Month: January 2021

A CHANCE ENCOUNTER CAN SOMETIMES be profitable – but the profit, though rich, needn’t necessarily be monetary.

The sun was just kissing the golden-hilled western horizon when Prosatio Silban pulled up on the plaited yak-hair reins, signaling his dray-beast to halt for the evening. So much for reaching Possum Toss before sunset, he thought. Fortunately, as the Poet puts it, ‘Home is wherever you spend the night.’

He stepped down from the driver’s bench, raised the seat, and rummaged in the jute sack beneath. Producing a greasy maroon fatberry-cake, he fed this to his dray-beast, told it what a good dray-beast it was, then stepped back up past the bench and opened the galleywagon’s horizontally-split double doors. He yawned, stretched his sitting-stiffened legs, and absorbed his surroundings. A balmy evening, and what looks like a shady morning-spot. An outdoor supper is definitely what’s called for. Continue reading “Ancient History (A Prosatio Silban Tale)”

PROSATIO SILBAN STOOD UP, WIPED his hands on his kneebreeches and cursed mildly in the name of a minor god. If only this wheel hadn’t broken, he thought, I’d now be in many-harbored Soharis cooking fresh-caught fish for wealthy or needful marketgoers.

It wasn’t that he resented his galleywagon’s occasional problems — after all, any traveler sometimes had to bear with same — but recent events were enough to push the Cook For Any Price to his patience-limits. First had come the cancellation of his contract for the annual feast to Pyolo, Spirit of the Anticipatory Benevolence, with the burghers of bucolic Oakstraw when they discovered that he was a self-defrocked Sacreant. “It’s nothing personal,” they told him. “But we can’t hire for a holy festival someone disenchanted with the Flickering Gods, can we?” Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Pernicious Wishes”

“I AM THE KEEPER OF Memories,” said the man in the natty blue silk robe. “What do you offer?”

“For your custom, or your breakfast?” replied Prosatio Silban.

“Breakfast first!” cried the Keeper of Memories, and chuckled. “Always. Food before thought, you know.” Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Keeper of Memories”

EVEN OVER THE CLANK OF his galleywagon, Prosatio Silban could hear the sobs.

The weeper, a well-to-do farmer by his dress, was standing beside a smartly-appointed and -laden oxcart at the crossroads near Vineol, a town renowned throughout the Uulian Commonwell for the delicacy and refinement of its wines. The day was hot for the region and season, and had been so for many days – hot, cloudless, but with an occasional breeze at the right moment. The cook wondered why the man was giving such unguarded vent, and reined his galleywagon to a halt.

“It’s too warm a day for such distress,” Prosatio Silban offered, dismounting. Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Disconsolate Wineherd”