Tag: WIP

FROM WHERE DO YOU DRINK when your once-abundant spring dries up?

Prosatio Silban sighed, and – for the dozenth or so time – regarded his empty pantry, coldbox, and coin jar. I don’t imagine repeated examination is going to fill these, he thought. I’d better think of something productive, or they’ll not be filled again. How did I come to this? Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Dire Straits”

HERE’S A SIMPLE QUESTION: WHAT is the essence and meaning of “art?”

I have never seen such beautiful food, Prosatio Silban thought. The village of Pastisi had made a name for itself by crafting the most picturesque baked goods in the Uulian Commonwell’s Three Cities and Thousand Villages – and charging a nominal fee just for the privilege of viewing them. Generally, such creations were either plain or adorned with the simplest of icings. Those inside the spotless glass-topped cases, on the other hand, could scarce be described in words.

These villagers’ reputations are well-earned, he thought, and glanced from side to side. Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Artful Dodge”

THE SENSE OF SMELL IS an important component for that of taste. But can it stand alone?

“I shall be brief,” said the woman in the jewel-bedecked caftan, smoothing a tailored crease upon one crossed knee. “My enterprise, ‘Sobor’s Scents,’ wishes to develop a line of toiletries based on the Uulian Commonwell’s fine-dining environment. We would be honored and grateful for you to cook a number of dishes, whose aromatic essences we could capture and render into crystal vials. You may not be aware that there’s quite a demand – from the new bride wanting her dinner guests to think she had cooked for them a more sumptuous feast, say, or the aspiring suitor whose courtship could be sweetened by a hint of something savory. You need only name your price, and we shall do the rest.” Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Dueling Perfumers”

NOT ALL AWAKENINGS ARE RUDE – but some may as well be.

Prosatio Silban stretched, yawned, sat up, and contemplated the interior of the curtained sleeping-berth tucked into his galleywagon’s rear. Something is amiss, he thought. But what?

His inquisitive glances took in the bookshelf above his feet, on which perched a dog-eared edition of Barbatus the Elder’s Truth, Life, and Other Comic Futilities; the ceiling-mounted fatberry-oil lamp; the small, diamond-paned window set high in the galleywagon’s aft wall; and the full-length black silk curtain screening him from the rest of the kitchen-cum-vehicle. Nothing seemed out of place.

Then it hit him like an ice-bolt through his chest: What is that wretched stench? Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Tainted Wind”

PROSATIO SILBAN HAD TO LOOK twice before he realized what he was seeing. Why is this Xao woman, he asked himself, dressed as an Uulian?

It was a fair question. The Xao were almost the oldest original residents of the Exilic Lands, whose mythology had prepared them to regard (some would say worship) the late-arrived Uulians as prophesied saviors – who would restore to pristineness their oblivion-shattered realms before sailing back across the Rimless Sea. Although the “saviors” did transform the landscape as foretold, centuries passed without their fulfilling the latter prediction; as a result, some of the indigenes lost faith in their people’s teachings.

Others had found ways to cope. Including, it seemed, by assimilation. Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Boundary Crossers”

IT BEGAN, AS DO SO many seriously frivolous matters, with an impassioned tavern-boast.

“Outside of present company, the best cookery in the Uulian Commonwell is found not in epicurean Pormaris but in its provinces,” burly, wise-eyed Apista Thurtok said. “And the best meal is roasted fidget-hen basted in honeywine, made at The Bouncing Wench in Yellow Meadows. And that is the final word.”

“The Soup Demons it isn’t!” rejoined the wiry and emphatic Olto Grex. “It’s One in Silver’s inwards-stew in Crows’ Path.” Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Gourmet Gallivant”

“YOURS IS A NOBLE CALLING,” Prosatio Silban said. “Pray, what is its secret?”

The waiter from the acclaimed restaurant Tide & Time had just finished his breakfast of poached fidget-hen eggs, salt-cod-and-potato hash, and stone-rye toast. He took a last sip of hot yava, swallowed, set down his cup, and smiled. Continue reading “Service (A Prosatio Silban Amuse Bouche)”

“HIS NAME IS FIRENZO OOBAHR,” Firenzo Ebli said. “And he needs to find himself. Please – let it be in your employ.”

Prosatio Silban put on his most polite face. “I am honored that you thought of me, but I am not certain that I am the one to help your son,” he said. “I have always worked alone, and to be frank, there is little room in my galleywagon for more than one cook. I am afraid that we would get in each other’s way – the more so, since he won’t know what he or I am doing.” Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Friend’s Favor”

MUCH HAS BEEN WRITTEN OF the nomadic Xao, one of three peoples descended from the Exilic Lands’ original inhabitants. But of their sundered cousins, the forest-dwelling Xai, few tales have been told – and fewer still are those outsiders who have visited their native home and returned with tales of their own.

As was his longstanding habit when his coin jar became heavy, Prosatio Silban and his dray-beast Onward were taking their ease by meandering through someplace unfamiliar to either of them: in this case, the vast and light-dappled Greenlanes, north of the Uulian Commonwell. From the forest’s flat, leaf-carpeted floor sprouted tall and variegated stands of spirewood, teal cypress, half-moon bay, and many other trees the cook-errant couldn’t identify. Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Game Game”

DESPITE ITS GENERAL ALLURE, IMMORTALITY isn’t necessarily suitable for everyone.

“To the point: You shall live forever as the centerpiece of my next theatrical work, The Cook For Any Price; or, A Delicious Wage,” Amaeus Tozar said, raising his yava-mug for emphasis. “Nothing more, and nothing less. And I will not allow you to decline.” Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Wicked Stage”

SOMETIMES, THE MOST RANDOM OF encounters can also be the most memorable.

Prosatio Silban was driving his galleywagon high on the switchback road between Mountainfoot and Overlook, and passing the time by whistling selections from Orcio Phatar’s famous musical suite, Grand Dreams Delayed. The early afternoon was as perfect as one could wish – warm sun, passing clouds, exquisite view, lazy drone of distant sapphire-bees – but the worried cook-errant paid scant attention.

If I don’t arrive by sunset, my would-be patron will not be pleased, he thought. Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Poet’s Souvenir”