Day 217: 12 June 2026

 Short story -- The Bazaar

The bazaar was a cacophony of sounds and an assault of smells.

‘You want mangoes? I have the best mangoes?’

‘Get your dragon fruit here! Just picked today!’

‘My peppers are so flavorful you have to sign a waiver!’

The next section…

‘You want spices? I have every spice! Tell me what you want! I give you a very good deal!’

‘Cinnamon! Nutmeg! Ginger!’

‘Get your spices here! My grandma does the drying. Very good!’

And then…

The thwack of a cleaver cutting through flesh and bone.

The dribble of blood and water into a drain.

That strange smell of raw meat.

The clucking of chickens in cages.

And then you reach the housewares. The reason you are at the bazaar today.

‘You want silver? I have silver!’

‘You want copper? I have copper!’

‘You want a rug? I have the best rugs!’

And then you see it, a small densely packed alley of a stall. Pocket watches.

You duck in and your eyes adjust to the darker light.

‘Welcome,’ says the man behind the counter. On his lap is a massive cat. ‘Can I help you find something in particular?’

You look around, all the ticking is slightly unnerving. ‘I am looking for a gift,’ you say the words you were told, ‘a gift of unappreciated value.’

The man’s eyes light up.

You could swear the cat’s eyes perk up at that.

Weird.

‘And what are you willing to trade for this gift of unappreciated value?’ the man asks leaning forward. The cat has now perched itself on the counter and is watching you intently.

You didn’t know this would be the follow up question. But it doesn’t surprise you either. After all, nothing of great value — appreciated or not — is ever free. And neither is magic.

‘Well?’ the man’s eyes light presses leaning a little closer.

You ponder what you have that this man might think of value. You’re too smart to trade away your soul or offer years of your life. That’s a rookie move. No. But it must be something of value.

You decide to barter. It is a bazaar after all. And you decide to start low. ‘Would you take coin? Maybe 100 denzons?’

The man sits back down and waves his arm while he tsks through his mustache. ‘Anyone can give me money. No. Perhaps you are willing to give me one small memory? Say… a first kiss?’

It never does to barter with one’s memories. Once they’re gone, they’re gone. And you’re left with a hole in your past. No. Memory is a tapestry and if you start cutting holes in it, it falls apart. ‘Perhaps the completion of a small task that we can agree upon?’ you counter offer.

At this, the man leans forward again. The cat has stepped closer. They look at each other and then at you.

‘Perhaps,’ the man muses, ‘but it must be no small task.’

‘Do you have a proposal?’ you query.

‘Perhaps you bring me two flowers from the purple night blossoms in the princess’s garden?’ the cat said.

That surprises you. Not the request so much as the cat speaking. Everyone knows that these flowers are said to be of great value because of their healing properties. What does a cat need with them?

‘Do we have a deal?’ the cat asks, extending its paw.

You tentatively stick out your hand.

‘Don’t disappoint Katjeet,’ the cat says, ‘for although Ketjeet is generous in his own ways, he is also powerful beyond measure and not tolerant of fools.’