WE’VE ALL HEARD OF LOST arts. But what about lost artists? Prosatio Silban rolled out of his sleeping-berth and onto his ornate braided rug, studying the bedside mirror with worry etched on his face and defeat slumping his shoulders. I…
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Prosatio Silban and the Midnight Summons
WE HAVE READ MANY TIMES of the Heirs Second, who rule the Uulian Commonwell by solemn duty and occasional whim. But who rules the Heirs Second? Late one night, Prosatio Silban was hard at work scrubbing the inside of a…
Prosatio Silban and the Hushed Revelation
SOME KNOWN THINGS SHOULDN’T BE. Prosatio Silban glanced up at epicurean Pormaris’ massive dockside clock-tower, an accurate timekeeper and source of immense civic pride. A quarter-hour past fourteen, he thought. My customer should be arriving soon – and aha! here…
Prosatio Silban and the Universal Chorus
WHAT WOULD YOU GIVE TO enter into your world’s oldest and otherwise silent conversation? The book was slim and hand-sized, pairing quaint movable-typeset Ancient Uulian with peculiar woodcuts, and its novelty was irresistible to Prosatio Silban after a long hour…
Prosatio Silban and the Slipped Tongue
WHERE AND WHEN PEOPLE GATHER, so do their secrets. Prosatio Silban slapped hot water on his back with a wet towel and let out a satisfied sigh. Nothing like a good steam to wash away the accumulated grime and cooking-grease,…
Prosatio Silban and the Tavern Tale
THE BEST TOOLS COME WITH stories, and Prosatio Silban’s were no exception. True, most of them – i.e., the overhead-dangling tangle of pots, pans, and cooking implements, along with a cork-sectioned drawer full of specialized knives – were acquired over…
Prosatio Silban and the Tourist Attraction
IT WAS A DAY LIKE many another at Prosatio Silban’s galleywagon, now parked in South Market’s Itinerants’ Quarter: hectic, rushed, and profitable. The beefy cook was scurrying up and down the portable kitchen/domicile’s three wooden steps – up to prepare…
Prosatio Silban and the Artistic Temperament
WHAT IDOL CAN BEAR CLOSE scrutiny without losing its magik over the spellbound? Prosatio Silban sliced into his finger, swore silently, laid down his knife, and reached for the roll of self-sticking bandages tucked into his knives-bindle. Here it comes,…
Prosatio Silban and the Cryptic Cenotaph
WHAT WOULD LIFE BE WITHOUT the occasional unsolvable riddle? In epicurean Pormaris’ far-famed restaurant district squats a prominent monument. It is an oblong, boxy affair, wrought of lavender marble, with carved ivory pillars framing each corner and a tasteful capstone…
Prosatio Silban and the Merry Misfortunate
WHAT DOES IT TAKE TO become unforgotten? “As for me,” Prosatio Silban said, raising his glass of white duliac to the Pelvhi’s Chopping-House customers crowded around him, “the most memorable person I ever met was a man who went by…
Prosatio Silban and the Saved Labor
WHAT DOES ONE DO WHEN a beloved tool breaks down in mid-use? With a series of staccato clunks, Prosatio Silban’s rosewood grinding-pot ground to a loud halt. He shook it, slapped it, frowned at it, then set it on his…
Prosatio Silban and the Ambitious Intern
ONE OF THE BEST WAYS to learn what you know is to teach it to someone else – and sometimes, to yourself. Prosatio Silban swore under his breath and pondered what to do next. His latest intern convinced him that…