As the hejnal mariacki echoed across the rooftops, Henry Palarae didn’t even look up. It was merely another note in the soundscape of the city that marked the passage of time, but Henry worked on unique objects that would last far beyond the lifetime of the trumpet player, far beyond even his own life. Flesh and blood, skin and sinew rotted away, but bone and precious metal remained. Henry’s only goal was to ensure his work survived many more lifetimes than his own.
hejnal mariackiHe sat in the office at the back of his jeweler’s shop surrounded by bookshelves, sketching a design for a brooch onto thick cream paper. There were still a few tourists wandering outside on the cobbled street, but he would hear the doorbell if any entered to peruse his religious artifacts. He snatched every mom
