A Secret Atlas by Michael A. Stackpole Read Free Book Online Page B

outdone.”
    “You could only have been outdone, Ulan, had your brother set pen to paper, and he still
    would have been hard-pressed to win.”
    “You mustn’t say that, Highness.” The old man shook his head. “But here I am telling you
    what you can and cannot do.”
    “In the House of the Anturasi, many take orders.”
    “They do, they do.”
    The old man turned and waved the Prince through the doors, then closed them and
    shuffled along the corridor, which led around and up to the fifth-floor workshop. The Prince
    walked ahead of Ulan, letting his right hand trail along a wrought-iron railing as he
    mounted the ramp and moved into the workshop’s light. Though he had visited the
    Anturasi workshop many times, the sight never failed to impress him.
    The ramp emerged in the center of a circular room a hundred feet in diameter. Aside from
    a curtained wedge chopped out of the northern point, copy desks and drafting tables,
    cabinets with large flat drawers and shelves packed with scrolled charts dominated the
    room. Pillars supported the vaulted ceiling and, around the walls, high windows allowed
    illumination. For fear of fire, the Principality provided magical lighting for evening work,
    and ghostly blue light had often been seen glowing from the tower after sunset.
    Dozens of Anturasi worked at the desks. The youngest—grandchildren and great-
    grandchildren, all of them sprung from Ulan’s loins—fetched paper and refilled inkwells,
    sharpened nibs and carefully powdered finished maps. Those a bit older copied city maps
    or diagrams of fortifications—anything that would help them develop the skills they needed
    to draft the truly important work. The adults, led by Ulan, worked at the largest tables,
    making nautical charts of incredible accuracy. As travelers returned from voyages and
    provided details, maps were revised so the next purchaser would have the most up-to-
    date information possible.
    This controlled chaos was filled with the scrape of pen on paper, the click of knife on quill,
    the occasional crash of an inkwell smashing, and the even less frequent oath. The
    Anturasi worked quickly, precisely, and as quietly as possible—as all three traits were the
    only way to insulate themselves from Qiro’s wrath.
    Qiro’s domain, in contrast to the rest of the workshop, lay out of sight beyond the blue
    curtains hung from ceiling to floor. Prince Cyron made for the opening and, slipping
    through, smiled. A second curtain—white—ten feet distant, guaranteed that the secrets
    within would not be seen by accident. He made certain the curtains behind him were
    drawn tightly shut before he opened the others.
    He could not suppress a gasp. A segment of the curved wall had been whitewashed and
    on it a map of the known world had been drawn twenty feet high and forty wide. The Nine
    Principalities lay at the heart of the thing, as befitting their place in the world. The Turca
    Wastes capped them to the north, and the vast Eastern Sea formed the eastern boundary.
    The provinces and wastelands were drawn in to the west, with the eastern coast of far
    Aefret forming the western boundary. Above it, sketched in with the faintest of detail, lay
    the mythical lands of Etrusia.
    Before the Time of Black Ice, the Empire had traded with the peoples of Etrusia via a land
    route, but the Cataclysm that had broken the world had closed that path. Qiro’s expedition
    fifty years earlier had gotten further than any other, but still showed the way was closed.
    Cyron and he had discussed the possibility of trying the land route again, but the
    successes at ocean exploration had made doing so a low priority.
    So much of the ocean remained unknown, for most of the ships had gone south and then
    west, along well-known routes. Cyron felt certain that great discoveries would be found to
    the east, and toward that end the greatest ship of his fleet, the Stormwolf, had been
    created and was preparing to sail.
    The Prince found the