The Distant Cartograph
Chapter One "You are holding the pen wrong," the magistrate said, tapping his knuckles against the table until the inkwell rattled. I did not look up. I was checking the tension on the calipers, the steel cold and slick under my thumb, while the rain hammered the windowpanes of the telegraph exchange, a sound like gravel thrown against glass that never let up. The deadline for the northern...
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