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 he is.
An almost-shabby youth clad in an academic’s robes shuffled his hesitant way through the makeshift lanes of the grand city’s fabled South Market, a packet of scrolls under one skinny arm. Seeing the Cook For Any Price, lodged between a fatberry-oil presser and seller of imported curios, he broke into a brief half-hearted smile and sat down at one of the two empty tables-and-chairs. Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Hushed Revelation”