The Distant Cartograph
Act I Who can hold the line when the ink runs?‌​⁠⁠‌‌‌​​‌⁠‍⁠​⁠​​‍‌‍​⁠‍​⁠‌​​​​​​​​​​​​​​‌⁠​​⁠​‌​‍⁠‌‍‍‍‍​⁠​‌⁠⁠⁠‍‌‌⁠​⁠‌​‌​‍​ I am Nitin Patel, twelve years old, and I know the way to the capital better than my father does. He says it is a fool’s errand, a lie that will get me lost in the wild, but he is just afraid of the rain. I hold his water-stained atlas, the paper soft and weak as wet cloth,...
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