SEVEN gODS ONE MAN - SASANI

draw a customer by; and by dint of no regard for disruption would
any trade-lord react.
My presence at the scene is unannounced. A dealer in fabrics calls
out to me; "Sir! You should come for this, the best clothing material
for noblemen trousers, thank me later.”
It is placid, I can't make out my thoughts. So, I amble around like a
lost stranger in wonderland.
"Sir! You would pick this up for your child who cries for toys every
now and then"
"Man! This is but the choicest flour for your pudding." On and on, the
blares and clatters in the market arena drone on.
By a bend in the passage, tracking the length of stalls, and
tents, I come across an apothecary. It is isolated and sacredly
situated, in extremity to the axis of assembled merchants and their
stocked space.
There, the air is a bit dank, plus there is a sweet and moreish
cocktail aroma of potent herbs, some cures from which smell gives
away flavoured mixtures, aromatic concoctions, tonics, elixirs,
apozem; distinguished antidotes, potent cures for which few
creditable drugstores in the hood can barely afford. A thick aromatic
smell wraps me up as a breeze sets in motion about me.
I can feel my muscles relax, my air-bags dilate and allow for more
pure lungful breath. My chest-beat registers a reserved rhythm, not
having to take any of the perceived preparations for whatever
therapy they were made for.
There is a stillness in the atmosphere over this space of the market
square, a bit of noise counts as a sacrilege.
I observe a gaunt-looking old man in the workshop on what
appears to be a vocational apparel with two sizeable breast pockets.
Age weighs on his wrinkled skin. He doles out salient instructions to
the apprentices and stewards of the noble drug-firm with short