1.
Welcome to the Jungle
Colonial Houses near the river dock, St. François, Mission Françiscaine
*****
A well dressed man enters the shop, the bells ringing as the door closes behind him. A light, tropical-wooden door, intricately worked. Through small holes you can see the street outside, and the St. François flowing behind it. Jungle covered hills complete the scenery. Seconds pass until the shopkeeper appears from a door, leading to a back room. The man takes his hat off and nods.
Bookshelves tower around them and make the room feel smaller. A globe sits by the corner and some delicate plates decorate the place. The walls are covered with various drawings, paintings, maps and some weird baskets panels made of soft woven wood, with exquisite patterns. There is an open window covered by red curtains, the fabric coloring the light from the hot day outside.
“Hello.” The silence is broken, “I need a map of the region. A map of the country would also be good.” His accent sharp, guttural and somewhat cold, in no mistakable English.
“Oh, Anglois I see. First time in the colonies?” he laughs. The accent coming from the shopkeeper distorted and tortured the language in ways the man didn’t think possible. He has greyed out hair and a pronounced widow’s peak, dark eyes and a sharp nose. He wasn’t particularly short, nor particularly fat, but the way he was sitting behind the counter makes those characteristics jump out.
“I’m not anglois, I’m English.”
“You are one of those, uh, séparatistes? Yes I tell you, you people have to fight for freedom, those Parisien only know the language of f-”
“I’m not from the isles, I’m from Neo Anglia. We have won our freedom long ago.”
“Oh.” An awkward pause, “of course, Beornia. I’m sorry I didn’t notice. Not many of you come up north. And you speak differently from English people I’ve known so…”
“…I still need my maps.”
“Of course. The region and the federation. Right.”
It took some seconds for the shopkeeper to pull one of many drawers, and then grab a rugged piece of paper and spread it open in the counter. The map was beautifully done.
*not actually beautiful
I - France Antartique
II - Equinoxea, Amazonas
III - Atlantia, Cóte du Café
IV - St. François river, Mons Diamans
V - Vaura
VI - Lotharingia
VII - Proche Amazonie
VIII - Granada
“It is pretty. But these are old borders in the amazonas and Lotharingia.”
“Yes, I’m afraid our cartographer went to change the borders himself and didn’t come back.”
“Oh.” The man was caught off guard.
He chuckles, “you see, he went to some university across the sea and got ideas. You young people. When he came back he kept saying these beautiful words and was very happy to go fight ‘for freedom and the Fédération’.” He almost sang these words. “He found some sud girl there and stayed, but he still sends letters. Never sent any map, though. His name is Henri.”
Behind the counter, the clerk laughs loudly and a smile cracks in the man’s face. A woven-wood panel gets his attention.
“That is very pretty.”
The shopkeeper talks while opening and shoving drawers, looking behind books, “yes, I like them. There is this pretty tupinamba girl who makes those things.” He stands and walks to a tall shelf, then leans on his toes to reach behind a book,” I taught her how to read French and she sometimes appears with these panels. A pretty good deal if you ask me. Did I mention she is adorable?” He then scratches his head, seems to remember something and go grab a paper roll under the counter. As he was done spreading it by the side of the other map, the man’s eyes seemed to shine.
“This map is one old beaten piece, with all the Françiscaine missions to this province… But it has all physical –“
“...this is perfect, in fact. I will take both.”
“anything of the city in this map is old, you see. There is no new port, and no railroad still.”
“Yes, I still need the maps I came looking for. But these will be rather useful.”
“Well, good,” the man smiles. “Can I ask your name, sir?”
“I’m Robert of Wessex, and you?”
“I’m Mehmet-öglu Orhan, pleased to meet you.” Orhan laughs loudly at the perplexity in Robert’s face, “my mother and I came from Anatolia many years ago, I’m Turkish.” He seemed to realize just now, “you have nobility name.”
“My father is the Duke of Eoferwic”
“I sometimes forget we have an European king in Ameriga. You Beornians fled the French monarch just to have an English monarch.”
“We hold our english traditions dear.”
“HA, I’m sure you do” Robert had met quite a few republicans with similar scorning attitude in Amazonie, he was used to it by now. The shopkeeper was friendly in his weird ways, however, “what do you say we have tea and some chat later this afternoon? I want learn few things of New Anglia, and make my English better. You are staying in town I guess, the boat sails downstream tomorrow. And you still have to find your maps.”
“Well, why not? Can you tell me where I might find those maps?” He stopped for a moment, “also, are you selling that panel?”
The turk looked to the panel “Well, you could go to the docks for the province map. The Fédération map will have to wait for Port Libérté, I’m afraid. About the panel, we can discuss that later.” Orhan smiled, then started wrapping the maps “these will be 90 francs, and I’ll give you this map container. If you are patient I can ask Counémucú to make a woven map case-basket thingy, but that would take some days.”
“Is that your tupi girl? 90 francs could buy me the map and the panel I want to go with it…”
****