Cartographer v. Carver

Pepple wakes to a pistol aimed at his face. The Cartographer sits in the grass near where he and the fat man fell unconscious. Pepple slaps the fat man, and the fat man wakes.

I don’t know who either of you are, says the Cartographer, or what qualifies either of you for this occupation of yours—this exchange of goods for the service of disposing the dead—and I don’t care.

Pepple blinks.

You signed a contract with those that came previously. I’m neither in a position to call for or desirous of the termination of that contract, the cessation of your services. What I am desirous of is first, this ring that was owed to me by the diocese of this dueling ground as established by verbal mandate of a representative of the Holy See—

Still bleary-eyed, they see the Cardinal’s signet ring on the Cartographer’s ring finger, right hand. The hand that holds the pistol.

—and second, distance. Distance between our two parties, the duelists and the caretakers. I don’t want to speak to you, or hear you fighting, or see you nearby unless you’re performing the job my predecessors contracted.

The caretakers say nothing.

What are your names?

Pepple, says Pepple.

And yours?

Grubb, says Grubb.

The Cartographer stands and tells them to stand. They stand.

Now cart off the body on the field and leave, he says.

The Cartographer returns to the oak and the caretakers—Pepple trembling with resentment—clean the body, and return to their hideous shack to the north.

When the Carver arrives, the Cartographer stands studying the map he’s drawn on the table. I run a firm, he says eventually. But my goal is to create a to-scale map of Dayton, Ohio. A thing that's never been done.

The Carver, still wearing the white robe and tall white had he wore hours ago during the early shift at the nearby hotel, nods.

Ever since I've been young I've been thinking of ways to revitalize the profession of cartography, to usher in its second golden era.

Life-sized maps? asks the Carver.

Always been somewhat of a dreamer, admits the Cartographer.

They raise their guns. Their guns go off.