The Map of All Things Read Free Page A

offers his services to create, and captain, a new ship.

On the Map of All Things, each life is a kingdom.
    —Tales of the Traveler

1 Shipbuilders' Bay, Calay Harbor
    Suspended in a rope cradle abeam of the vessel, a grizzled craftsman used mallet, chisel, and rasp to fashion the ornate lettering. He followed charcoal lines drawn on the sanded surface, coaxing the ship's name from the wood.
    Dyscovera
. The word embodied everything that the magnificent new ship was meant to be, evoking the hopes pinned on her mission and her captain.
    Criston Vora stood on the dock in Shipbuilders' Bay, regarding the whole ship.
His
ship. Soon, she would sail across the unexplored seas to find the lost land of Terravitae. And he would succeed this time.
    Using hooks and a block-and-tackle, seasoned workers scurried up the shroud lines, stringing a cat's-cradle of ropes to support the masts and spars. From inside and outside the curved hull, caulkers hammered oakum between boards to prevent saltwater from leaking in; carpenters sanded and planed the golden wood that furnished the cabins, while painters and gilders added finishing touches to the exterior, making every detail as beautiful as possible—for Holy Joron.
    Even under the bright sun, the late spring air remained crisp and cool. Work progressed on the three-masted carrack, six years after hateful Urecari saboteurs had burned the new Arkship that King Korastine had commissioned. A few blackened hull timbers could still be seen at the bottom of Shipbuilders' Bay, where the ruined exploration vessel had sunk.
    But this new ship proved that hope was not gone, merely delayed. This wasn't the first time Criston Vora had resurrected hope from the ashes….
    The bare-chested Iborian shipwright, Kjelnar, walked up and down the deck, indifferent to the chill. For a man who had grown up in the cold northern reach, this was a balmy day. Waving to Criston on the dock, he yelled over the bustling noise of construction work. “The fittings are ready, Captain! The ice-dragon horn will have its home on the
Dyscovera
's prow.”
    Criston cupped his hands around his mouth and called back, “Let's hope your Iborian legends are as reliable as your craftsmanship. We need all the protection we can get.” The horn had originally been meant for Korastine's first Arkship; fortunately, the relic had not been installed when the ship burned in the harbor. Now the horn would be kept under guard inside the main Aidenist kirk, until just before the
Dyscovera
sailed.
    Feeling a tug on his sleeve, Criston looked down to see his young companion. “Are we going aboard, sir? I want to see what they've finished in your cabin since yesterday.”
    Criston gave Javian an indulgent smile, feeling a bond with him. He remembered when he himself was fourteen, excited to sail out on fishing boats with his father. He would stare out to sea, imagining mysterious lands just beyond the horizon. “You'll have more than enough time to memorize every splinter and every knot in every deckboard. I suggest you spend your time on dry land while you can, take advantage of what Calay has to offer.”
    But Javian could not take his eyes off of the ship. “The sea has more to offer, sir.”
    The young man had lost his mother in the last major gray fever epidemic that scoured the streets of Calay and had run away from his desperate and abusive father. Javian had told Criston how, since the age of ten, he had haunted the docks and eked out a living by doing odd jobs, begging afternoon scraps from fishmongers' stalls.
    The young man was curious, determined, and—most important of all—made himself
useful
. During the
Dyscovera
's construction, if one of the craftsmen grumbled about an unpleasant task, Javian bounded off to do it without being asked. After observing him, Criston had offered to make Javian his personal cabin boy for the voyage.
    So much like me, when I was his age…
    It had been more than eighteen years since