The Forgery

As I’ve said before, even the standard cartography in my upcoming novel Silent Sorrow (IFWG, 2020) will be integrated into the text, carrying the weight of the storytelling. The maps are artefacts, meant to look like they were drawn at the time, each by different hands.

This map has a particular history, and is the reason Remezov took apprenticeship with his master, Felicev. Remember that in this extremely unstable world geographers are necessary, well respected and rich (unlike here)…

The map here does double duty. First, it shows that the young Remezov’s boastfulness isn’t illusory; he is indeed an excellent cartographer with good instincts. And second, it is useful for the scene in which it is embedded, set at the Hanemark Docks.

Here’s an excerpt from the novel, with the accompanying map.

…Just Felicev being his curmudgeonly self. Oddly, it was when the old fool was at his most contrary that Remezov felt fondest towards him. It had been that way since the day they’d met.

Alone in a strange city and desperate for money, an eleven-year-old Remezov had fashioned a scheme to forge maps and sell them as genuine in the Xallis Market. This had worked well until a wet afternoon when he’d been accosted by two men.

‘These are quite good,’ one had said, and called over a thickset companion. ‘Ho, Felicev! Your spelling is execrable!’

‘But my handwork is much steadier,’ said the second man, snatching up a map of Sarella. ‘So, young fellow, who draws these?’

‘I draw them,’ Remezov had said, working through the men’s comments and readying himself for a beating or worse.

‘No point in protecting your master,’ the first man had said. ‘We’ll find her eventually.’ He turned to his genial companion. ‘It’ll be a her; linework’s too fine for a male hand.’

‘Yours?’ the big man said, ignoring his companion.

‘Not even my best,’ Remezov had said, stung. ‘Look at this one. Sea chart, Hanemark Roads.’ An unnecessary detail, he realised, as he unfolded it. ‘I thinned the lineweight, added a wash to make the ocean stand out and used less elaborate lettering so people could actually read it. Looks much better.’

‘Using a Jonpan wash to emphasise the hydrography does make the information pop,’ the first man had said, nodding at Remezov.

‘Good instincts,’ said the genial man. ‘What are you, fifteen?’

‘Eleven, and already better than you. I’ll be better still by fifteen.’

It made the man laugh. ‘Ah, arrogance, the geographer’s one essential quality. Come with me.’ He’d clamped a hand on Remezov’s shoulder and dragged him away from the market and his painstakingly-drawn maps, and changed his life forever.

Silly old fool. Glorious bastard. Impossible madman.