Matteo hadn't slept the entire night. He kept waiting for morning, walking around his room, sitting down, getting up again, thinking about how easily everything had come together. After all those years of wanting this, suddenly there was a place for him at a merchant house, work he could actually do, and a chance to be around the ships and expeditions he had spent so long dreaming about.

He was losing sleep from excitement.

His father, meanwhile, was probably losing sleep thinking about the unforeseeable tragedy that might follow.

Getting bored of waiting, Matteo took the tarot cards out of the drawer of his bedside table.

He shuffled them and asked, How is my work life at the merchant house going to be?

The first card he drew was The Fool.

A journey.

Then came The Ace of Wands.

Excitement.

The Empress.

Growth.

The Chariot.

Victory.

Two of Cups.

Love.

And then—

The Lovers.

A soulmate.

Matteo looked at the cards spread across the table.

Everything was promising.

A journey. Excitement. Growth. Victory. Love.

A soulmate.

It was almost as if the cards were promising him the life he had always wanted.

Then he drew another card.

The Tower.

Matteo's excitement faded.

He stared at it for a moment before drawing the final card.

Death.

He stopped breathing for a second.

The horrifying part was that nothing before Death looked like a warning. The cards had seemed to promise that he would finally get everything he had wanted—that his work would grow, that he would succeed, and that he would even meet the love of his life.

And then came The Tower.

And Death.

It didn't feel like the cards were saying he would have a bad life.

It felt like they were saying:

You will get everything you wished for.

And then you will lose it.

Matteo's excitement was gone now.

He knew a thing or two about tarot cards and readings. His grandmother had taught him how to read tarot since he was five years old.

He knew it wasn't a joke.

He looked down at the cards, suddenly sweating.

What if his father had been right all along?

What if working at a merchant house really was going to be the death of him?

He quickly gathered the cards and put them back in the drawer.

“No, no,” he told himself. “I'm thinking too much.”

Death didn't literally have to mean dying.

It could mean the end of a chapter. A change. Something coming to an end.

It could mean anything.

But deep down, Matteo knew.

He knew too much.

At the first sight of the sun, Matteo left his house.

He was going to the biggest merchant house in Genova, Palazzo Balbi.

The thought of working with Antonio in his Genoese merchant house, producing nautical charts and surveying coastal routes, felt like a dream come true.

He walked to the palazzo and waited outside until the merchant house opened for the day.

He was surprisingly early.

Antonio was still upstairs when he saw him.

From his bedroom window overlooking the entrance, he could see Matteo sitting on the pavement outside, waiting.

Antonio watched as the household slowly came alive around him. Servants moved through the palazzo, deliveries arrived at the entrance, and letters were brought in and carried from one room to another.

He looked down at Matteo again.

He had clearly been waiting for some time.

Antonio called one of the servants.

“Show him around the main business areas. The counting room, the correspondence room, everything he needs to know.”

A servant came outside.

Matteo was still sitting on the pavement, looking up at the palazzo.

“Are you Matteo?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I've been asked to show you around the place. Please, follow me.”

Matteo stood up and followed him inside.

The servant first showed him the correspondence room, a quieter working chamber where letters were read, written and stored.

There was a heavy wooden table with several chairs, smaller writing desks, quills and inkpots, sand for drying wet ink, knives for cutting and trimming quills, sealing wax and seals.

Bundles of letters were stacked on the tables, while boxes and chests held older correspondence. Shelves and cupboards were filled with documents.

“A clerk sits at one of the desks, copying letters,” the servant explained.

They moved on to the accounting area.

“It’s much noisier in here,” the servant said.

Matteo looked around.

“Hmmm. Okay.”

Several clerks worked around long wooden tables rather than sitting at individual desks. One recorded incoming payments while another maintained a ledger. Another checked figures, and another copied information from one book into another.

“It’s ruthless out here,” the servant said.

Enormous bound account books lay open across the tables.

Matteo looked around, taking everything in.

They passed through the counting room, where merchants and clerks were constantly coming and going.

The servant glanced at Matteo.

“You look quite young. Good for you. You have the strength to witness chaos in real time.”

Matteo looked at him, confused.

There were account books, letters, contracts, bills, ledgers, scales and boxes of documents spread across the tables.

Beyond it were shelves and chests containing old maps, ship journals, letters, port records, trade documents, geographical manuscripts and copies of sailing instructions.

The servant then showed him a private meeting room.

Unlike the busy rooms outside, this one was quiet and more elegantly furnished. There was a large table, comfortable chairs, expensive textiles, paintings, a cabinet and writing materials.

“This is where the owner receives people privately,” the servant explained.

He glanced around the room.

“More like, when I need a minute or two, this is my go-to place.”

Matteo nodded.

Then they reached another room.

A large wooden table stood in the middle, covered with partially completed charts, rolled maps, rulers, dividers, inkpots, quills and scraps of notes.

There were geographical books and astronomical tables.

Letters from captains were stacked beside the maps.

Matteo stopped.

“Is this map table mine?”

The servant looked at him.

“No.”

Matteo's face fell slightly.

“We're hoping he will still return.”

“Who?”

The servant didn't answer.

He simply brushed the question aside.

“Your table is over this way.”

Matteo followed him.

They entered a small chamber adjoining the counting house.

And there it was.

His table.

It was noticeably different from everyone else's.

A huge map was spread across it, with weights holding down the corners. Dividers, a compass, a ruler, quills and ink were arranged across the surface. Several charts were rolled up and tied in leather, and beside them were letters from captains and a book of geographical observations.

The servant gestured toward it.

“This is your table. You'll work from here.”

Matteo stared at it.

His jaw practically dropped.

He had been expecting a small desk somewhere in the corner.

Instead, he had been given the biggest table in the whole palazzo.

He looked at the table again.

Then at the servant.

Then back at the table.

“Pinch me.”

The servant frowned.

“What?”

“Pinch me. Just to make sure I'm not dreaming.”