The Golden Cellar
Act I "Item: One vial, aurum potabile, cost to be settled in years, not coin." The ink in the ledger was still wet, smelling of iron and bayou mud, as I copied the line for the third time. I was thirty-two, an apprentice bound by contract to Master Toussaint, a man whose lungs rattled like dry leaves in a tin can. Outside, the noon heat pressed down on the printer’s workshop, a stillness so...
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