The Cartographers(131)
Once the dust had settled, Francis retired from Harvard University to become the new chair of the NYPL. He nominated Dr. Tamara Jasper-Young to take up Swann’s mantle as the new director of the Map Division, and she won by a stunned, unanimous vote. The publicity the library received from her mysterious, miraculous return to the world saw every research room and reading table packed to the brim, and its rotating exhibitions docket and invitations for joint initiatives from fellow museums and universities overbooked for years—if there had been any worry about funding for the NYPL before, it now seemed like something Francis would never have to consider again, for as long as he was in charge. Ramona, Eve, and Humphrey all returned to their jobs, but now, a week never went by without at least one of them dropping by the library for a guest lecture or a visit.
And as for Felix, he had found himself in Dr. Daniel Young’s old office.
He’d upgraded the ancient computer as quickly as he could—the NYPL’s first geospatial librarian needed adequate tools to do his job properly—but he’d kept the majority of the books, and most of all, the delicately painted letters that spelled out the former head curator’s name and position on the door, for now at least. He liked looking at them every time he arrived in the morning and left in the evening. It made him think of both Drs. Young he’d known so well—Daniel and Nell. A good reminder of how far he’d come and who he had to thank for it, in the end.
Every time he sat in that chair, he wanted to reminisce for the entire day. But there was still that meeting he needed to put his jacket back on for despite the overenthusiastic heating system, and he’d barely gotten through the morning’s stack of messages in his in-box. The sheer volume of paper would have made him furious at Haberson Global, and it was doing the same to the rest of his newly hired but very familiar team of geospatial librarian specialists, Naomi and Priya, but Felix loved these old, hallowed halls for what they were—that he could convince Francis to finally, finally let IT streamline all departments into one email server, and everyone still just kept sending handwritten notes anyway.
With an affectionate sigh, Felix slid the silver letter opener Dr. Young had left behind deftly into the gap in each envelope, sorting the pages into business and junk. There were still a fair number of congratulations cards coming in from old colleagues far and wide, as well as no shortage of invitations to various conferences and symposiums.
Then there was one simple white envelope, made out to Felix Kimble and bearing no return address.
He inspected it curiously and then slit it open. He was expecting mass-printed spam and almost tossed the whole thing into the junk pile, but the contents stopped him. The papers inside were old and custom-looking, and the ink on them darker and richer than what a typical office printer would produce.
Nell?
His heart leapt illogically, like it always did in the moment before he discovered whatever he’d foolishly hoped had been from her was actually mundane, and he felt a little foolish.
But when he turned the envelope over to glance at the back, his breathing quickened. Where the flap was, the sender had drawn a shape he immediately recognized.
An eight-point compass, with a small C in the center.
He moved too quick—the rest of the envelope tore clumsily, offering its contents.
Had she written him a goodbye letter? An explanation for why it had to be this way? It would be so like her, he thought. Damn you, Nell. Making yet another rash decision that affected them both and then stealing the final word.
Carefully, he reached in and pulled the note free.
After a long moment, Felix looked up, across the cluttered, book-crammed office, everything cast in pale gold as the dust motes swirled in the sunlight, and smiled.
It wasn’t a letter after all, but rather an invitation.
Printed on an old-fashioned offset press.
In the next few weeks, thousands of them would go out, to every university and library and museum in existence. The greatest secret in the world of cartography would no longer be a secret. It would be shared far and wide, so many maps printed that it would be impossible for anyone to do what Wally had done again.
Agloe would be for everyone.
But for now, until the postal service delivered the others, his invitation was the first copy.
The next page had no words. Just a picture, sketched in that singular frenzied scribble that he knew so well and loved so much.
Nell had drawn him a map.
A map to somewhere new.
Acknowledgments
In writing, there are no maps except the ones you create yourself. This book would not have been possible without the people, my landmarks, below.
Thank you to Naomi Kanakia, Mike Chen, and Jillian Keenan for always being willing to talk craft, first drafts, and the labyrinth of revision, and to my mother, Lin Sue Cooney, for always believing this novel was going to get finished. It never would have without you. And thank you to my husband, Sathyaseelan Subramaniam, for your constant friendship, tireless encouragement, and love.
I’m indebted to my agents, Alexandra Machinist and Felicity Blunt, who are both very wise and endlessly patient. To my editors, Emily Krump and Emad Akhtar, for helping me find the heart of this story, and to Danielle Bartlett, Ryan Shepherd, Stephanie Vallejo, Hope Breeman, Ploy Siripant, Julia Elliott, and everyone at William Morrow and Orion who make the incredibly difficult task of turning a manuscript into a book look easy. I’m also grateful to the National Endowment for the Arts for its generous writing fellowship, and to the New York Public Library for being a place of wonder and inspiration.