Harold Mannix, first mate of the Hare’s Breath, stood waiting on a street corner beside the mapper's apprentice. It seemed that they had beat the carriages out this morning, and so while they waited, Harold took out his tobacco tin and began rolling a cigarette.

“Normally, I would offer you one young man, but I’m afraid I’m running low,” he rasped.

The lanky apprentice, a young man of nineteen named Doug, eyed the tin, which looked about half full.

Harold struck a match and lit the cigarette, taking a long drag from it. The first smoke of the day was usually the best, but today’s was less soothing to the aging sailor. He had important business to attend to.

It was more common for a survey ship’s captain to meet with government officials when duty demanded it, but Harold convinced Captain Springer yesterday to send him in her stead. The captain could be...off-putting to some. They could not risk upsetting or offending anyone today given the urgency of their message.

Of course, Harold did not phrase it that way to Captain Springer. And to her credit, she claimed to be more interested in exploring the inbound land mass so as not to lose face. But Harold knew better—she recognized that he was better suited for this task. And rightly so, in his opinion.

He was halfway through a second cigarette when he heard the clip-clopping of an approaching carriage.

“You there, stop here!” he shouted. This one, like most of his shouts, ended in a wheeze.

The coachman directed the carriage toward the odd pair and pulled on the reins for the horses to stop. “Where to, sirs?”

“To the municipal building,” said Harold, climbing into the carriage. “Take the most direct route.”

“Yes sir.” The coachman grinned, revealing a few missing teeth. He waited for Doug to enter the carriage as well before willing the horses to move again.

They rode through the streets, passing by other carriages, shopkeepers opening their storefronts, residents beating carpets or hanging clothes to dry. All oblivious to the impending threat mere miles away.

To Harold’s surprise, the coachman pulled the carriage to a stop after just twenty minutes. Usually government buildings were situated further inland to protect them from misfortune, by quake or collision, but this one was dangerously close to the shore.

The stone structure rose out of the ground as if carved from one giant boulder. It towered over its neighbors—a police station on the right and library to the left—it must have been three or four stories tall at least. Etched over the entrance it read: Curvata Appa—A Maritime Miracle.

“I got ya here right quick, I did,” said the coachman, opening the carriage door for them, ever smiling. “That’ll be three nomismas, good sirs.”

“Three!” Harold exclaimed while exiting. “I remember when a carriage ride this short cost half a single nomisma.”

“Aye, sir. You’re not from around here, are ya? The cost of many things has gone up since we became independent. The cost of freedom I guess. Some folks here think it was better when we was a part of Tellavar. Lots of folks think that.

Harold grumbled but handed the coachman three coins from his purse. He made note to request reimbursement from the captain upon his return. “Come, Mr. Dwyer. Don’t dawdle.”

Doug followed him up the wide steps to the building’s front entrance. Above the entrance, carved in the stone.

The main lobby was more extravagant than Harold expected. Most municipal buildings were quite spartan, but this one featured large squares of marble flooring, ornate trimwork, and a vaulted ceiling, from which hung an enormous chandelier. Gilded frames of presumably local landscapes adorned the walls. He paused at the entrance, admiring the interior. His awe soon gave way to annoyance.

“No wonder things have gotten more expensive here,” Harold complained to himself.

A neatly dressed security officer approached the pair, eyeing them suspiciously. “What brings you here today?”

Harold removed his tricorn hat and raised his arm to Doug’s waist, reminding the young apprentice that he would do the talking. “Hello officer. How are you today? We come with pressing news and must speak to the mayor right away!” He gestured to the survey team logo on the left shoulder of his jacket.

The officer squinted. “Did you already see the harbor master?”

“Yes,” Harold lied. The harbor master would be of no help in this situation, as his authority extended only to administrative and monitoring tasks related to the harbor itself.

“Hmm…” The officer seemed to be judging him and his story. “Okay. See the woman over there.” He pointed to a tall desk to his right, where a young woman was busy writing.

Harold nodded, and he and Doug walked over to the desk. Harold repeated his request to the woman.

“Do you have an appointment?” the woman asked in a nasally voice.

“No, but this is an emergency. We are members of Tellapor’s national survey team, and we have critical information for—”

“The mayor isn’t in today. But you can speak to the deputy mayor.” The woman gave instructions on how to get to the deputy mayor’s office on the fourth floor.

Harold sighed but nodded.

This exchange was repeated several times. The deputy mayor’s office rebuffed them as well, suggesting they speak to the city manager. The city manager was apparently ill, but they were given directions to see the assistant city manager. But the assistant city manager was off-site at an important meeting, covering for the absent city manager.

“Is there anyone here running the city,” Harold exclaimed to the assistant city manager’s assistant, who sent him and Doug to the public works office back on the first floor.

The public works director was not in either, but his deputy was.

“Finally!” Harold wheezed.

He and Doug were led to the deputy director’s office, which was considerably more modest than some of the others they had seen that morning. Pillars of paperwork and folders guarded the front of a wooden desk, behind which sat a gray-haired woman in a patterned blouse.

“What can I do for you?” the woman asked in a resigned tone.

“Deputy Director…” Harold looked for a placard with her name.

“Streit.”

“Deputy Director Streit, I am Harold Mannix, first mate of the Hare’s Breath, a ship belonging to the survey fleet in Tellapor’s national navy, and I come to you bearing grave news. We have discovered—”

“Do you know a Phillip Ridge?” the deputy director interrupted.

Harold paused his practiced speech. The name was familiar to him, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“Captain Ridge is the survey officer we used to meet with. He is from Tellapor, too, I believe. He used to come by every six months or so. It has to be over a year since I last saw him though.”

Harold remembered now. Phillip Ridge was captain of the Bull’s Horn. “Ms. Streit, I am afraid that Captain Ridge and his ship have gone missing. My crew and I do not know what happened, but we were reassigned to this area when he failed to report to central command.”

Streit wrinkled her nose. “That’s a shame. He seemed like a good man. A bit of a worrywart maybe. He was concerned about this one island nearby—”

“That’s what we are here to warn you about!” Harold’s turn to interrupt. “There’s an island days away from making landfall on Curvata Appa. You must take emergency actions immediately.”

“You sound like Ridge. He warned a few of us of a possible collision when he was last here. Said it was too soon to be certain. He was supposed to return at a later date to confirm.”

“That’s why we are here now.”

“You must be mistaken.

“What makes you think that?”

“Because you are the second survey officer I have met in a month.”

Harold was confused. “But you said—“

 “I said I hadn’t seen Captain Ridge in over a year. We reported his absence some time ago, which I suppose contributed to your reassignment. But we were not told to expect you. Curvata Appa may be new country. And a small one. But we take charting the local seas seriously despite lacking a survey team of our own. So we contracted an independent one to scout the area.”

“You hired a freelance survey team?”

“Yes. Don’t get me wrong, we maintain a good political relationship with Tellapor, but given the circumstances—”

“And they told you that you were safe from collision?”

“Yes. They told us it would be a close call, but it would indeed miss us.

Dumbfounded, Harold turned to Doug for the first time.

The awkward young man looked taken by surprise at Harold’s sudden deferral to him.

“And who are you?” asked the deputy director.

“I am the apprentice mapmaker on the Hare’s Breath, ma’am,” Doug said slowly. “And I think there has been a terrible mistake.”