"I spent most of my time in a rather small town, but I did have the chance to visit New London on occasion... I suppose I could still manage some of the simpler aspects of the work, but there is little call for that here. There is quite a skilled physician in town, you know."
"A surgeon," I say, impressed, as I pick up the tea cup with murmured thanks. "And one of two in town? This place is... unusual." I settle on the word with a bemused shake of the head, sipping the tea in silent reflection for a few moments afterward. Unusual doesn't quite cover it. Plenty of potable water, food, renewable electricity, law enforcement, a bookstore and library-- and both a working professional physician and a superfluous one.
To say nothing of the utterly strange experiences I've had with some of the townspeople. Now that I think about it, Mr. Laclos may have been the only citizen I've interacted with for any length of time since I got here that didn't make the hair on the back of my neck stand up at least once a conversation.
Perhaps Mr. Sagert will be the second. He's been impeccably polite, is clearly very well educated, and comports himself as one born into money or title, or both. Then again, five minutes into tea he may start prophesying, or decide he wants to see the inside of my chest cavity.
"I have certainly done repairs, and have rebound books on occasion. I imagine I certainly could... is there a uniformity to the pages? I am sure it could be done if not, but if it's a matter of binding sheets of different sizes and substances together, it's best to know at the beginning."
His speech does not change, remains polite and professional, but something on his face suggests he's been caught off guard. At first, I am at a loss as to why. It's not a typical request, certainly, but not outlandish. As he speaks of details, it becomes clear that it is not a matter of being beyond his capabilities. Perhaps he objects to the work itself?
"They are uniform. Sorted and numbered, as well. Here, have a look," I say, setting down my cup. I work the lid off the well-worn case and remove the first two sheets from the thick, rolled bundle inside. Putting the lid back on the case, I set it aside before spreading the pages out on the counter. They are maps, precisely and intricately inked by my own hand, and in a sense are some of my most valuable possessions. These two date back almost three years, detailing an area quite far to the southeast.
The first is topographic, meticulously detailed through the center where my route passed, with details fading to mere generalities of land features near the outer edge of the map. The second is of the same area, but has almost none of the first's contour lines, instead showing water sources, mineral deposits, forested areas, shelters, roads and trails, and so forth. For information I wish to hide from the casual observer, I use a system of Greek symbols. Both pages are numbered in two different ways: once with the order in which they should fall in the book, and then again, on their edges, with letters and numbers that let me know with which other maps they are associated, and where they fit together.
"I've been something of an explorer and cartographer for many years. You might say this is a portion of my life's work, and it's very important to me that it be adequately protected. Hence the need to have it well and securely bound." In the Order I had studied every old map I could get my hands on, maps of places dead and gone, some for two thousand years, some for a hundred. Looking at a map of a dead civilization really impressed upon you how tenuous everything was; mapping an emerging civilization made you feel like you were part of the birth of something entirely new.
no subject
"A surgeon," I say, impressed, as I pick up the tea cup with murmured thanks. "And one of two in town? This place is... unusual." I settle on the word with a bemused shake of the head, sipping the tea in silent reflection for a few moments afterward. Unusual doesn't quite cover it. Plenty of potable water, food, renewable electricity, law enforcement, a bookstore and library-- and both a working professional physician and a superfluous one.
To say nothing of the utterly strange experiences I've had with some of the townspeople. Now that I think about it, Mr. Laclos may have been the only citizen I've interacted with for any length of time since I got here that didn't make the hair on the back of my neck stand up at least once a conversation.
Perhaps Mr. Sagert will be the second. He's been impeccably polite, is clearly very well educated, and comports himself as one born into money or title, or both. Then again, five minutes into tea he may start prophesying, or decide he wants to see the inside of my chest cavity.
"I have certainly done repairs, and have rebound books on occasion. I imagine I certainly could... is there a uniformity to the pages? I am sure it could be done if not, but if it's a matter of binding sheets of different sizes and substances together, it's best to know at the beginning."
His speech does not change, remains polite and professional, but something on his face suggests he's been caught off guard. At first, I am at a loss as to why. It's not a typical request, certainly, but not outlandish. As he speaks of details, it becomes clear that it is not a matter of being beyond his capabilities. Perhaps he objects to the work itself?
"They are uniform. Sorted and numbered, as well. Here, have a look," I say, setting down my cup. I work the lid off the well-worn case and remove the first two sheets from the thick, rolled bundle inside. Putting the lid back on the case, I set it aside before spreading the pages out on the counter. They are maps, precisely and intricately inked by my own hand, and in a sense are some of my most valuable possessions. These two date back almost three years, detailing an area quite far to the southeast.
The first is topographic, meticulously detailed through the center where my route passed, with details fading to mere generalities of land features near the outer edge of the map. The second is of the same area, but has almost none of the first's contour lines, instead showing water sources, mineral deposits, forested areas, shelters, roads and trails, and so forth. For information I wish to hide from the casual observer, I use a system of Greek symbols. Both pages are numbered in two different ways: once with the order in which they should fall in the book, and then again, on their edges, with letters and numbers that let me know with which other maps they are associated, and where they fit together.
"I've been something of an explorer and cartographer for many years. You might say this is a portion of my life's work, and it's very important to me that it be adequately protected. Hence the need to have it well and securely bound." In the Order I had studied every old map I could get my hands on, maps of places dead and gone, some for two thousand years, some for a hundred. Looking at a map of a dead civilization really impressed upon you how tenuous everything was; mapping an emerging civilization made you feel like you were part of the birth of something entirely new.