The Map Room

Text 1: The Dry Table, by Meera Falstone

An original novel extract.

Nadiya kept the map-room key on a cord around her wrist. Ellis had worked beside her for three weeks, but she still unlocked the door herself and entered first. He followed with his hands tucked behind his back, as she had taught him.

‘You watch,’ she said, placing a sheet of white paper across the table. ‘I lift.’

Between them lay the harbour map, thin as shed skin and older than either of their grandparents. Its faded rivers branched across the page like blue veins. Rain rattled the glass roof above them, but the room was warm and dry. Nadiya slid one hand beneath the map. Ellis watched her fingers, careful and silent.

A drop struck the table.

Nadiya looked up. A dark bead clung to the iron frame of the roof, directly above the empty floor. ‘Not near us,’ she said.

Ellis did not answer. His gaze had moved to the far corner of the table, where the white paper was slowly darkening.

‘The board underneath is drinking it,’ he said.

‘Boards do not drink.’

‘This one is.’

The stain spread beneath the map: first a coin, then a palm, then a brown flower opening soundlessly. Nadiya’s hands became still. For one second, all her instructions deserted her.

Ellis stepped forward. ‘Support your side. Don’t pull.’ His voice was low, almost gentle, but it left no space for argument. He eased the board towards the dry table while Nadiya moved with him. At the doorway, the board caught against the frame.

‘Steady,’ she whispered.

‘I am.’

He tilted his end. She copied him. The map passed through.

When they had lowered it onto the dry table, neither of them spoke. Rain drummed above their heads. Ellis returned his hands behind his back, but Nadiya was no longer watching them.