The Distant Cartograph
Alaric. The name hung in the air, heavy and damp, spoken by the farm boy who drove the cart to the edge of the property. I was forty, an apothecary from the city, and I had come to the estate of my late mentor, Mr. Thorne, to find the final page of his cartographic manuscript. The debts were high, and the community of scholars who had sustained me expected the map to settle the account. The...
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