A Brass Prism

The morning sun hit the outer glass hard, throwing a sharp bright patch right across my plotted chart. Too bright for steady observation. I held my post for a long minute, letting my eyes adjust. Near the corner molding, half-buried under a curl of curtain fabric, something caught the glare. A solid brass pencil sharpener, shaped like a miniature wedge. Heavy. Unyielding. I stepped across the painted sill, cautious of the edge, and gripped its grooved sides with both hands. It took three sharp tugs to pry it free from the fabric fold. I hauled it over to my chart and set it down hard on the western margin. A stout paperweight... and a proper brass sight.