The map in the drawer
Nico had expected the village archive to smell of adventure. Instead, it smelled of cardboard. While his aunt labelled photographs, he opened a drawer of maps and found one marked "Orchard Lane, 1894". A narrow path crossed a field where the bus station now stood. At its end, a small square was labelled "Well".
"We could find it," Nico said.
His aunt looked over. "A map tells you what someone recorded at a particular time. It doesn't promise that everything is still there."
Nico folded his arms. Adults could make even a hidden well sound dull. Then he noticed a dotted line beside the path. On a newer map, dated 1920, the dotted line was gone and the word "Drain" appeared close to the old square. He fetched both maps to the table.
His aunt gave him a magnifying glass. Together they found a third map, from 1958. A note read: "Former well filled before construction." Nico sighed. So there would be no stone opening, no bucket and no discovery beneath the bus station.
But the three maps did not agree about the position of the stream. On the oldest, it curved around the field. On the newest, its route was straight. Nico traced the two lines with a finger, taking care not to press on the brittle paper.
"Where did the bend go?" he asked.
His aunt pushed an empty notebook towards him. This time he did not need persuading to sit down.
