Treasure Continent
宝洲
Ulama Yuen Zaide ben Jiafa looked down, and his heart sank. “Are you sure this is a map?”
“Oh yes.” Admiral Feng nodded at the grim-faced little woman sitting cross-legged at the base of the his stone bench. “The native who brought this document to us, offered it up, I should say, was quite clear. Servant, show the holy Ulama this city.”
Another native, the one holding the alleged map, ran a finger down to the lower left corner. “Cihuatlan,” he said.
Yuen calmed his nerves and called upon God for wisdom and serenity. “You know these native maps,” he said. “Totally unreliable.”
“Oh, it isn’t,” said Feng, “and that doesn’t work in our favor. See this long lake up here and the little pictures of people around it? That’s their capital city, Tenuoqi.” He looked down at the woman. “Right? Tenuoqi?”
“Tenochtitlan.”
“There, you see? It’s painted larger because it’s so important, which means it’s even farther away. How far?” He made far-away throwing gestures at the woman, who said something to the map-holder, who pointed to a series of symbols painted onto the hide.
“A feather and a little rod? What is this pantomime, Admiral?”
“That rod is a unit of measurement,” said Feng, “and the feather indicates the number 400. About two li, as far as we can tell.”
Sadness welled up in Yuen’s heart. “So this island really is two li across.”
“More. The capitol isn’t on its eastern coast. It’s landlocked. And,” Feng leaned forward. “as far as the natives know, there are no oceans to the north or south at all.”
“Impossible.” It was more a plea than a denial. “We cannot have made landfall on Europe or Africa. We know our maps and readings are correct and we’re still more than twenty li from Mecca.”
Admiral Feng chuckled. No, the man nearly giggled. “I’m thinking of calling it Treasure Continent.”
