The Distant Cartograph
The entry in the ledger read: N. Lebedev, twelve years of service, debt of four silver rubles for damaged vellum, deducted from wages. Nikolai Lebedev stared at the line until the ink blurred. It was not a debt of money, not really, but of blood. Three days prior, in the scriptorium of the Imperial Courier Station, he had felt the pop in his left lung, a sound like a knuckle cracking inside a...
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