DragonKnight - Donita K. Paul [46]
Saramaralindan frowned and tapped a finger on her chin while she surveyed one section of the wall of bookcases.
“We don’t have much in the way of inland maps for the Northern Reach. The seacoast is well charted.” She crossed to a stepstool and pushed it to where she wanted to examine the shelves. Climbing up two steps, she reached for a couple of rolled parchments. She tucked them under her arm and descended. On a large table in the middle of the shop, she unrolled the first one, putting small, elaborate, wrought-iron weights at the corners to keep the scroll open. The table was the height most comfortable for tumanhofers. Bardon had to bend to examine the parchment.
“This one has great detail of the coast, including rock barriers under the water that would sink a ship.” She unrolled the other and shifted the book weights. “This has some sketchy references to inland topography, but we are not certain as to its accuracy. Are you planning to travel in this region?” She waved her hand over the scantily marked territory.
“Yes,” Bardon replied. “But I had hoped for a better map.”
“If you return this way, would you stop and give us information about the area? Could you keep notes and maybe draw sketches of what you see?”
Granny Kye tugged on Bardon’s sleeve. “I could do that.”
The door opened, the jangling bells announcing a newcomer.
“It’s you, Bromptotterpindosset,” said Grupnotbaggentogg in warm welcome.
“Humph! Aye, it is,” said the neatly dressed tumanhofer without enthusiasm. He looked younger and wealthier and much more sour than the driver. He scowled at the older tumanhofer through wire-framed spectacles, and a glimmer of mischief sparkled in his eye for only a moment. “And it is you, Grupnotbaggentogg. Do you need a map of Canal Street, or perhaps a chart of Blecoe Warren?”
Instead of being offended by the shopkeeper’s gruff tone, Grupnotbaggentogg laughed and slapped him on the back. “Nay, I brought travelers on their way to the Northern Reach. They need a map, of course.”
Bromptotterpindosset studied each of his customers in turn. His scowl did not break, even when he gazed upon the fair N’Rae.
“Daughter!” The word rattled the silence. “Get me the chest in the back room.”
“Which chest, Father? The room is filled with chests.”
The tumanhofer growled in his throat and his whiskers shook. “The one in green leather. The one with rusted clasps. The one under the Dabotnore volumes. That one!”
“The one that hasn’t been moved in ten years or more?”
“Yes, of course,” he bellowed. “What other one would I want when we speak of the Northern Reach?”
Saramaralindan rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. “I can’t imagine. I’ll get it for you, Father.”
She was gone with a whoosh of the heavy curtains.
Bromptotterpindosset moved to the table and studied the parchments unrolled there. The muffled sounds of heavy objects being shifted came through the doorway.
Bardon responded to a grunt from Saramaralindan. “Perhaps I should assist your daughter.”
The shopkeeper waved his hand as if it were no matter to him. Bardon went through the curtained door. He soon returned with a chest covered in decaying, green-dyed leather in his arms. He set it on the table.
Bromptotterpindosset blew over the top and dust flew. He opened the clasp and tilted the lid upright. A small book, several scrolls, and a sextant rested among cobwebs and bits of torn paper.
The tumanhofer pulled out the navigational instrument and set it aside. He picked up the scrolls, one at a time, and brushed them off on his sleeve. Almost with reverence, he lifted the small book in his hand. He held it up, and his gaze went from one face to the next around the table.
“This,” he said, “is the diary of Cadden Glas, an adventuring doneel. He chronicles his exploits, complete with notations about flora and fauna, geographical discoveries, observations of the populace, and information about landmarks, rivers, and other descriptive details on how to get here and there in the Northern Reach. He explored the region