Cartographer's Angel

It was two months after he finished the map that Julian Merle was forced to admit he’d never actually left his home town. The sweeping mountain ranges and the clear streams that ran through them were just speculations, the roads and cities dotted along the river were mostly guess work and the coast in the east was a little more than mere fancy. Julian had assumed when he had drawn it up that the country had to end somewhere, and that somewhere might was well be an ocean because that meant less finicky lines to draw. Julian had even put mermaids in it for good measure, no one could resist mermaids. Then he had signed his name in the corner, in thin curving script, and sent it off to be printed.

Perhaps it was the mermaids, or perhaps it was something else, but soon every copy of Julian’s map had been sold. A second batch went out, and sponsor’s from far away were sending inquiries as to whether or not Julian would undertake some expeditions to bring back more maps. It was not long after that, however, that people started to realize that his map was no good. All the praise he had received quickly turned into criticism and Julian found himself, two months later, with a mob outside his door.

He put the chain on the door and closed all the curtains, before going to his study. Letters from various potential sponsors cluttered his desk, unanswered. Even in here, Julian could hear the shouts from outside, the banging on the front door. Realistically, it was only a matter of time until the rage spilled into the house and Julian’s existence would become more unpleasant then it already was.  He ran a shaking hand over his face, pale from all the days spent in windowless rooms, and sighed.

There was no point trying to escape out a window, the ones on the first floor were grated, and a broken leg from jumping out one on the second floor would be a hindrance rather than a help. The backdoor was no good either; Julian hadn’t been able to get it open for years. He regretted his lack of small wooden boxes, with little poison pills nestled on the inside. It was somewhat melodramatic, he would be the first to admit, but it was better than being dragged out into the street and beaten to death.

“I expected there to be more light.” said a voice from behind him.

Julian spun around to face the intruder. He had not heard the door open, if anything now, the sounds from outside seemed further away. The speaker was a short rotund man, in a dove grey suit with small spectacles perched on the end of his nose. He seemed brighter than the surrounding room, and a bit fuzzy around the shoulders as if there was more of him that Julian couldn’t see.  

Julian asked the obvious question,” Who are you?”

The man seemed to give this question a lengthy consideration, “My name is Farthingsworth. I sent you a letter?”

The last word rose at the end, as if he couldn’t remember if he had actually done so. Julian turned around and shuffled through the papers on his desk. Hidden in the middle of the pile was one that was signed, ‘Farthingsworth’, no first name.

“Ah, yes,” Julian said, holding it up. “Letter, aside, what are you doing here? And how did you get in. No, actually, never mind I think you should leave.”  He groped around behind him for something of weight that he could use to defend himself. A pointed metal compass came to his aid, Julian did his best to brandish it menacingly.

Farthingsworth reached out and plucked the compass from Julian’s hand. “Sit down, sit down,” he said.

Julian sat, although he didn’t know why. Farthingsworth went on, “A lot of people are very angry with you I should think. I however, have come to give you an opportunity.”

“I’m not interested,” Julian snapped. If he could have, he would have gotten out of the chair and ran right out of the study. The jump from the second story was starting to seem a little bit more appealing, something about this man made Julian intensely uncomfortable.

“Ah, well,” Farthingsworth smiled. It was a kindly smile, and set Julian’s teeth on edge. “You don’t have a choice but to be interested at the moment. I’m the only thing keeping the mob outside your house at bay. I am offering you a job, making proper maps no less. Maps of places no one has ever been before.”

“Will I get paid?” Julian asked.

“Handsomely,” Farthingsworth replied, “if you make the choice now. Otherwise, I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you to your… business here.”

“Ha, well” Julian said hurriedly standing up, “let’s not be too hasty! I’ve been thinking about a change of pace for a while now. Your offer might be just the thing. Ehem, yes. Let me get my coat.”

He ran out of the room, doing his best not to meet Farthingsworth’s gaze. He fetched his coat, and threw his drawing supplies in a bag. Then he returned to the study, and stopped.

“How exactly,” he asked, “do you intend to get us out of here?”

“Well,” said Farthingsworth, “let’s agree to the deal first. Shake my hand, and we’ll be all settled.”

Julian grasped the man’s hand, and the moment he did so, he felt a shift. Farthingsworth was no longer strangely bright, instead it was Julian’s study that was dark. Julian shook Farthingsworth’s hand and then there was the sound of wings.

A few moments later, the crowd burst through the front door. They ransacked the house, searching for the cartographer, and though no one saw him leave, no one could find him. The only thing they did find was a large black feather on the floor of the study. For his part, Julian was never seen again.