Ibn Sharjar: Souk Dur Kalara Quet Baka
Posted on 08 Oct 2022 @ 5:57am by Atif ibn Sharjar - Merchant of the Al Ashar
Edited on on 15 Jun 2023 @ 6:07pm
Mission:
Ongoing Mission - Planet Obsidian
Location: Kalara - Old Quarter
Timeline: M3 D05. 1130hrs
1665 words - 3.3 OF Standard Post Measure
Ibn Sharjar picked his way along the crowded street, weaving between market patrons, stall holders, beggars, porters and the occasional draft Chuchaki harnessed to a two-wheel cart.
There were several bazars and market places in Kalara, but the Souk Dur Kalara Quet Baka was the city's earliest. It lay deep within the Old Quarter, the entrance was some ten minutes walk from the Cafe Ra Hetjan.
The Souk spread along a winding central street, with several alleys and courtyards on each side. Tall stone and mudbrick buildings rose on each side, seeming to lean inward over the street, colored awnings were draped between then, providing shade from the sun. The ground floors were open-fronted shops and stalls, most had their wares displayed on heavily loaded tables that further narrowed the street. Stall holders and barkers called and beckoned to passersby, holding up their goods as they described the quality and value, urging customers to come and inspect before purchase.
As an Offworlder he drew their special attention, many following alongside him for several paces, thrusting various goods before him. "This is the finest Ortananni leather Sir! From my Uncle's farm, only taken from birds less than two years old sir! Feel how soft it is!" "Chuchaki wool blankets! Many patterns sir! Come see my shop! Special discount for you sir!" "Qatarak skin desert boots! What is your size sir? We guarantee to have them in stock! If not, we can make in three hours! Very best price!"
He rather liked to look of the boots and made a note to stop by the stall on his return.
Though it seemed a bewildering jumble Ibn Sharjar had learned there was an order to the stalls. Food, produce and meat were towards the entrance, now that it was nearly eleven in the morning, most of these were sold out and closing for the day. They opened before dawn and closed by noon, when the heat ruined most things eatable.
Next in were stores selling more durable comestibles, dried dates, dried meats, several root crops and then came the vendors of spices. Rich pungent aromas rose from tables covered with woven baskets and clay pots piled high with a range of garishly colored spices, herbs, pastes, chutneys and relishes and the highly prized gray-salt from one of Obsidan's prehistoric seashores. There were also bakeries, tables laden with loaves and breads of different types and shapes. Some being prepared and cooked in clay ovens in the back of the store. Then shops selling sweetened pastries, several brought forward trays of samples for him to try, swatting away the flies with a Siniki tail whisk.
Moving further in he passed jewelers and precious metal dealers, several in the middle of transactions, hovering over scales as they weighed out ingots and stones. He stopped at one and traded the remaining four opals he had left in his bag. The jeweler recognized them for being high quality, and gave Ibn Sharjer a long look, wondering where an offworlder had come across such stones but managed to suppress his questions to haggle over the price. They both had an enjoyable time, Atif only had to get up and walk away three times in mock disgust, before the man would drag him back and they finally settled on a price.
Next came the carpet and rugs dealers, wood carvers and cabinet makers, the whole manufacturing process going on from front to back of the shop. At the rear timbers was sawn and shaped, then cut to size, assembled into furniture, stained and polished and then placed out for sale in the street.
A side alley contained metal worker, Tin Smiths sat crossed legged beating out metal screens for lamps and sconces, their hammers and chisels moving rapidly over the metal as they cut in the patterns. A bare-chested Blacksmith beat red glowing wrought iron over an anvil, the heat of his forge adding to the rising morning temperature.
Dotted here and there were small cafe's, traders and customers sat and drank coffee or took an early lunch. Waiters threaded their way through the crowds, trays of food and refreshements held high over their heads as they made deliveries to stores.
The majority of the Souk's customers were Kalaran's but there were many other tribes represented there, by their garb some were clearly from the deep desert, perhaps from caravans bringing in goods. Some strolled along laughing and smiling, clearly enjoying their visit to the metropolis. A few groups kept to themselves, surly and distrusting of these city dwellers.
