The Distant Joke
Rohani Nurdin stood at the head of the long mahogany table, the air in the high court heavy with damp plaster and old varnish. He was thirty-two, a man who had spent the last decade repairing the clocks of the wealthy, and he held an obsidian stone in his right hand, its surface cold against his palm. The banquet hall was empty of guests but full of presence, a low drone humming in the walls...
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