The Map Shop – Part 1: Uncharted

"It's a long shot," said Priya. "The survey is from 1887. Probably it's gone."

"Probably," said Fiona. She was already on the library ladder.

The shop was a narrow cave off the Royal Mile, crammed floor to ceiling with rolled maps, atlases and brass globes. Rain streaked the window. A gas heater purred in the corner. Priya, thirty-three, a geologist from Leeds on a research fellowship, had been to four other shops that morning and been shrugged at in all of them.

Fiona, thirty-seven, red-haired, in a cable cardigan with a pencil in her bun, climbed down with a long cardboard tube. "Coal measures of Fife," she said. "Sheet twelve. The only copy I've seen in ten years."

Priya stared. "How did you find it so fast?"

"I know where everything is. It's the only thing I'm good at."

"I doubt that."

Fiona blushed to the roots of her hair. She unrolled the map on the big oak table and weighted the corners with glass paperweights. It was beautiful, hand-coloured in ochres and blues, the contours inked with a tiny steady hand. Priya traced a fault line with one finger.

"I'd like to study this properly," she said. "Could I come back? Spend a few days?"

"The shop closes at five." Fiona hesitated. "But I live upstairs. I make a decent pot of tea. I could stay open."

"I wouldn't want to impose."

"You wouldn't." Fiona smiled, shyly. "Honestly, you'd be doing me a favour. It's very quiet here in the evenings."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Contour Lines.

Continue the story: Part 2 – Contour Lines.