The Souk was patrolled by Officials wearing a black sash with the sign of the Council of Chieftains, they kept order, collected taxes and checked weights and measures. At one stall two of them were comparing the merchant's scales to the official ones, testing the weights against their own.
As he walked in deeper the stalls now became barbers, dentists and doctors. At one a nervous patient was sat in a chair in the open, having a tooth removed, the Dentist making a great show of washing his hands and instruments in a bowl of warm oil and herbs, as a crowd gathered round to enjoy the procedure.
According to the directions he had been given by Tr'Mari, he began looking for an alleyway entrance on the left. He found it after three more stalls and tuned into it, it was narrow and dark but opened up into a larger space.
The Courtyard of the Apothecaries was a narrow rectangular area, stores lined each side, at the far end was the entrance to an ancient temple, dating from the time when healing had been linked to worship of the Divine One. Smoke drifted lazily up from a small brazier burning fragrant wood sap on the temple steps.
The courtyard was covered by a light blue awing, with broad yellow bands and each of the stalls had a blue and yellow stripped triangular sign, marked with the name of the Apothecarist. The one he wanted was to be found on the right, some six stalls in. He walked along, it was quieter in the courtyard than in the main Souk, less customers, although there was steady stream of people going in and out of the temple. He drew longer looks here, but nodded politely to those who raised their eyes to follow him. He found the right shop, though he could not read it, he recognized the glyph on the triangle as being the same as the one Tr-Mari had shown him earlier.
There was a table with some jars of herbs and oils on display, and several pots planted with medicinal shrubs, a blue and yellow carpet led to a beaded curtain. He parted the curtain and stepped in, the interior was dim, lit only by some small oil lamps in sconces, the air was scented with incense from a miniature version of the brazier before the temple. The walls were lined with cabinets and shelves containing all manner of substances, plants, herbs, bark, powdered minerals, dried insects, colored oils and liquids in glass containers. The smoke marked ceiling was covered in script, several were what he recognized as various invocations to the Divine One. The furniture consisted of an ancient carved wooden desk and several chairs. Besides the entrance the only other doorway was at the back of the room and covered with a curtain.
He waited patiently and after a moment the curtain parted. A tall elderly Obsidian man entered, dressed in a loose robe, with a blue and yellow sash. Lean and hawkish, his head shaven, though he sported a long gray goatee, on his left cheek were several scars. Dark ridges that appeared to have been deliberately made. Atif had seen similar marks before, they were made by cutting the skin and rubbing in ash to produce a permanent, raised scar. It was a custom amongst some tribes, although he had not seen these designs before.
The man looked him over, dark eyes alert and intent. If he was surprised to see an offworlder in his shop, he did not show it.
Satisfied with his inspection, the man asked a question, the tone was neutral, neither friendly nor hostile but it was in a dialect Atif's translator was unfamiliar with.
"Forgive me my friend" Atif tried with a polite smile, "Do you perhaps speak Standard, or Kalaran?" Most in the city spoke an integrated dialect, that he could understand.
The man said something else, again it did not translate, the man tipped his head to the side and looked at Atif, eyebrows raised.
Tr'Mari had given Atif a phrase and he spoke it now "I am journeying to the Lathini and seek the water of the Nine Stones"
The man's expression did not change, but Atif caught a flicker in the dark eyes and knew the man had understood him. The man gave him a long look, then stepped around him and drew a curtain across the beaded entrance way. He came back and gestured Atif to take a seat before the desk, he took the chair behind it. The man sat, leaning back in the chair and watched Atif again, his right hand stroked his goatee. Atif returned the gaze, waiting the man out.
Coming to some internal decision the man leaned forward and asked clearly in Standard, "The Lathini is a dangerous place, forsaken by the Divine One. When the sirocco blows, the glass runs with blood" his voice was low and deep "Why would you go there?"
"A friend asked me to"
"A friend?"
"Madam Tr'Mari of the Ra Hetjan, she asked me to journey there"
The man leaned back again and stroked his goatee some more.
Then said "You are Atif Ibn Sharjar, I have been expecting you. I am Tej-Gabrul. You are a friend of Tr'Mari, you are welcome here, there is peace between us"
