen times, but even his time was growing short.
Then the pirates did what no one expected. They took the battle to the capital.
A heavy pirate attack was mounted on the capital’s docks. Meanwhile, a small contingent of pirates broke into the palace and kidnapped the young heir. The guards scrambled to rescue the prince, but they instead sealed his doom. The escape was bungled, and the prince was killed in the firing line.
Losses had been severe on both sides. A three day ceasefire was announced, time during which Admiral armed all his ships to a level they had never been before. They were going to lay waste to the entire pirate brigade once and for all, and within a season. Everyone was behind the effort.
Everyone, save the king.
Admiral had stood before the king in the great hall, awaiting his orders. It was merely a formality, he’d thought. He knew what his job was, and he was more than willing to carry it out. It was personal.
“You are to cease and desist all attacks upon the pirates,” King said. “You are to defend our land without recourse to violence, even if you are not the primary instigator.”
“What?” Admiral said.
“You heard me,” King said.
To say Admiral was dumbfounded was an understatement.
“But we have them on the ropes!” Admiral said. “A couple more months, and they’ll be confined to the pages of history!”
King smacked his throne with his fleshy palm.
“I said there is to be no more bloodshed!” he said.
“There will be bloodshed,” Admiral said. “Ours!”
History proved him right. Pirate numbers grew exponentially, like a weed, in an effort to replenish what the British had taken. They seemed to know the British were impotent, and took full advantage, commandeering the British ships on the open sea, running them down, boarding them and slaughtering the crew.
The British altered their ships, building them for speed rather than firepower in an effort to outrun the pirates. They were playing a game of tag while wearing a blindfold. It was a disaster. Still, King would not budge.
And here they were, ten years later, the pirate problem worse than ever. Rather than mourn what had been lost, Admiral preferred to take action and do something about it. But Admiral faced a conundrum.
How was he meant to take action, defying his father’s orders without actually appearing to? He could not be seen to undermine his father’s authority, but he needed to eradicate the pirates, to blow them from the water. He devised many plans, but none satisfied him.
And then one day the answer provided itself.
It came in the form of a man in a cowled cape in the prince’s own private quarters. How the stranger had managed to get past his guards, the prince did not know, but he was more than capable of defending himself.
The figure did not attack, and was not intimidated by the prince’s brandished sword. He calmly described Admiral’s situation with incredible clarity, and then proposed the solution.
It was so simple, would be so effective, that Admiral wondered why he hadn’t considered it himself. And then he realized why. The technology to carry it out didn’t exist yet.
Admiral was skeptical at first, taking the cowled figure as a madman, but then the man provided blueprints, designs for the contraption he had described.
It was an odd-looking device, consisting of a dome with a glass front. He hadn’t seen anything like it before, and yet… and yet it looked strangely beautiful. Might it actually work?
“Give it to your chief engineer,” the cowled figure said. “He will tell you it can be done.”
Admiral couldn’t take his eyes off the designs.
“What’s to stop me taking your designs and building this device myself?” he said.
“Nothing,” the cowled figure said. “Except the materials to build it require processes you have not yet developed in your world.”
“In my world?” Admiral said.
And that was when his reeducation began, the most informative hour he had ever received. The cowled figure described a series of worlds, each linked to one another via Passages, each derived from a single world up on the surface, with a history as long as the deepest worlds below the surface.
It sounded too fantastic to believe, and for the second time, Admiral wondered if the cowled figure wasn’t really a mad man after all. Or perhaps he himself had lost his mind. Was it even possible for a madman to know he was crazy?
“Your only other option is to have your father murdered and accept the throne yourself,” the cowled man said. “But we both know that’s not something you’re capable of.”
“That’s treason,” Admiral said, his tone turning cold and raising his sword.
“I’m not a citizen of your world,” the cowled man said. “Your laws do not apply to me.”
“They do while you’re in it,” Admiral said.
He glared at the cowled man, who only waited. Admiral lowered his sword.
“What do you want in exchange?” he said.
“You will build me a fleet of these machines,” the cowled figure said. “Twenty-five, to be exact.”
“Twenty-five?” Admiral said. “What will you use them for?”
“I think we both know that need not concern you,” the cowled figure said.
“It does if you intend to
use them against the crown,” Admiral said.
“We will not use them against you,” the cowled figure said.
Admiral was uncertain.
“If that was our intention, we would have had them built elsewhere and then used them against you,” the cowled figure said.
Admiral glared at the cowled figure. He didn’t know who he was or where he came from, but he didn’t like him. He supposed that didn’t matter in business. It was about doing what was best for the kingdom.
“I will discuss the contraption with my chief engineer,” Admiral said, turning to place the designs on his desk. “How do I contact you?”
“You don’t,” the cowled figure said. “We’ll contact you.”
“‘We’?” Admiral said.
He turned to find his room empty.
Admiral awoke the next morning in a cold sweat, entrapped in a sea of bed sheets. He’d peered about himself, eyes scrubbing the room for the cowled figure. Finding no sign of him, Admiral fell back in bed, relieved it had only been a dream.
But the image of the contraption remained in his mind, and for the next ten minutes, a lifetime for Admiral, who never usually laid in, he turned the device over in his mind, analysing it from every direction. Was it possible to build? He would need to consult his chief engineer.
He threw his legs over the side of his bed and immediately felt sick to his stomach.
Spread out before him like a carpet were the contraption blueprints.
23
BRYAN HAD asked a dozen people for the location of a cartographer, and every time, he had met blank stares. It was as if their brains switched off the moment he said the ‘c’ word. He was rejoined with Zoe and Cassie. They reported the same experience.
“They look like when your computer freezes,” Cassie said. “It’s like they’ve all been hypnotized and trained to respond the same when we say the magic word.”
“Wait,” Zoe said. “Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way.”