Each prediction has thus far come to pass, in the manner and hour proclaimed. We are confounded, for no mortal hand could contrive such accuracy.

I implore you, in the name of God and for the preservation of order, come swiftly to Gutenberg. Unmask this witchcraft, lest our city drown in panic and despair.

Your servant in fear and duty,

Johannes Garamond
Magistrate of Gutenberg

06 Dies Pontifex

He who tips the scales with hand of might,

Whose voice condemns, whose word is right,

Shall stand to judgment come the dawn,

And find his tongue forever gone.

11 Mass Pontifex

The eye that sees where others stray,

The mind that reads the hidden way,

Shall turn the final page alone,

And find the letters claim their own.

[A page has been removed]

Step lively to the Painted Carousel, where prancing horses and roaring lions whirl you about in colors most bright. Children shall find wonders, and even the solemnest townsman may shed his cares with a turn upon the wheel of chance.

Do not miss the Tent of Fates, where Mistress Elspeth Poppins awaits with palm and cards alike. She will whisper what lies ahead for any brave enough to seek her counsel.

Reports concerning the recent disturbances (ref: the fairground incident, the Gambler, and the Judge) are to be redacted prior to external inspection. Any mention of the Lower Archives, catacomb access, or Subterranean Holdings is to be struck through or replaced with the phrase “matters of civic infrastructure.” Should inquiry persist, direct attention to the Poor Quarter or the foreign performers. The goal is not to deceive — merely to protect.

Under no circumstances are the Witchburners to be granted access below the third sublevel of the Library, nor are they to be informed of the Seal beneath the Hall of Proofs. Senior Bookmen will understand the necessity of this discretion. The town endures by what is written:

The Ink must never dry.

When encountering a Witchburner, do not stare, whisper, or offer them pamphlets of your own composition (however clever). Should you find yourself questioned, speak plainly, avoid excessive adjectives, and, for the love of order, do not make jokes about matches. Refrain from attempting to “assist” with your own theories of witchcraft — the Witchburners dislike competition. Should you find evidence of sorcery, report it first to the Bookmen, who will determine whether it qualifies as actual witchery.

While we extend professional courtesy to our guests, remember that Gutenberg’s own peace and learning are safeguarded by her Bookmen. It is we who patrol the alleys, and ensure no one defaces the library steps with vulgar chalk or pamphlets not approved by council. The Witchburners, impressive as they may appear, are visitors - transient custodians of flame, whereas the Bookmen are the steady keepers of ink. When the ashes cool, it is we who sweep them up.

Vermilion Red

Take cinnabar well beaten, and temper it with white wine vinegar till it spread smooth upon the knife. A drop of honey will soften the hue and bind the pigment fast. This red serveth nobly for capitals and sacred letters, though it must be guarded against damp.

Deepest Hue

####### a drop of [––] from the living ####### mix’d with lampblack and oil of [–––]. Stir but thrice, lest it quicken in the [–––]. The colour thus made is of such darkness as to trouble the eye, and it doth not wash away. Let none ####### under pain of ####### ######.

The Squid-ink Sling

squid ink, distilled spirits, lemon peel, sugar, nutmeg

Preparation: Shake the squid ink with a generous measure of distilled spirits, a twist of lemon peel, and a spoonful of sugar. Top with a pinch of grated nutmeg. Serve over crushed ice in a tall glass. Notes: A specialty of old Gutenberg, recalling its fishing-town roots.

The Gutenberg Cider

fermented apples, cinnamon, clove, a sprig of rosemary

Preparation: Warm the cider gently with the spices and rosemary sprig. Serve in pewter mugs, allowing the aroma to rise as steam.

A small market grew around the local trades, and a peculiar specialty developed: ink, rich and black, pressed and refined from the squid’s own secretions. Merchants from afar came to trade for this inky commodity, and soon the town flourished beyond its fishing roots, drawing the attention of scholars and scribes, and from it sprang the first rudimentary presses, followed in turn by collections of books that formed the nucleus of Gutenberg’s great library.

The Library, a proud jewel of the town, was erected at the heart of this market, towering above the town. Beneath its stone floors, some whispered, lie vaults and wells whose depths are darker than the richest ink, where the city’s secret and uncanny beginnings still linger. Scholars speak cautiously of these foundations, for though they yield knowledge and wealth, there are murmurs that the shadows beneath Gutenberg’s stones are not entirely without will.

The Sacred Tools

Take up thy Sponge, soaked in salt and ash; press it to the page until the stain fades and the voice is gone. The ink that clings is the sin that lingers — blot it, and be free. Let no drop return to the Fount, nor any word speak its own undoing. The Sponge is mercy made cloth, the silence between lines.

The Final Absorption

When the last blot dries, when the final quill lies still, we shall lay our sponges upon the stone and draw forth the darkness from below. So shall the Black Fount sleep again, and all the world be white with peace.

Let the ink dry, that truth may stand.

One casts the Die, and Chance is bound.

One weighs the Scales, and Law is unmade.

One peers beyond the Veil, and Sight is drowned.

One bears the Flame, and Purity is undone.

When these Four bleed as one, the Black Fount shall stir.

The Ink Must Never Dry