The Distant Cartograph
The ledger showed four hundred and twelve hours logged since the last pay cycle, a number that weighed heavier than the coal in the stove. Arthur Vane sat in the corner of the Royal Cartographic Survey office, the air thick with the smell of stale tobacco and damp wool, and checked his pulse. It was quick, a frantic rabbit-thump against his wrist, a reminder that the lungs he was trying to save...
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