The Golden Farce
The brass astrolabe sat in the center of the table, its intricate gears and celestial markings catching the dim light of the candle that burned with a steady, yellowish glow. I had carried it for three days, wrapped in a layer of oiled silk and then a rough woolen cloth, protecting it from the biting wind that swept across the highlands of the north. My hands, stained with the dust of the road...
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