The Distant Cartograph
Bertha Aldridge stood at the window of the scriptorium, her fingers stained with oak gall ink, and watched the dust settle on the moor like a fine, grey snow that did not melt. The year was 1814, and the blockade had strangled the supply of paper from the continent, turning the Abbey of St. Jude into a fortress of parchment and silence, where the air was so dry it cracked the lips and the lungs...
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