WHEN THE CHICKENS COME HOME to roost, there is often confusion in the henhouse. What a strange dream, Prosatio Silban thought, sitting up in his sleeping-berth. So vivid. So compelling. Then he caught his breath and listened. Someone or something…
Tag: Fictions
What I’m trying to become a writer of.
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 Jade Hawk
NO ONE HAS YET DEVISED a satisfactory agency for long-distance intimacy – but in every world, there’s at least one that tries. With a protracted high-pitched scream, an enormous emerald-hued bird circled Prosatio Silban’s galleywagon in descending spirals as the…
Prosatio Silban and the Sleepless Heat
“WHO IS WISE?” ASKS THE old sage-monk – and answers: “One who learns from everyone.” Prosatio Silban squirmed in his damp sleeping-berth for the hundredth time, then finally rolled himself out of it and onto his feet. ENOUGH, he thought,…
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…
Calling (A Prosatio Silban Amuse-Bouche)
“WHAT MADE YOU WANT TO open and operate such a renowned dining-palace?” Prosatio Silban asked Hesto Panym, owner of many-harbored Soharis’ excellent and elegant Gull’s Wing. “Honestly? I don’t quite recall,” the restaurateur replied with an emphatic shrug. “But if…
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 Changed Life
THERE IS A RELAXED SENSUOSITY in winding down from a busy day, and Prosatio Silban always looked forward to it; in his case, the high point meant removing his artificial eyebrows. AHHH! he sighed to himself, and rubbed his now-naked…
Prosatio Silban and the Public Subterfuge
ANOTHER YEAR TRAVELED, PROSATIO SILBAN thought. And what has it gotten me except older? and perhaps, may it please the All-Mother, wiser? The cook-errant consulted the small mirror hanging outside his galleywagon’s black-curtained sleeping berth. One artificial eyebrow was neatly…
Exercise (A Prosatio Silban Amuse-Bouche)
“CONVINCE ME,” SAID THE outlander, “why I or anyone should believe in the Flickering Gods.” “That is something I cannot do,” Prosatio Silban said, setting before her a bowl of rich vegetable soup. “I myself do not believe in them,…