The needle was not what caught his attention. It was the map.
It was lying on the same table as the needle—actually, under the needle, like the needle was protecting it—and it was drawn on something that looked like animal skin but felt like paper. The lines were crude, almost childish, but they were precise. They showed a city. Not just any city. London. But not the London Jack knew. This was a London with streets that did not exist in his version of the...
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