The Geographer's Library

Jon Fasman
thief, he always carried a pocketful of dried chickpeas with him to use as trailmarkers
or a makeshift meal, and he dropped them along the path behind
him. The path twisted and turned, but Omar had followed it for less than a
minute when he came to another door. He opened it, and it led back into the
entryway: the only door he had not yet tried. Confused, frustrated, his hopes
of a rich take slipping from him, he climbed the staircase that turned into a
ladder; when the ladder stopped at a trapdoor, he shoved it open and
climbed through.
He emerged in a long, low, dark stone room, with three ovens leading to
three chimneys, as in a bakery. Along one wall were more books than he had
ever seen in one place, even more than his grandfather Maulvi Azzam had.
Along the other wall were shelves holding vessels of various sizes, colors, and
shapes. Omar was walking along the shelves, hefting first a broad stone bowl,
then a tall copper beaker, when he heard the door creak open downstairs.
Peering through the trapdoor, he saw two men, both wearing short and long
swords, with the royal crest on their shields. He moved away from the door
quickly and silently and searched the room for something, anything valuable
he could take with him. Now he thought not of riches but of escape—he was
bargaining silently with the God he never visited, promising to lead a quiet,
pious, sheep-tending life, if only if only if only—and of a single trinket he
could show his friends and children, and say that he took this from under the
king’s nose.
A burlap sack lay shapelessly in a corner. When Omar bent to pick it up,
he noticed a small wooden chest wedged into the alcove behind one of the
ovens. He lifted and shook it: it made a rattling sound; it was locked, not too
heavy. He considered putting the chest into the sack, but it fit awkwardly and
would have been cumbersome to carry at a fast clip. Instead he grabbed a
heavy stone vessel and brought it down as hard as he could on the lock,
which split with less noise than he feared. He emptied the contents into the
sack, distributing them evenly so he could tie it securely around his waist,
and again peered through the trapdoor. He saw two guards, one sitting on
either staircase, so still he couldn’t tell if they were asleep. They both sat on
the third step, and both held their heads in their hands in the same position,
as if assimilated somehow into the room’s living mimicry. He considered
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